The Sunny Side written by A. A. Milne

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THE SUNNY SIDE

BY A. A. MILNE

Author of "If I May," "The Dover Road," "Mr. Pim Passes By," etc.

1922

TO OWEN SEAMAN

AFFECTIONATELY IN MEMORY OF NINE HAPPY YEARS AT THE "PUNCH" OFFICE

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

INTRODUCTION TO THE AMERICAN EDITION

I. ORANGES AND LEMONS

II. MEN OF LETTERS

III. SUMMER DAYS

IV. WAR-TIME

V. HOME NOTES

VI. A FEW GUESTS

VII. AND OTHERS

INTRODUCTION

My publisher wants me to apologize for--"introduce" was the kindly word
he used--this collection of articles and verses from _Punch_. I do so
with pleasure.

_Among the many interests of a long and varied career_--

No, I don't think I shall begin like that.

_It was early in 1871_--

Nor like that.

Really it is very difficult, you know. I wrote these things for a number
of years, and--well, here they are. But just to say "Here they are" is to
be too informal for my publisher. He wants, not a casual introduction,
but a presentation. Let me tell you a little story instead.

When war broke out, I had published three of these books in England, the
gleanings of nine years' regular work for _Punch_. There are, I
understand, a few Americans who read _Punch_, and it was suggested to me
that a suitable collection of articles from these three books might have
some sort of American sale. So I made such a collection, leaving out the
more topical and allusive sketches, and including those with a more
general appeal. I called the result "Happy Days"--an attractive title,
you will agree--and in 1915 a New York publisher was found for it.

This is a funny story; at least it appeals to _me_; so I won't remind
myself of the number of copies which we sold. That was tragedy, not
comedy. The joke lay in one of the few notices which the book received
from the press. For a New York critic ended his review of "Happy Days"
with these immortal words:

"_Mr. Milne is at present in the trenches facing the German bullets, so
this will probably be his last book_."

You see now why an apology is necessary. Here we are, seven years later,
and I am still at it.

But at any rate, it is the last of this sort of book. As I said in a
foreword to the English edition: "It is the last time because this sort
of writing depends largely upon the irresponsibility and high spirits of
youth for its success, and I want to stop before (may I say 'before'?)
the high spirits become mechanical and the irresponsibility a trick.
Perhaps the fact that this collection is final will excuse its air of
scrappiness. Odd Verses have crept in on the unanswerable plea that, if
they didn't do it now, they never would; War Sketches protested that I
shouldn't have a book at all if I left them out; an Early Article,
omitted from three previous volumes, paraded for the fourth time with
such a pathetic 'I suppose you don't want _me_' in its eye that it could
not decently be rejected. So here they all are."

One further word of explanation. You may find the first section of this
book--"Oranges and Lemons"--a little difficult. The characters of it are
old friends to that limited public which reads my books in England; their
earlier adventures have been told in those previous volumes (and
purposely omitted from "Happy Days" as being a little too insular). I
feel somehow that strangers will not be on such easy terms with them, and
I would recommend that you approach them last. By that time you will have
discovered whether you are in a mood to stop and listen to their chatter,
or prefer to pass them by with a nod.

A.A. M.

THE SUNNY SIDE

I. ORANGES AND LEMONS

I.

THE INVITATION

"Dear Myra," wrote Simpson at the beginning of the year--"I have an
important suggestion to make to you both, and I am coming round to-morrow
night after dinner about nine o'clock. As time is so short I have asked
Dahlia and Archie to meet me there, and if by any chance you have gone
out we shall wait till you come back.

"Yours ever,

"SAMUEL

"P.S.--I have asked Thomas too."

* * * * *

"Well?" said Myra eagerly, as I gave her back the letter.

In deep thought I buttered a piece of toast.

"We could stop Thomas," I said. "We might ring up the Admiralty and ask
them to give him something to do this evening. I don't know about Archie.
Is he--"

"Oh, what do you think it is? Aren't you excited?" She sighed and added,
"Of course I know what Samuel _is_."

"Yes. Probably he wants us all to go to the Zoo together ... or he's
discovered a new way of putting, or--I say, I didn't know Archie and
Dahlia were in town."

"They aren't. But I expect Samuel telegraphed to them to meet him under
the clock at Charing Cross disguised, when they would hear of something
to their advantage. Oh, I wonder what it is. It _must_ be something real
this time."

Since the day when Simpson woke me up at six o'clock in the morning to
show me his stance-for-a-full-wooden-club shot I have distrusted his
enthusiasms; but Myra loves him as a mother; and I--I couldn't do without
him; and when a man like that invites a whole crowd of people to come to
your flat just about the time when you are wondering what has happened to
the sardines on toast--well, it isn't polite to put the chain on the door
and explain through the letter-box that you have gone away for a week.

"We'd better have dinner a bit earlier to be on the safe side," I said,
as Myra gave me a parting brush down in the hall. "If any further
developments occur in the course of the day, ring me up at the office. By
the way, Simpson doesn't seem to have invited Peter. I wonder why not.
He's nearly two, and he ought to be in it. Myra, I'm sure I'm tidy now."

"Pipe, tobacco, matches, keys, money?"

"Everything," I said. "Bless you. Goodbye."

"Good-bye," said Myra lingeringly. "What do you think he meant by 'as
time is so short'?"

"I don't know. At least," I added, looking at my watch, "I do know. I
shall be horribly late. Good-bye."

I fled down the stairs into the street, waved to Myra at the
window ... and then came cautiously up again for my pipe. Life is very
difficult on the mornings when you are in a hurry.

At dinner that night Myra could hardly eat for excitement.

"You'll be sorry afterwards," I warned her, "when it turns out to be
nothing more than that he has had his hair cut."

"But even if it is, I don't see why I shouldn't be excited at seeing my
only brother again--not to mention sister-in-law."

"Then let's move," I said. "They'll be here directly."

Archie and Dahlia came first. We besieged them with questions as soon as
they appeared.

"Haven't an idea," said Archie, "I wanted to bring a revolver in case it
was anything really desperate, but Dahlia wouldn't let me."

"It would have been useful too," I said, "if it turned out to be
something merely futile."

"You're not going to hurt my Samuel, however futile it is," said Myra.
"Dahlia, how's Peter, and will you have some coffee?"

"Peter's lovely. You've had coffee, haven't you, Archie?"

"Better have some more," I suggested, "in case Simpson is merely
soporific. We anticipate a slumbering audience, and Samuel explaining a
new kind of googlie he's invented."

Entered Thomas lazily.

"Hallo," he said in his slow voice. "What's it all about?"

"It's a raid on the Begum's palace," explained Archie rapidly. "Dahlia
decoys the Chief Mucilage; you, Thomas, drive the submarine; Myra has
charge of the clockwork mouse, and we others hang about and sing. To say
more at this stage would be to bring about a European conflict."

"Coffee, Thomas?" said Myra.

"I bet he's having us on," said Thomas gloomily, as he stirred his
coffee.

There was a hurricane in the hall. Chairs were swept over; coats and hats
fell to the ground; a high voice offered continuous apologies--and
Simpson came in.

"Hallo, Myra!" he said eagerly. "Hallo, old chap! Hallo, Dahlia! Hallo,
Archie! Hallo, Thomas, old boy!" He fixed his spectacles firmly on his
nose and beamed round the room.

"We're all here--thanking you very much for inviting us," I said. "Have a
cigar--if you've brought any with you."

Fortunately he had brought several with him.

"Now then, I'll give any of you three guesses what it's all about."

"No, you don't. We're all waiting, and you can begin your apology right
away."

Simpson took a deep breath and began.

"I've been lent a villa," he said.

There was a moment's silence ... and then Archie got up.

"Good-bye," he said to Myra, holding out his hand. "Thanks for a very
jolly evening. Come along Dahlia."

"But I say, old chap," protested Simpson.

"I'm sorry, Simpson, but the fact that you're moving from the Temple to
Cricklewood, or wherever it is, and that somebody else is paying the
thirty pounds a year, is jolly interesting, but it wasn't good enough to
drag us up from the country to tell us about it. You could have written.
However, thank you for the cigar."

"My dear fellow, it isn't Cricklewood. It's the Riviera!"

Archie sat down again.

"Samuel!" cried Myra. "How she must love you!"

"I should never lend Simpson a villa of mine," I said. "He'd only lose
it."

"They're some very old friends who live there, and they're going away for
a month, and the servants are staying on, and they suggested that if I
was going abroad again this year--"

"How did the servants know you'd been abroad last year?" asked Archie.

"Don't interrupt, dear," said Dahlia. "I see what he means. How very
jolly for you, Samuel."

"For all of us, Dahlia!"

"You aren't suggesting we shall all crowd in?" growled Thomas.

"Of course, my dear old chap! I told them, and they're delighted. We can
share housekeeping expenses, and it will be as cheap as anything."

"But to go into a stranger's house," said Dahlia anxiously.

"It's _my_ house, Dahlia, for the time. I invite you!" He threw out his
hands in a large gesture of welcome and knocked his coffee-cup on to the
carpet; begged Myra's pardon several times; and then sat down again and
wiped his spectacles vigorously.

Archie looked doubtfully at Thomas.

"Duty, Thomas, duty," he said, thumping his chest. "You can't desert the
Navy at this moment of crisis."

"Might," said Thomas, puffing at his pipe.

Archie looked at me. I looked hopefully at Myra.

"Oh-h-h!" said Myra, entranced.

Archie looked at Dahlia. Dahlia frowned.

"It isn't till February," said Simpson eagerly.

"It's very kind of you, Samuel," said Dahlia, "but I don't think--"

Archie nodded to Simpson.

"You leave this to me," he said confidentially. "We're going."

II.

ON THE WAY

"Toulon," announced Archie, as the train came to a stop and gave out its
plaintive, dying whistle. "Naval port of our dear allies, the French.
This would interest Thomas."

"If he weren't asleep," I said.

"He'll be here directly," said Simpson from the little table for two on
the other side of the gangway. "I'm afraid he had a bad night. Here,
_garcon_--er--_donnez-moi du cafe et_--er-" But the waiter had slipped
past him again--the fifth time.

"Have some of ours," said Myra kindly, holding out the pot.

"Thanks very much, Myra, but I may as well wait for Thomas, and--_garcon,
du cafe pour_--I don't think he'll be--_deux cafes, garcon, s'il
vous_--it's going to be a lovely day."

Thomas came in quietly, sat down opposite Simpson, and ordered breakfast.

"Samuel wants some too," said Myra.

Thomas looked surprised, grunted and ordered another breakfast.

"You see how easy it is," said Archie. "Thomas, we're at Toulon, where
the _ententes cordiales_ come from. You ought to have been up long ago
taking notes for the Admiralty."

"I had a rotten night," said Thomas. "Simpson fell out of bed in the
middle of it."

"Oh, poor Samuel!"

"You don't mean to say you gave him the top berth?" I asked in surprise.
"You must have known he'd fall out."

"But, Thomas dear, surely Samuel's just falling-out-of-bed noise wouldn't
wake you up," said Myra. "I always thought you slept so well."

"He tried to get back into _my_ bed."

"I was a little dazed," explained Simpson hastily, "and I hadn't got my
spectacles."

"Still you ought to have been able to see Thomas there."

"Of course I did see him as soon as I got in, and then I remembered I was
up above. So I climbed up."

"It must be rather difficult climbing up at night," thought Dahlia.

"Not if you get a good take-off, Dahlia," said Simpson earnestly.

"Simpson got a good one off my face," explained Thomas.

"My dear old chap, I was frightfully sorry. I did come down at once and
tell you how sorry I was, didn't I?"

"You stepped back on to it," said Thomas shortly, and he turned his
attention to the coffee.

Our table had finished breakfast. Dahlia and Myra got up slowly, and
Archie and I filled our pipes and followed them out.

"Well, we'll leave you to it," said Archie to the other table.
"Personally, I think it's Thomas's turn to step on Simpson. But don't be
long, because there's a good view coming."

The good view came, and then another and another, and they merged
together and became one long, moving panorama of beauty. We stood in
the corridor and drank it in ... and at intervals we said "Oh-h!" and
"Oh, I say!" and "Oh, I say, _really_!" And there was one particular
spot I wish I could remember where, so that it might be marked by a
suitable tablet--at the sight of which Simpson was overheard to say,
"_Mon Dieu_!" for (probably) the first time in his life.

"You know, all these are olive trees, you chaps," he said every five
minutes. "I wonder if there are any olives growing on them?"

"Too early," said Archie. "It's the sardine season now."

It was at Cannes that we saw the first oranges.

"That does it," I said to Myra. "We're really here. And look, there's a
lemon tree. Give me the oranges and lemons, and you can have all the
palms and the cactuses and the olives."

"Like polar bears in the arctic regions," said Myra.

I thought for a moment. Superficially there is very little resemblance
between an orange and a polar bear.

"Like polar bears," I said hopefully.

"I mean," luckily she went on, "polar bears do it for you in the polar
regions. You really know you're there then. Give me the polar bears, I
always say, and you can keep the seals and the walruses and the penguins.
It's the hallmark."

"Right. I knew you meant something. In London," I went on, "it is
raining. Looking out of my window I see a lamp-post (not in flower)
beneath a low, grey sky. Here we see oranges against a blue sky a million
miles deep. What a blend! Myra, let's go to a fancy-dress ball when we
get back. You go as an orange and I'll go as a very blue, blue sky, and
you shall lean against me."

"And we'll dance the tangerine," said Myra.

But now observe us approaching Monte Carlo. For an hour past Simpson has
been collecting his belongings. Two bags, two coats, a camera, a rug,
Thomas, golf-clubs, books--his compartment is full of things which have
to be kept under his eye lest they should evade him at the last moment.
As the train leaves Monaco his excitement is intense.

"I think, old chap," he says to Thomas, "I'll wear the coats after all."

"And the bags," says Thomas, "and then you'll have a suit."

Simpson puts on the two coats and appears very big and hot.

"I'd better have my hands free," he says, and straps the camera and the
golf-clubs on to himself. "Then if you nip out and get a porter I can
hand the bags out to him through the window."

"All right," says Thomas. He is deep in his book and looks as if he were
settled in his corner of the carriage for the day.

The train stops. There is bustle, noise, confusion. Thomas in some
magical way has disappeared. A porter appears at the open window and
speaks voluble French to Simpson. Simpson looks round wildly for Thomas.
"Thomas!" he cries. "_Un moment_," he says to the porter. "Thomas! _Mon
ami, it n'est pas_--I say, Thomas, old chap, where are you? _Attendez un
moment. Mon ami_--er--_reviendra_--" He is very hot. He is wearing, in
addition to what one doesn't mention, an ordinary waistcoat, a woolly
waistcoat for steamer use, a tweed coat, an aquascutum, an ulster, a
camera and a bag of golfclubs. The porter, with many gesticulations, is
still hurling French at him.

It is too much for Simpson. He puts his head out of the window and,
observing in the distance a figure of such immense dignity that it can
only belong to the station-master, utters to him across the hurly-burly a
wild call for help.

"_Ou est_ Cooks's _homme_?" he cries.

III.

SETTLING DOWN

The villa was high up on the hill, having (as Simpson was to point out
several times later) Mentone on its left hand and Monte Carlo on its
right. A long winding path led up through its garden of olives to the
front door, and through the mimosa trees which flanked this door we could
see already a flutter of white aprons. The staff was on the loggia
waiting to greet us.

We halted a moment out of sight of the ladies above and considered
ourselves. It came to us with a sudden shock that we were a very large
party.

"I suppose," said Archie to Simpson, "they do expect all of us and not
only you? You told them that about half London was coming?"

"We're only six," said Myra, "because I've just counted again, but we
seem about twenty."

"It's quite all right," said Simpson cheerfully. "I said we'd be six."

"But six in a letter is much smaller than six of us like this; and when
they see our luggage--"

"Let's go back," I suggested, suddenly nervous. To be five guests of the
guest of a man you have never met is delicate work.

At this critical moment Archie assumed command. He is a Captain in the
Yeomanry and has tackled bigger jobs than this in his time.

"We must get ourselves into proper order," he said. "Simpson, the villa
has been lent to _you_; you must go first. Dahlia and I come next. When
we arrive you will introduce us as your friends, Mr. and Mrs. Mannering.
Then turning to Myra you say, 'Mr. Mannering's sister; and this,' you
add, 'is her husband.' Then--er--Thomas--"

"It will be difficult to account for Thomas," I said. "Thomas comes at
the end. He hangs back a little at first; and then if he sees that there
is going to be any awkwardness about him, he can pretend he's come on the
wrong night, and apologize and go home again."

"If Thomas goes, I go," said Myra dramatically.

"I have another idea," I said. "Thomas hides here for a bit. We introduce
ourselves and settle in, and have lunch; and after lunch we take a stroll
in the garden, and to our great surprise discover Thomas. 'Thomas,' we
say, '_you_ here? Dear old chap, we thought you were in England. How
splendid! Where are you staying? Oh, but you must stop with _us_; we can
easily have a bed put up for you in the garage.' And then--"

"Not after lunch," said Thomas; "before lunch."

"Don't all be so silly," smiled Dahlia. "They'll wonder what has happened
to us if we wait any longer. Besides, the men will be here with the
luggage directly. Come along."

"Samuel," said Archie, "forward."

In our new formation we marched up, Simpson excited and rehearsing to
himself the words of introduction, we others outwardly calm. At a range
of ten yards he opened fire. "How do you do?" he beamed. "Here we all
are! Isn't it a lovely--"

The cook-housekeeper, majestic but kindly, came forward with outstretched
hand and welcomed him volubly--in French. The other three ladies added
their French to hers. There was only one English body on the loggia. It
belonged to a bull-dog. The bull-dog barked loudly at Simpson in English.

There was no "Cook's homme" to save Simpson this time. But he rose to the
occasion nobly. The scent of the mimosa inspired him.

"_Merci,"_ he said, "_merci. Oui, n'est ce pas_! Delightful. Er--these
are--_ces sont mes amis_. Er--Dahlia, come along--er, _Monsieur et Madame
Mannering_--er--Myra, _la soeur de Monsieur_--er--where are you, old
chap?--_le mari de la soeur de Monsieur._ Er--Thomas--er--" (he was
carried away by memories of his schoolboy French), "_le frere du
jardinier_--er--" He wheeled round and saw me; introduced me again;
introduced Myra as my wife, Archie as her brother, and Dahlia as Archie's
wife; and then with a sudden inspiration presented Thomas grandly as "_le
beau-pere du petit fils de mes amis Monsieur et Madame Mannering_."
Thomas seemed more assured of his place as Peter's godfather than as the
brother of the gardener.

There were four ladies; we shook hands with all of them. It took us a
long time, and I doubt if we got it all in even so, for twice I found
myself shaking hands with Simpson. But these may have been additional
ones thrown in. It was over at last, and we followed the staff indoors.

And then we had another surprise. It was broken to us by Dahlia, who, at
Simpson's urgent request, took up the position of lady of the house, and
forthwith received the flowing confidences of the housekeeper.

"Two of us have to sleep outside," she said.

"Where?" we all asked blankly.

We went on to the loggia again, and she pointed to a little house almost
hidden by olive-trees in a corner of the garden below us.

"Oh, well, that's all right," said Archie. "It's on the estate. Thomas,
you and Simpson won't mind that a bit, will you?"

"We can't turn Samuel out of his own house," said Myra indignantly.

"We aren't turning him; he wants to go. But, of course, if you and your
young man would like to live there instead--"

Myra looked at me eagerly.

"It would be rather fun," she said. "We'd have another little honeymoon
all to ourselves."

"It wouldn't really be a honeymoon," I objected. "We should always be
knocking up against trippers in the garden, Archies and Samuels and
Thomases and what not. They'd be all over the place."

Dahlia explained the domestic arrangements. The honeymooners had their
little breakfast in their own little house, and then joined the others
for the day at about ten.

"Or eleven," said Thomas.

"It would be rather lovely," said Myra thoughtfully.

"Yes," I agreed; "but have you considered that--Come over this way a
moment, where Thomas and Simpson can't hear, while I tell you some of the
disadvantages."

I led her into a quiet corner and suggested a few things to her which I
hoped would not occur to the other two.

_Item_: That if it was raining hard at night, it would be beastly.
_Item_: That if you suddenly found you'd left your pipe behind, it would
be rotten. _Item_: That if, as was probable, there wasn't a proper
bathroom in the little house, it would be sickening. _Item_: That if she
had to walk on muddy paths in her evening shoes, it would be--

At this point Myra suddenly caught the thread of the argument. We went
back to the others.

"We think," said Myra, "it would be perfectly heavenly in the little
house; but--" She hesitated.

"But at the same time," I said, "we think it's up to Simpson and Thomas
to be English gentlemen. Samuel, it's your honour."

There was a moment's silence.

"Come along," said Thomas to Simpson, "let's go and look at it."

* * * * *

After lunch, clean and well-fed and happy, we lay in deck-chairs on the
loggia and looked lazily down at the Mediterranean.

"Thank you, Samuel, for bringing us," said Dahlia gently. "Your friends
must be very fond of you to have lent you this lovely place."

"Not fonder than we are," said Myra, smiling at him.

IV.

BEFORE LUNCH

I found Myra in the hammock at the end of the loggia.

"Hallo," I said.

"Hallo." She looked up from her book and waved her hand. "Mentone on the
left, Monte Carlo on the right," she said, and returned to her book
again. Simpson had mentioned the situation so many times that it had
become a catch-phrase with us.

"Fancy reading on a lovely morning like this," I complained.

"But that's why. It's a very gloomy play by Ibsen, and whenever it's
simply more than I can bear, I look up and see Mentone on the left, Monte
Carlo on the right--I mean, I see all the loveliness round me, and then I
know the world isn't so bad after all." She put her book down. "Are you
alone?"

I gripped her wrist suddenly and put the paper-knife to her throat.

"_We_ are alone," I hissed--or whatever you do to a sentence without any
"s's" in it to make it dramatic. "Your friends cannot save you now.
Prepare to--er--come a walk up the hill with me."

"Help! Help!" Whispered Myra. She hesitated a moment; then swung herself
out of the hammock and went in for her hat.

We climbed up a steep path which led to the rock-village above us.
Simpson had told us that we must see the village; still more earnestly he
had begged us to see Corsica. The view of Corsica was to be obtained from
a point some miles up--too far to go before lunch.

"However, we can always say we saw it," I reassured Myra. "From this
distance you can't be certain of recognizing an island you don't know.
Any small cloud on the horizon will do."

"I know it on the map."

"Yes, but it looks quite different in real life. The great thing is to be
able to assure Simpson at lunch that the Corsican question is now closed.
When we're a little higher up, I shall say, 'Surely that's Corsica?' and
you'll say, 'Not _Corsica_?' as though you'd rather expected the Isle of
Wight; and then it'll be all over. Hallo!"

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