Epilogue + 

Being a Mere Postscript Addressed to Those Who Insist Upon Having All the Latest News + 

No, Susie has not married Inigo. On the other hand, she has not married anybody else. There have been times when rumours and little paragraphs in the gossip columns have sent Inigo flying round to see her (not that he is not always seeing her), but she has laughed and told him not to be silly. Once, it is true, there was real danger‚ÅÝ‚Äîfor, after all, nobody can deny that Sir Douglas Heath-Watchett is an extremely attractive young man‚ÅÝ‚Äîand that was the time when poor Inigo, convinced that all was lost, fled to Norway and tried to fish. He returned, however, to find Susie still laughing and Sir Douglas booking a passage to Florida, where there are fish even larger than those in Norway. Susie says she is too young to marry yet and that life is too amusing. When she finds herself on the point of being relegated to minor parts or, alternatively, when there is no more fun in being a star comedienne with a huge and rapturous public of her own, then, she declares, she will grab the first nice man she sees and hurl him into the nearest registry office. No doubt Inigo will contrive to be that man. + 

He has the best chance, for he sees her almost every other day, and they go here, there, and everywhere together. Both of them‚ÅÝ‚Äîas everybody should realize by this time‚ÅÝ‚Äîmake absurdly large sums of money. Susie talks gravely enough about her salary, being nothing if not a child of the theatre, but to Inigo the whole thing is still an elaborate joke. He watches with droll amazement the rising tide of performing fees, sheet music royalties, gramophone royalties, and so forth. Mr.¬ÝPitsner still seems a quite unreal person, and Inigo would never be very surprised if the money Mr.¬ÝPitsner hands over suddenly melted into thin air or turned, like fairy gold, into a heap of withered leaves on the bank counter. It is incredible that he should make so much money out of what seems to him a mere parlour trick. His writing, however, is a very serious business. He has published a volume of essays, so sternly literary that it is almost impossible to read them, entitled The Last Knapsack and Other Papers. The only copy ever seen is in Miss Dean‚Äôs dressing-room. She pretends to laugh at it, but in secret she is rather proud of the fact that it is dedicated ‚ÄúTo Susie, the Best Companion,‚Äù and she is determined to read it all through, one day. Inigo says that the book has had such a poor sale simply because he was foolish enough to publish it at his own expense. The next book, now in preparation, is to be brought out at the expense of the publisher, who will then be compelled, Inigo declares, to make everybody read it. + 

Sometimes, but chiefly in the way of business, they meet Jerry Jerningham, who is, perhaps, rather plumper than he was, in spite of diet and massage and exercises. He is, of course, one of the most successful young men on the light musical stage. Now that he has triumphantly acquired an American accent, a perpetual reminder of his season on Broadway, he is busy building his own theatre. The fact that it is to have no pit is desolating many of the outer suburbs. Mrs.¬ÝJerningham is not a public figure, and, indeed, is rarely seen these days. Now and then, however, she lunches with Susie, who listens very sympathetically to an account of all her troubles. This account is always liberally punctuated with the cry: ‚ÄúBut don‚Äôt think for a moment, my dear, that I‚Äôm sorry I married him.‚Äù + 

Jimmy Nunn, Joe, and Mrs.¬ÝJoe are still in concert-party work, and lately concluded a successful season with ‚ÄúThe Red Revellers‚Äù at either Rhyl or Llandudno. Jimmy‚Äôs digestion is beginning to trouble him again, and he admits that he is not as young as he was, so that the sooner he is able to run a little show of his own, the better. There is some talk of his managing it this coming season. George is still something of a charge on his parents, being apprenticed to the motor trade, but very soon he will be earning his own living, and then Joe and Mrs.¬ÝJoe will‚ÅÝ‚Äîas they say‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äúlook about for something.‚Äù What that something will be they have not yet quite decided. Joe still favours a seaside hotel, and Elsie Dulver, who saw them at Eastbeach, has promised her assistance in finding one, and Inigo and Susie have both offered them a substantial loan. Mr.¬ÝMorton Mitcham is no longer a performer‚ÅÝ‚Äîhe has gone into management‚ÅÝ‚Äîat least, that is how he puts it‚ÅÝ‚Äîthough actually he is nothing more nor less than the manager of the pier at‚ÅÝ‚Äîwhere do you think?‚ÅÝ‚Äîwhy, of all places, Sandybay. He is now one of the figures of the town, and is forever discovering old acquaintances from the East among the anglers who drink Scotch every morning and evening in the little bar at the end of the pier. He is regarded with something like awe by every younger member of a visiting troupe, because it appears it was he and no other who discovered Susie Dean and Jerry Jerningham, and those who doubt his word are invited to call at his lodgings and see for themselves certain bills, programmes, and photographs. + 

The McFarlanes have settled in Edinburgh, where Hugh has a fine practice and also lectures grimly at the University from time to time. He has published a very small book with an enormous title‚ÅÝ‚Äîit begins with Some Observations on the Parathyroid Glands, and then goes on and on, With Special Reference, and so forth‚ÅÝ‚Äîand Paris and Vienna think there is something in it, whereas Leipzig and Chicago are not very sure. Mrs.¬ÝMcFarlane is even less certain, but, on the other hand, is positive that though Hugh is doing far too much, he is looking much better than he did, don‚Äôt you think? I am sorry to say that Mrs.¬ÝMcFarlane, though the wife of one of Edinburgh‚Äôs most respected citizens and the delighted mother of two small and very fat boys, has a secret vice. Now and again she likes to sneak away, buy The Stage, and devour it in a corner. If you went in very quickly, you might easily catch her one day, smiling at the advertisements: ‚ÄúWanted Known.‚ÅÝ‚Ää‚Å݂Ķ A Riot at Little Sandmouth, last‚ÅÝ‚Ää‚Å݂Ķ‚Äù Sometimes Hugh has to go up to London, and then she tears herself away from the fat little boys and accompanies him, and then she sees Susie and Inigo and perhaps watches Jerry‚Äôs beautiful capers from a stall. There are letters, too, of course. Incidentally, it is surprising what letters Mrs.¬ÝJoe can write. The matter is humble enough‚ÅÝ‚Äîthe old stories of pier pavilion audiences, queer lodgings, and Sunday trains‚ÅÝ‚Äîbut the penmanship is at once flowing and exquisite, and the style worthy of Lord Chesterfield himself. I do not say that Mrs.¬ÝJoe always writes like this, but those are the sort of letters Mrs.¬ÝMcFarlane receives from her, once in a while. + 

Then there is Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, far away in Canada, or, to be exact, at Pittford Falls, Ontario. Here we come to a difficulty. The trouble is that nobody has been out to Canada and that any news of him can only trickle through those craggy little letters of his. It is certain that he is a very proud grandfather, that he and his son-in-law, Jack Clough, are now running some good, solid tradesman-like business of their own, and that everybody there is very well, thank you. I know that Mr.¬ÝOakroyd does not live with his daughter, but has a little place of his own just down the road, where he can smoke a pipe over his three-week-old copy of the Saturday sports edition of the Bruddersford Evening Express, which is sent out to him regularly by S. Oglethorpe, Town End, Wabley, Yorks. Moreover, I gather that Pittford Falls regard him as a man with vast theatrical experience and a topographical authority on the Mother Country. The photographs that Susie sent out, and the box of gramophone records, including ‚ÄúSlippin‚Äô Round the Corner‚Äù sung and played in half a dozen different ways, that Inigo gave him, these things have only confirmed and increased his reputation. There is no doubt that he is enjoying life, but apparently there are drawbacks. Thus it seems that Pittford Falls has a nasty trick of being either too hot or too cold; there are no cosy little public-houses, and the club that he has joined is not really an adequate substitute; the tobacco is too sweet, not a patch on Old Salt; stoves are not up to much when you have been used to sitting in front of a kitchen range, where there has been a bit of baking going on, perhaps, during the day; and there is a queer, empty look about the place. For some time now, I hear, they have been planning a trip to the Old Country, and Mr.¬ÝOakroyd admits that he longs for a sight of good old Bruddersford. Whether he is as happy there as he thought he would be I do not know, though not for the world would he venture far from Lily and the two children, for they are all forever having ‚Äúa bit o‚Äô fun.‚Äù We must leave it at that. In this place, whether we call it Bruddersford or Pittford Falls, perfection is not to be found, neither in men nor in the lot they are offered, to say nothing of the tales we tell of them, these hints and guesses, words in the air and gesticulating shadows, these stumbling chronicles of a dream of life. + 