Fur

"Fur" by Hector Hugh Munro, better known by his pen name Saki, is a short story that blends humor and social commentary. Set in Edwardian England, it follows the encounter between a young woman and an eccentric man who takes advantage of a snowstorm to engage her in a conversation that reveals both his peculiar views and her underlying desires. The narrative explores themes of identity, societal conventions, and the complexity of human relationships, all delivered with Saki's signature wit and irony. The story is a prime example of Saki's ability to illuminate the quirks of human behavior within a concise and engaging framework.

• Short story

								
“You look worried, dear,” said Eleanor.

“I am worried,” admitted Suzanne; “not worried exactly, but anxious.  You
see, my birthday happens next week—”

“You lucky person,” interrupted Eleanor; “my birthday doesn’t come till
the end of March.”

“Well, old Bertram Kneyght is over in England just now from the
Argentine.  He’s a kind of distant cousin of my mother’s, and so
enormously rich that we’ve never let the relationship drop out of sight.
Even if we don’t see him or hear from him for years he is always Cousin
Bertram when he does turn up.  I can’t say he’s ever been of much solid
use to us, but yesterday the subject of my birthday cropped up, and he
asked me to let him know what I wanted for a present.”

“Now I understand the anxiety,” observed Eleanor.

“As a rule when one is confronted with a problem like that,” said
Suzanne, “all one’s ideas vanish; one doesn’t seem to have a desire in
the world.  Now it so happens that I have been very keen on a little
Dresden figure that I saw somewhere in Kensington; about thirty-six
shillings, quite beyond my means.  I was very nearly describing the
figure, and giving Bertram the address of the shop.  And then it suddenly
struck me that thirty-six shillings was such a ridiculously inadequate
sum for a man of his immense wealth to spend on a birthday present.  He
could give thirty-six pounds as easily as you or I could buy a bunch of
violets.  I don’t want to be greedy, of course, but I don’t like being
wasteful.”

“The question is,” said Eleanor, “what are his ideas as to
present-giving?  Some of the wealthiest people have curiously cramped
views on that subject.  When people grow gradually rich their
requirements and standard of living expand in proportion, while their
present-giving instincts often remain in the undeveloped condition of
their earlier days.  Something showy and not-too-expensive in a shop is
their only conception of the ideal gift.  That is why even quite good
shops have their counters and windows crowded with things worth about
four shillings that look as if they might be worth seven-and-six, and are
priced at ten shillings and labelled seasonable gifts.’”

“I know,” said Suzanne; “that is why it is so risky to be vague when one
is giving indications of one’s wants.  Now if I say to him: ‘I am going
out to Davos this winter, so anything in the travelling line would be
acceptable,’ he might give me a dressing-bag with gold-mounted fittings,
but, on the other hand, he might give me Baedeker’s Switzerland, or
‘Skiing without Tears,’ or something of that sort.”

“He would be more likely to say: ‘She’ll be going to lots of dances, a
fan will be sure to be useful.’”

“Yes, and I’ve got tons of fans, so you see where the danger and anxiety
lies.  Now if there is one thing more than another that I really urgently
want it is furs.  I simply haven’t any.  I’m told that Davos is full of
Russians, and they are sure to wear the most lovely sables and things.
To be among people who are smothered in furs when one hasn’t any oneself
makes one want to break most of the Commandments.”

“If it’s furs that you’re out for,” said Eleanor, “you will have to
superintend the choice of them in person.  You can’t be sure that your
cousin knows the difference between silver-fox and ordinary squirrel.”

“There are some heavenly silver-fox stoles at Goliath and Mastodon’s,”
said Suzanne, with a sigh; “if I could only inveigle Bertram into their
building and take him for a stroll through the fur department!”

“He lives somewhere near there, doesn’t he?” said Eleanor.  “Do you know
what his habits are?  Does he take a walk at any particular time of day?”

“He usually walks down to his club about three o’clock, if it’s a fine
day.  That takes him right past Goliath and Mastodon’s.”

“Let us two meet him accidentally at the street corner to-morrow,” said
Eleanor; “we can walk a little way with him, and with luck we ought to be
able to side-track him into the shop.  You can say you want to get a
hair-net or something.  When we’re safely there I can say: ‘I wish you’d
tell me what you want for your birthday.’  Then you’ll have everything
ready to hand—the rich cousin, the fur department, and the topic of
birthday presents.”

“It’s a great idea,” said Suzanne; “you really are a brick.  Come round
to-morrow at twenty to three; don’t be late, we must carry out our ambush
to the minute.”

At a few minutes to three the next afternoon the fur-trappers walked
warily towards the selected corner.  In the near distance rose the
colossal pile of Messrs.  Goliath and Mastodon’s famed establishment.
The afternoon was brilliantly fine, exactly the sort of weather to tempt
a gentleman of advancing years into the discreet exercise of a leisurely
walk.

“I say, dear, I wish you’d do something for me this evening,” said
Eleanor to her companion; “just drop in after dinner on some pretext or
other, and stay on to make a fourth at bridge with Adela and the aunts.
Otherwise I shall have to play, and Harry Scarisbrooke is going to come
in unexpectedly about nine-fifteen, and I particularly want to be free to
talk to him while the others are playing.”

“Sorry, my dear, no can do,” said Suzanne; “ordinary bridge at
three-pence a hundred, with such dreadfully slow players as your aunts,
bores me to tears.  I nearly go to sleep over it.”

“But I most particularly want an opportunity to talk with Harry,” urged
Eleanor, an angry glint coming into her eyes.

“Sorry, anything to oblige, but not that,” said Suzanne cheerfully; the
sacrifices of friendship were beautiful in her eyes as long as she was
not asked to make them.

Eleanor said nothing further on the subject, but the corners of her mouth
rearranged themselves.

“There’s our man!” exclaimed Suzanne suddenly; “hurry!”

Mr. Bertram Kneyght greeted his cousin and her friend with genuine
heartiness, and readily accepted their invitation to explore the crowded
mart that stood temptingly at their elbow.  The plate-glass doors swung
open and the trio plunged bravely into the jostling throng of buyers and
loiterers.

“Is it always as full as this?” asked Bertram of Eleanor.

“More or less, and autumn sales are on just now,” she replied.

Suzanne, in her anxiety to pilot her cousin to the desired haven of the
fur department, was usually a few paces ahead of the others, coming back
to them now and then if they lingered for a moment at some attractive
counter, with the nervous solicitude of a parent rook encouraging its
young ones on their first flying expedition.

“It’s Suzanne’s birthday on Wednesday next,” confided Eleanor to Bertram
Kneyght at a moment when Suzanne had left them unusually far behind; “my
birthday comes the day before, so we are both on the look-out for
something to give each other.”

“Ah,” said Bertram.  “Now, perhaps you can advise me on that very point.
I want to give Suzanne something, and I haven’t the least idea what she
wants.”

“She’s rather a problem,” said Eleanor.  “She seems to have everything

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