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diff --git a/8164-h/8164-h.htm b/8164-h/8164-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7df538a --- /dev/null +++ b/8164-h/8164-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11223 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + My Man Jeeves | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> /* <![CDATA[ */ + + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: 90%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.center {text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.right {text-align: right; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +div.fig { display:block; + margin:0 auto; + text-align:center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em;} + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of My Man Jeeves, by P. G. Wodehouse</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: My Man Jeeves</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: P. G. Wodehouse</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: June 24, 2003 [eBook #8164]<br> +[Most recently updated: February 6, 2024]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Suzanne L. Shell, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MY MAN JEEVES ***</div> + +<div class="fig" style="width:55%;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" style="width:100%;" alt="[Illustration]"> +</div> + +<h1>My Man Jeeves</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">by P. G. Wodehouse</h2> + +<h3>1919</h3> + +<hr> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">LEAVE IT TO JEEVES</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">JEEVES AND THE UNBIDDEN GUEST</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">JEEVES AND THE HARD-BOILED EGG</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">ABSENT TREATMENT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">HELPING FREDDIE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">RALLYING ROUND OLD GEORGE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">DOING CLARENCE A BIT OF GOOD</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">THE AUNT AND THE SLUGGARD</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>LEAVE IT TO JEEVES</h2> + +<p> +Jeeves—my man, you know—is really a most extraordinary chap. So +capable. Honestly, I shouldn’t know what to do without him. On broader +lines he’s like those chappies who sit peering sadly over the marble +battlements at the Pennsylvania Station in the place marked +“Inquiries.” You know the Johnnies I mean. You go up to them and +say: “When’s the next train for Melonsquashville, Tennessee?” +and they reply, without stopping to think, “Two-forty-three, track ten, +change at San Francisco.” And they’re right every time. Well, +Jeeves gives you just the same impression of omniscience. +</p> + +<p> +As an instance of what I mean, I remember meeting Monty Byng in Bond Street one +morning, looking the last word in a grey check suit, and I felt I should never +be happy till I had one like it. I dug the address of the tailors out of him, +and had them working on the thing inside the hour. +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves,” I said that evening. “I’m getting a check +suit like that one of Mr. Byng’s.” +</p> + +<p> +“Injudicious, sir,” he said firmly. “It will not become +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“What absolute rot! It’s the soundest thing I’ve struck for +years.” +</p> + +<p> +“Unsuitable for you, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Well, the long and the short of it was that the confounded thing came home, and +I put it on, and when I caught sight of myself in the glass I nearly swooned. +Jeeves was perfectly right. I looked a cross between a music-hall comedian and +a cheap bookie. Yet Monty had looked fine in absolutely the same stuff. These +things are just Life’s mysteries, and that’s all there is to it. +</p> + +<p> +But it isn’t only that Jeeves’s judgment about clothes is +infallible, though, of course, that’s really the main thing. The man +knows everything. There was the matter of that tip on the +“Lincolnshire.” I forget now how I got it, but it had the aspect of +being the real, red-hot tabasco. +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves,” I said, for I’m fond of the man, and like to do him +a good turn when I can, “if you want to make a bit of money have +something on Wonderchild for the ‘Lincolnshire.’” +</p> + +<p> +He shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d rather not, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it’s the straight goods. I’m going to put my shirt on +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not recommend it, sir. The animal is not intended to win. Second +place is what the stable is after.” +</p> + +<p> +Perfect piffle, I thought, of course. How the deuce could Jeeves know anything +about it? Still, you know what happened. Wonderchild led till he was breathing +on the wire, and then Banana Fritter came along and nosed him out. I went +straight home and rang for Jeeves. +</p> + +<p> +“After this,” I said, “not another step for me without your +advice. From now on consider yourself the brains of the establishment.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir. I shall endeavour to give satisfaction.” +</p> + +<p> +And he has, by Jove! I’m a bit short on brain myself; the old bean would +appear to have been constructed more for ornament than for use, don’t you +know; but give me five minutes to talk the thing over with Jeeves, and +I’m game to advise any one about anything. And that’s why, when +Bruce Corcoran came to me with his troubles, my first act was to ring the bell +and put it up to the lad with the bulging forehead. +</p> + +<p> +“Leave it to Jeeves,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +I first got to know Corky when I came to New York. He was a pal of my cousin +Gussie, who was in with a lot of people down Washington Square way. I +don’t know if I ever told you about it, but the reason why I left England +was because I was sent over by my Aunt Agatha to try to stop young Gussie +marrying a girl on the vaudeville stage, and I got the whole thing so mixed up +that I decided that it would be a sound scheme for me to stop on in America for +a bit instead of going back and having long cosy chats about the thing with +aunt. So I sent Jeeves out to find a decent apartment, and settled down for a +bit of exile. I’m bound to say that New York’s a topping place to +be exiled in. Everybody was awfully good to me, and there seemed to be plenty +of things going on, and I’m a wealthy bird, so everything was fine. +Chappies introduced me to other chappies, and so on and so forth, and it +wasn’t long before I knew squads of the right sort, some who rolled in +dollars in houses up by the Park, and others who lived with the gas turned down +mostly around Washington Square—artists and writers and so forth. Brainy +coves. +</p> + +<p> +Corky was one of the artists. A portrait-painter, he called himself, but he +hadn’t painted any portraits. He was sitting on the side-lines with a +blanket over his shoulders, waiting for a chance to get into the game. You see, +the catch about portrait-painting—I’ve looked into the thing a +bit—is that you can’t start painting portraits till people come +along and ask you to, and they won’t come and ask you to until +you’ve painted a lot first. This makes it kind of difficult for a +chappie. Corky managed to get along by drawing an occasional picture for the +comic papers—he had rather a gift for funny stuff when he got a good +idea—and doing bedsteads and chairs and things for the advertisements. +His principal source of income, however, was derived from biting the ear of a +rich uncle—one Alexander Worple, who was in the jute business. I’m +a bit foggy as to what jute is, but it’s apparently something the +populace is pretty keen on, for Mr. Worple had made quite an indecently large +stack out of it. +</p> + +<p> +Now, a great many fellows think that having a rich uncle is a pretty soft snap: +but, according to Corky, such is not the case. Corky’s uncle was a robust +sort of cove, who looked like living for ever. He was fifty-one, and it seemed +as if he might go to par. It was not this, however, that distressed poor old +Corky, for he was not bigoted and had no objection to the man going on living. +What Corky kicked at was the way the above Worple used to harry him. +</p> + +<p> +Corky’s uncle, you see, didn’t want him to be an artist. He +didn’t think he had any talent in that direction. He was always urging +him to chuck Art and go into the jute business and start at the bottom and work +his way up. Jute had apparently become a sort of obsession with him. He seemed +to attach almost a spiritual importance to it. And what Corky said was that, +while he didn’t know what they did at the bottom of the jute business, +instinct told him that it was something too beastly for words. Corky, moreover, +believed in his future as an artist. Some day, he said, he was going to make a +hit. Meanwhile, by using the utmost tact and persuasiveness, he was inducing +his uncle to cough up very grudgingly a small quarterly allowance. +</p> + +<p> +He wouldn’t have got this if his uncle hadn’t had a hobby. Mr. +Worple was peculiar in this respect. As a rule, from what I’ve observed, +the American captain of industry doesn’t do anything out of business +hours. When he has put the cat out and locked up the office for the night, he +just relapses into a state of coma from which he emerges only to start being a +captain of industry again. But Mr. Worple in his spare time was what is known +as an ornithologist. He had written a book called <i>American Birds</i>, and +was writing another, to be called <i>More American Birds</i>. When he had +finished that, the presumption was that he would begin a third, and keep on +till the supply of American birds gave out. Corky used to go to him about once +every three months and let him talk about American birds. Apparently you could +do what you liked with old Worple if you gave him his head first on his pet +subject, so these little chats used to make Corky’s allowance all right +for the time being. But it was pretty rotten for the poor chap. There was the +frightful suspense, you see, and, apart from that, birds, except when broiled +and in the society of a cold bottle, bored him stiff. +</p> + +<p> +To complete the character-study of Mr. Worple, he was a man of extremely +uncertain temper, and his general tendency was to think that Corky was a poor +chump and that whatever step he took in any direction on his own account, was +just another proof of his innate idiocy. I should imagine Jeeves feels very +much the same about me. +</p> + +<p> +So when Corky trickled into my apartment one afternoon, shooing a girl in front +of him, and said, “Bertie, I want you to meet my fiancée, Miss +Singer,” the aspect of the matter which hit me first was precisely the +one which he had come to consult me about. The very first words I spoke were, +“Corky, how about your uncle?” +</p> + +<p> +The poor chap gave one of those mirthless laughs. He was looking anxious and +worried, like a man who has done the murder all right but can’t think +what the deuce to do with the body. +</p> + +<p> +“We’re so scared, Mr. Wooster,” said the girl. “We were +hoping that you might suggest a way of breaking it to him.” +</p> + +<p> +Muriel Singer was one of those very quiet, appealing girls who have a way of +looking at you with their big eyes as if they thought you were the greatest +thing on earth and wondered that you hadn’t got on to it yet yourself. +She sat there in a sort of shrinking way, looking at me as if she were saying +to herself, “Oh, I do hope this great strong man isn’t going to +hurt me.” She gave a fellow a protective kind of feeling, made him want +to stroke her hand and say, “There, there, little one!” or words to +that effect. She made me feel that there was nothing I wouldn’t do for +her. She was rather like one of those innocent-tasting American drinks which +creep imperceptibly into your system so that, before you know what you’re +doing, you’re starting out to reform the world by force if necessary and +pausing on your way to tell the large man in the corner that, if he looks at +you like that, you will knock his head off. What I mean is, she made me feel +alert and dashing, like a jolly old knight-errant or something of that kind. I +felt that I was with her in this thing to the limit. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see why your uncle shouldn’t be most awfully +bucked,” I said to Corky. “He will think Miss Singer the ideal wife +for you.” +</p> + +<p> +Corky declined to cheer up. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t know him. Even if he did like Muriel he wouldn’t +admit it. That’s the sort of pig-headed guy he is. It would be a matter +of principle with him to kick. All he would consider would be that I had gone +and taken an important step without asking his advice, and he would raise Cain +automatically. He’s always done it.” +</p> + +<p> +I strained the old bean to meet this emergency. +</p> + +<p> +“You want to work it so that he makes Miss Singer’s acquaintance +without knowing that you know her. Then you come along——” +</p> + +<p> +“But how can I work it that way?” +</p> + +<p> +I saw his point. That was the catch. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s only one thing to do,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Leave it to Jeeves.” +</p> + +<p> +And I rang the bell. +</p> + +<p> +“Sir?” said Jeeves, kind of manifesting himself. One of the rummy +things about Jeeves is that, unless you watch like a hawk, you very seldom see +him come into a room. He’s like one of those weird chappies in India who +dissolve themselves into thin air and nip through space in a sort of +disembodied way and assemble the parts again just where they want them. +I’ve got a cousin who’s what they call a Theosophist, and he says +he’s often nearly worked the thing himself, but couldn’t quite +bring it off, probably owing to having fed in his boyhood on the flesh of +animals slain in anger and pie. +</p> + +<p> +The moment I saw the man standing there, registering respectful attention, a +weight seemed to roll off my mind. I felt like a lost child who spots his +father in the offing. There was something about him that gave me confidence. +</p> + +<p> +Jeeves is a tallish man, with one of those dark, shrewd faces. His eye gleams +with the light of pure intelligence. +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves, we want your advice.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +I boiled down Corky’s painful case into a few well-chosen words. +</p> + +<p> +“So you see what it amount to, Jeeves. We want you to suggest some way by +which Mr. Worple can make Miss Singer’s acquaintance without getting on +to the fact that Mr. Corcoran already knows her. Understand?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perfectly, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, try to think of something.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have thought of something already, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have!” +</p> + +<p> +“The scheme I would suggest cannot fail of success, but it has what may +seem to you a drawback, sir, in that it requires a certain financial +outlay.” +</p> + +<p> +“He means,” I translated to Corky, “that he has got a pippin +of an idea, but it’s going to cost a bit.” +</p> + +<p> +Naturally the poor chap’s face dropped, for this seemed to dish the whole +thing. But I was still under the influence of the girl’s melting gaze, +and I saw that this was where I started in as a knight-errant. +</p> + +<p> +“You can count on me for all that sort of thing, Corky,” I said. +“Only too glad. Carry on, Jeeves.” +</p> + +<p> +“I would suggest, sir, that Mr. Corcoran take advantage of Mr. +Worple’s attachment to ornithology.” +</p> + +<p> +“How on earth did you know that he was fond of birds?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is the way these New York apartments are constructed, sir. Quite +unlike our London houses. The partitions between the rooms are of the flimsiest +nature. With no wish to overhear, I have sometimes heard Mr. Corcoran +expressing himself with a generous strength on the subject I have +mentioned.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why should not the young lady write a small volume, to be +entitled—let us say—<i>The Children’s Book of American +Birds</i>, and dedicate it to Mr. Worple! A limited edition could be published +at your expense, sir, and a great deal of the book would, of course, be given +over to eulogistic remarks concerning Mr. Worple’s own larger treatise on +the same subject. I should recommend the dispatching of a presentation copy to +Mr. Worple, immediately on publication, accompanied by a letter in which the +young lady asks to be allowed to make the acquaintance of one to whom she owes +so much. This would, I fancy, produce the desired result, but as I say, the +expense involved would be considerable.” +</p> + +<p> +I felt like the proprietor of a performing dog on the vaudeville stage when the +tyke has just pulled off his trick without a hitch. I had betted on Jeeves all +along, and I had known that he wouldn’t let me down. It beats me +sometimes why a man with his genius is satisfied to hang around pressing my +clothes and what-not. If I had half Jeeves’s brain, I should have a stab +at being Prime Minister or something. +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves,” I said, “that is absolutely ripping! One of your +very best efforts.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl made an objection. +</p> + +<p> +“But I’m sure I couldn’t write a book about anything. I +can’t even write good letters.” +</p> + +<p> +“Muriel’s talents,” said Corky, with a little cough +“lie more in the direction of the drama, Bertie. I didn’t mention +it before, but one of our reasons for being a trifle nervous as to how Uncle +Alexander will receive the news is that Muriel is in the chorus of that show +<i>Choose your Exit</i> at the Manhattan. It’s absurdly unreasonable, but +we both feel that that fact might increase Uncle Alexander’s natural +tendency to kick like a steer.” +</p> + +<p> +I saw what he meant. Goodness knows there was fuss enough in our family when I +tried to marry into musical comedy a few years ago. And the recollection of my +Aunt Agatha’s attitude in the matter of Gussie and the vaudeville girl +was still fresh in my mind. I don’t know why it is—one of these +psychology sharps could explain it, I suppose—but uncles and aunts, as a +class, are always dead against the drama, legitimate or otherwise. They +don’t seem able to stick it at any price. +</p> + +<p> +But Jeeves had a solution, of course. +</p> + +<p> +“I fancy it would be a simple matter, sir, to find some impecunious +author who would be glad to do the actual composition of the volume for a small +fee. It is only necessary that the young lady’s name should appear on the +title page.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s true,” said Corky. “Sam Patterson would do it +for a hundred dollars. He writes a novelette, three short stories, and ten +thousand words of a serial for one of the all-fiction magazines under different +names every month. A little thing like this would be nothing to him. I’ll +get after him right away.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fine!” +</p> + +<p> +“Will that be all, sir?” said Jeeves. “Very good, sir. Thank +you, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +I always used to think that publishers had to be devilish intelligent fellows, +loaded down with the grey matter; but I’ve got their number now. All a +publisher has to do is to write cheques at intervals, while a lot of deserving +and industrious chappies rally round and do the real work. I know, because +I’ve been one myself. I simply sat tight in the old apartment with a +fountain-pen, and in due season a topping, shiny book came along. +</p> + +<p> +I happened to be down at Corky’s place when the first copies of <i>The +Children’s Book of American Birds</i> bobbed up. Muriel Singer was there, +and we were talking of things in general when there was a bang at the door and +the parcel was delivered. +</p> + +<p> +It was certainly some book. It had a red cover with a fowl of some species on +it, and underneath the girl’s name in gold letters. I opened a copy at +random. +</p> + +<p> +“Often of a spring morning,” it said at the top of page twenty-one, +“as you wander through the fields, you will hear the sweet-toned, +carelessly flowing warble of the purple finch linnet. When you are older you +must read all about him in Mr. Alexander Worple’s wonderful +book—<i>American Birds</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +You see. A boost for the uncle right away. And only a few pages later there he +was in the limelight again in connection with the yellow-billed cuckoo. It was +great stuff. The more I read, the more I admired the chap who had written it +and Jeeves’s genius in putting us on to the wheeze. I didn’t see +how the uncle could fail to drop. You can’t call a chap the world’s +greatest authority on the yellow-billed cuckoo without rousing a certain +disposition towards chumminess in him. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a cert!” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“An absolute cinch!” said Corky. +</p> + +<p> +And a day or two later he meandered up the Avenue to my apartment to tell me +that all was well. The uncle had written Muriel a letter so dripping with the +milk of human kindness that if he hadn’t known Mr. Worple’s +handwriting Corky would have refused to believe him the author of it. Any time +it suited Miss Singer to call, said the uncle, he would be delighted to make +her acquaintance. +</p> + +<p> +Shortly after this I had to go out of town. Divers sound sportsmen had invited +me to pay visits to their country places, and it wasn’t for several +months that I settled down in the city again. I had been wondering a lot, of +course, about Corky, whether it all turned out right, and so forth, and my +first evening in New York, happening to pop into a quiet sort of little +restaurant which I go to when I don’t feel inclined for the bright +lights, I found Muriel Singer there, sitting by herself at a table near the +door. Corky, I took it, was out telephoning. I went up and passed the time of +day. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well, well, what?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Mr. Wooster! How do you do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Corky around?” +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re waiting for Corky, aren’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I didn’t understand. No, I’m not waiting for him.” +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to me that there was a sort of something in her voice, a kind of +thingummy, you know. +</p> + +<p> +“I say, you haven’t had a row with Corky, have you?” +</p> + +<p> +“A row?” +</p> + +<p> +“A spat, don’t you know—little misunderstanding—faults +on both sides—er—and all that sort of thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, whatever makes you think that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, well, as it were, what? What I mean is—I thought you usually +dined with him before you went to the theatre.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve left the stage now.” +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly the whole thing dawned on me. I had forgotten what a long time I had +been away. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, of course, I see now! You’re married!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“How perfectly topping! I wish you all kinds of happiness.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, so much. Oh Alexander,” she said, looking past me, +“this is a friend of mine—Mr. Wooster.” +</p> + +<p> +I spun round. A chappie with a lot of stiff grey hair and a red sort of healthy +face was standing there. Rather a formidable Johnnie, he looked, though quite +peaceful at the moment. +</p> + +<p> +“I want you to meet my husband, Mr. Wooster. Mr. Wooster is a friend of +Bruce’s, Alexander.” +</p> + +<p> +The old boy grasped my hand warmly, and that was all that kept me from hitting +the floor in a heap. The place was rocking. Absolutely. +</p> + +<p> +“So you know my nephew, Mr. Wooster,” I heard him say. “I +wish you would try to knock a little sense into him and make him quit this +playing at painting. But I have an idea that he is steadying down. I noticed it +first that night he came to dinner with us, my dear, to be introduced to you. +He seemed altogether quieter and more serious. Something seemed to have sobered +him. Perhaps you will give us the pleasure of your company at dinner to-night, +Mr. Wooster? Or have you dined?” +</p> + +<p> +I said I had. What I needed then was air, not dinner. I felt that I wanted to +get into the open and think this thing out. +</p> + +<p> +When I reached my apartment I heard Jeeves moving about in his lair. I called +him. +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves,” I said, “now is the time for all good men to come +to the aid of the party. A stiff b.-and-s. first of all, and then I’ve a +bit of news for you.” +</p> + +<p> +He came back with a tray and a long glass. +</p> + +<p> +“Better have one yourself, Jeeves. You’ll need it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Later on, perhaps, thank you, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right. Please yourself. But you’re going to get a shock. You +remember my friend, Mr. Corcoran?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the girl who was to slide gracefully into his uncle’s esteem +by writing the book on birds?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perfectly, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, she’s slid. She’s married the uncle.” +</p> + +<p> +He took it without blinking. You can’t rattle Jeeves. +</p> + +<p> +“That was always a development to be feared, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t mean to tell me that you were expecting it?” +</p> + +<p> +“It crossed my mind as a possibility.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did it, by Jove! Well, I think, you might have warned us!” +</p> + +<p> +“I hardly liked to take the liberty, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Of course, as I saw after I had had a bite to eat and was in a calmer frame of +mind, what had happened wasn’t my fault, if you come down to it. I +couldn’t be expected to foresee that the scheme, in itself a +cracker-jack, would skid into the ditch as it had done; but all the same +I’m bound to admit that I didn’t relish the idea of meeting Corky +again until time, the great healer, had been able to get in a bit of soothing +work. I cut Washington Square out absolutely for the next few months. I gave it +the complete miss-in-baulk. And then, just when I was beginning to think I +might safely pop down in that direction and gather up the dropped threads, so +to speak, time, instead of working the healing wheeze, went and pulled the most +awful bone and put the lid on it. Opening the paper one morning, I read that +Mrs. Alexander Worple had presented her husband with a son and heir. +</p> + +<p> +I was so darned sorry for poor old Corky that I hadn’t the heart to touch +my breakfast. I told Jeeves to drink it himself. I was bowled over. Absolutely. +It was the limit. +</p> + +<p> +I hardly knew what to do. I wanted, of course, to rush down to Washington +Square and grip the poor blighter silently by the hand; and then, thinking it +over, I hadn’t the nerve. Absent treatment seemed the touch. I gave it +him in waves. +</p> + +<p> +But after a month or so I began to hesitate again. It struck me that it was +playing it a bit low-down on the poor chap, avoiding him like this just when he +probably wanted his pals to surge round him most. I pictured him sitting in his +lonely studio with no company but his bitter thoughts, and the pathos of it got +me to such an extent that I bounded straight into a taxi and told the driver to +go all out for the studio. +</p> + +<p> +I rushed in, and there was Corky, hunched up at the easel, painting away, while +on the model throne sat a severe-looking female of middle age, holding a baby. +</p> + +<p> +A fellow has to be ready for that sort of thing. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, ah!” I said, and started to back out. +</p> + +<p> +Corky looked over his shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Halloa, Bertie. Don’t go. We’re just finishing for the day. +That will be all this afternoon,” he said to the nurse, who got up with +the baby and decanted it into a perambulator which was standing in the fairway. +</p> + +<p> +“At the same hour to-morrow, Mr. Corcoran?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, please.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good afternoon.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good afternoon.” +</p> + +<p> +Corky stood there, looking at the door, and then he turned to me and began to +get it off his chest. Fortunately, he seemed to take it for granted that I knew +all about what had happened, so it wasn’t as awkward as it might have +been. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s my uncle’s idea,” he said. “Muriel +doesn’t know about it yet. The portrait’s to be a surprise for her +on her birthday. The nurse takes the kid out ostensibly to get a breather, and +they beat it down here. If you want an instance of the irony of fate, Bertie, +get acquainted with this. Here’s the first commission I have ever had to +paint a portrait, and the sitter is that human poached egg that has butted in +and bounced me out of my inheritance. Can you beat it! I call it rubbing the +thing in to expect me to spend my afternoons gazing into the ugly face of a +little brat who to all intents and purposes has hit me behind the ear with a +blackjack and swiped all I possess. I can’t refuse to paint the portrait +because if I did my uncle would stop my allowance; yet every time I look up and +catch that kid’s vacant eye, I suffer agonies. I tell you, Bertie, +sometimes when he gives me a patronizing glance and then turns away and is +sick, as if it revolted him to look at me, I come within an ace of occupying +the entire front page of the evening papers as the latest murder sensation. +There are moments when I can almost see the headlines: ‘Promising Young +Artist Beans Baby With Axe.’” +</p> + +<p> +I patted his shoulder silently. My sympathy for the poor old scout was too deep +for words. +</p> + +<p> +I kept away from the studio for some time after that, because it didn’t +seem right to me to intrude on the poor chappie’s sorrow. Besides, +I’m bound to say that nurse intimidated me. She reminded me so infernally +of Aunt Agatha. She was the same gimlet-eyed type. +</p> + +<p> +But one afternoon Corky called me on the ’phone. +</p> + +<p> +“Bertie.” +</p> + +<p> +“Halloa?” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you doing anything this afternoon?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing special.” +</p> + +<p> +“You couldn’t come down here, could you?” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the trouble? Anything up?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve finished the portrait.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good boy! Stout work!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” His voice sounded rather doubtful. “The fact is, +Bertie, it doesn’t look quite right to me. There’s something about +it—My uncle’s coming in half an hour to inspect it, and—I +don’t know why it is, but I kind of feel I’d like your moral +support!” +</p> + +<p> +I began to see that I was letting myself in for something. The sympathetic +co-operation of Jeeves seemed to me to be indicated. +</p> + +<p> +“You think he’ll cut up rough?” +</p> + +<p> +“He may.” +</p> + +<p> +I threw my mind back to the red-faced chappie I had met at the restaurant, and +tried to picture him cutting up rough. It was only too easy. I spoke to Corky +firmly on the telephone. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll come,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Good!” +</p> + +<p> +“But only if I may bring Jeeves!” +</p> + +<p> +“Why Jeeves? What’s Jeeves got to do with it? Who wants Jeeves? +Jeeves is the fool who suggested the scheme that has led——” +</p> + +<p> +“Listen, Corky, old top! If you think I am going to face that uncle of +yours without Jeeves’s support, you’re mistaken. I’d sooner +go into a den of wild beasts and bite a lion on the back of the neck.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, all right,” said Corky. Not cordially, but he said it; so I +rang for Jeeves, and explained the situation. +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir,” said Jeeves. +</p> + +<p> +That’s the sort of chap he is. You can’t rattle him. +</p> + +<p> +We found Corky near the door, looking at the picture, with one hand up in a +defensive sort of way, as if he thought it might swing on him. +</p> + +<p> +“Stand right where you are, Bertie,” he said, without moving. +“Now, tell me honestly, how does it strike you?” +</p> + +<p> +The light from the big window fell right on the picture. I took a good look at +it. Then I shifted a bit nearer and took another look. Then I went back to +where I had been at first, because it hadn’t seemed quite so bad from +there. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” said Corky, anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +I hesitated a bit. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, old man, I only saw the kid once, and then only for a moment, +but—but it <i>was</i> an ugly sort of kid, wasn’t it, if I remember +rightly?” +</p> + +<p> +“As ugly as that?” +</p> + +<p> +I looked again, and honesty compelled me to be frank. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see how it could have been, old chap.” +</p> + +<p> +Poor old Corky ran his fingers through his hair in a temperamental sort of way. +He groaned. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re right quite, Bertie. Something’s gone wrong with the +darned thing. My private impression is that, without knowing it, I’ve +worked that stunt that Sargent and those fellows pull—painting the soul +of the sitter. I’ve got through the mere outward appearance, and have put +the child’s soul on canvas.” +</p> + +<p> +“But could a child of that age have a soul like that? I don’t see +how he could have managed it in the time. What do you think, Jeeves?” +</p> + +<p> +“I doubt it, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“It—it sorts of leers at you, doesn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve noticed that, too?” said Corky. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see how one could help noticing.” +</p> + +<p> +“All I tried to do was to give the little brute a cheerful expression. +But, as it worked out, he looks positively dissipated.” +</p> + +<p> +“Just what I was going to suggest, old man. He looks as if he were in the +middle of a colossal spree, and enjoying every minute of it. Don’t you +think so, Jeeves?” +</p> + +<p> +“He has a decidedly inebriated air, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Corky was starting to say something when the door opened, and the uncle came +in. +</p> + +<p> +For about three seconds all was joy, jollity, and goodwill. The old boy shook +hands with me, slapped Corky on the back, said that he didn’t think he +had ever seen such a fine day, and whacked his leg with his stick. Jeeves had +projected himself into the background, and he didn’t notice him. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Bruce, my boy; so the portrait is really finished, is +it—really finished? Well, bring it out. Let’s have a look at it. +This will be a wonderful surprise for your aunt. Where is it? +Let’s——” +</p> + +<p> +And then he got it—suddenly, when he wasn’t set for the punch; and +he rocked back on his heels. +</p> + +<p> +“Oosh!” he exclaimed. And for perhaps a minute there was one of the +scaliest silences I’ve ever run up against. +</p> + +<p> +“Is this a practical joke?” he said at last, in a way that set +about sixteen draughts cutting through the room at once. +</p> + +<p> +I thought it was up to me to rally round old Corky. +</p> + +<p> +“You want to stand a bit farther away from it,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re perfectly right!” he snorted. “I do! I want to +stand so far away from it that I can’t see the thing with a +telescope!” He turned on Corky like an untamed tiger of the jungle who +has just located a chunk of meat. “And this—this—is what you +have been wasting your time and my money for all these years! A painter! I +wouldn’t let you paint a house of mine! I gave you this commission, +thinking that you were a competent worker, and this—this—this +extract from a comic coloured supplement is the result!” He swung towards +the door, lashing his tail and growling to himself. “This ends it! If you +wish to continue this foolery of pretending to be an artist because you want an +excuse for idleness, please yourself. But let me tell you this. Unless you +report at my office on Monday morning, prepared to abandon all this idiocy and +start in at the bottom of the business to work your way up, as you should have +done half a dozen years ago, not another cent—not another cent—not +another—Boosh!” +</p> + +<p> +Then the door closed, and he was no longer with us. And I crawled out of the +bombproof shelter. +</p> + +<p> +“Corky, old top!” I whispered faintly. +</p> + +<p> +Corky was standing staring at the picture. His face was set. There was a hunted +look in his eye. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that finishes it!” he muttered brokenly. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you going to do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do? What can I do? I can’t stick on here if he cuts off supplies. +You heard what he said. I shall have to go to the office on Monday.” +</p> + +<p> +I couldn’t think of a thing to say. I knew exactly how he felt about the +office. I don’t know when I’ve been so infernally uncomfortable. It +was like hanging round trying to make conversation to a pal who’s just +been sentenced to twenty years in quod. +</p> + +<p> +And then a soothing voice broke the silence. +</p> + +<p> +“If I might make a suggestion, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +It was Jeeves. He had slid from the shadows and was gazing gravely at the +picture. Upon my word, I can’t give you a better idea of the shattering +effect of Corky’s uncle Alexander when in action than by saying that he +had absolutely made me forget for the moment that Jeeves was there. +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder if I have ever happened to mention to you, sir, a Mr. Digby +Thistleton, with whom I was once in service? Perhaps you have met him? He was a +financier. He is now Lord Bridgnorth. It was a favourite saying of his that +there is always a way. The first time I heard him use the expression was after +the failure of a patent depilatory which he promoted.” +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves,” I said, “what on earth are you talking +about?” +</p> + +<p> +“I mentioned Mr. Thistleton, sir, because his was in some respects a +parallel case to the present one. His depilatory failed, but he did not +despair. He put it on the market again under the name of Hair-o, guaranteed to +produce a full crop of hair in a few months. It was advertised, if you +remember, sir, by a humorous picture of a billiard-ball, before and after +taking, and made such a substantial fortune that Mr. Thistleton was soon +afterwards elevated to the peerage for services to his Party. It seems to me +that, if Mr. Corcoran looks into the matter, he will find, like Mr. Thistleton, +that there is always a way. Mr. Worple himself suggested the solution of the +difficulty. In the heat of the moment he compared the portrait to an extract +from a coloured comic supplement. I consider the suggestion a very valuable +one, sir. Mr. Corcoran’s portrait may not have pleased Mr. Worple as a +likeness of his only child, but I have no doubt that editors would gladly +consider it as a foundation for a series of humorous drawings. If Mr. Corcoran +will allow me to make the suggestion, his talent has always been for the +humorous. There is something about this picture—something bold and +vigorous, which arrests the attention. I feel sure it would be highly +popular.” +</p> + +<p> +Corky was glaring at the picture, and making a sort of dry, sucking noise with +his mouth. He seemed completely overwrought. +</p> + +<p> +And then suddenly he began to laugh in a wild way. +</p> + +<p> +“Corky, old man!” I said, massaging him tenderly. I feared the poor +blighter was hysterical. +</p> + +<p> +He began to stagger about all over the floor. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s right! The man’s absolutely right! Jeeves, you’re +a life-saver! You’ve hit on the greatest idea of the age! Report at the +office on Monday! Start at the bottom of the business! I’ll buy the +business if I feel like it. I know the man who runs the comic section of the +<i>Sunday Star</i>. He’ll eat this thing. He was telling me only the +other day how hard it was to get a good new series. He’ll give me +anything I ask for a real winner like this. I’ve got a gold-mine. +Where’s my hat? I’ve got an income for life! Where’s that +confounded hat? Lend me a fiver, Bertie. I want to take a taxi down to Park +Row!” +</p> + +<p> +Jeeves smiled paternally. Or, rather, he had a kind of paternal muscular spasm +about the mouth, which is the nearest he ever gets to smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“If I might make the suggestion, Mr. Corcoran—for a title of the +series which you have in mind—‘The Adventures of Baby +Blobbs.’” +</p> + +<p> +Corky and I looked at the picture, then at each other in an awed way. Jeeves +was right. There could be no other title. +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves,” I said. It was a few weeks later, and I had just finished +looking at the comic section of the <i>Sunday Star</i>. “I’m an +optimist. I always have been. The older I get, the more I agree with +Shakespeare and those poet Johnnies about it always being darkest before the +dawn and there’s a silver lining and what you lose on the swings you make +up on the roundabouts. Look at Mr. Corcoran, for instance. There was a fellow, +one would have said, clear up to the eyebrows in the soup. To all appearances +he had got it right in the neck. Yet look at him now. Have you seen these +pictures?” +</p> + +<p> +“I took the liberty of glancing at them before bringing them to you, sir. +Extremely diverting.” +</p> + +<p> +“They have made a big hit, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“I anticipated it, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +I leaned back against the pillows. +</p> + +<p> +“You know, Jeeves, you’re a genius. You ought to be drawing a +commission on these things.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have nothing to complain of in that respect, sir. Mr. Corcoran has +been most generous. I am putting out the brown suit, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I think I’ll wear the blue with the faint red stripe.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not the blue with the faint red stripe, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I rather fancy myself in it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not the blue with the faint red stripe, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, all right, have it your own way.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir. Thank you, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Of course, I know it’s as bad as being henpecked; but then Jeeves is +always right. You’ve got to consider that, you know. What? +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>JEEVES AND THE UNBIDDEN GUEST</h2> + +<p> +I’m not absolutely certain of my facts, but I rather fancy it’s +Shakespeare—or, if not, it’s some equally brainy lad—who says +that it’s always just when a chappie is feeling particularly top-hole, +and more than usually braced with things in general that Fate sneaks up behind +him with a bit of lead piping. There’s no doubt the man’s right. +It’s absolutely that way with me. Take, for instance, the fairly rummy +matter of Lady Malvern and her son Wilmot. A moment before they turned up, I +was just thinking how thoroughly all right everything was. +</p> + +<p> +It was one of those topping mornings, and I had just climbed out from under the +cold shower, feeling like a two-year-old. As a matter of fact, I was especially +bucked just then because the day before I had asserted myself with +Jeeves—absolutely asserted myself, don’t you know. You see, the way +things had been going on I was rapidly becoming a dashed serf. The man had +jolly well oppressed me. I didn’t so much mind when he made me give up +one of my new suits, because Jeeves’s judgment about suits is sound. But +I as near as a toucher rebelled when he wouldn’t let me wear a pair of +cloth-topped boots which I loved like a couple of brothers. And when he tried +to tread on me like a worm in the matter of a hat, I jolly well put my foot +down and showed him who was who. It’s a long story, and I haven’t +time to tell you now, but the point is that he wanted me to wear the +Longacre—as worn by John Drew—when I had set my heart on the +Country Gentleman—as worn by another famous actor chappie—and the +end of the matter was that, after a rather painful scene, I bought the Country +Gentleman. So that’s how things stood on this particular morning, and I +was feeling kind of manly and independent. +</p> + +<p> +Well, I was in the bathroom, wondering what there was going to be for breakfast +while I massaged the good old spine with a rough towel and sang slightly, when +there was a tap at the door. I stopped singing and opened the door an inch. +</p> + +<p> +“What ho without there!” +</p> + +<p> +“Lady Malvern wishes to see you, sir,” said Jeeves. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Lady Malvern, sir. She is waiting in the sitting-room.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pull yourself together, Jeeves, my man,” I said, rather severely, +for I bar practical jokes before breakfast. “You know perfectly well +there’s no one waiting for me in the sitting-room. How could there be +when it’s barely ten o’clock yet?” +</p> + +<p> +“I gathered from her ladyship, sir, that she had landed from an ocean +liner at an early hour this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +This made the thing a bit more plausible. I remembered that when I had arrived +in America about a year before, the proceedings had begun at some ghastly hour +like six, and that I had been shot out on to a foreign shore considerably +before eight. +</p> + +<p> +“Who the deuce is Lady Malvern, Jeeves?” +</p> + +<p> +“Her ladyship did not confide in me, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is she alone?” +</p> + +<p> +“Her ladyship is accompanied by a Lord Pershore, sir. I fancy that his +lordship would be her ladyship’s son.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, well, put out rich raiment of sorts, and I’ll be +dressing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Our heather-mixture lounge is in readiness, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then lead me to it.” +</p> + +<p> +While I was dressing I kept trying to think who on earth Lady Malvern could be. +It wasn’t till I had climbed through the top of my shirt and was reaching +out for the studs that I remembered. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve placed her, Jeeves. She’s a pal of my Aunt +Agatha.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I met her at lunch one Sunday before I left London. A very vicious +specimen. Writes books. She wrote a book on social conditions in India when she +came back from the Durbar.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir? Pardon me, sir, but not that tie!” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not that tie with the heather-mixture lounge, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +It was a shock to me. I thought I had quelled the fellow. It was rather a +solemn moment. What I mean is, if I weakened now, all my good work the night +before would be thrown away. I braced myself. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s wrong with this tie? I’ve seen you give it a nasty +look before. Speak out like a man! What’s the matter with it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Too ornate, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense! A cheerful pink. Nothing more.” +</p> + +<p> +“Unsuitable, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves, this is the tie I wear!” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Dashed unpleasant. I could see that the man was wounded. But I was firm. I tied +the tie, got into the coat and waistcoat, and went into the sitting-room. +</p> + +<p> +“Halloa! Halloa! Halloa!” I said. “What?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! How do you do, Mr. Wooster? You have never met my son, Wilmot, I +think? Motty, darling, this is Mr. Wooster.” +</p> + +<p> +Lady Malvern was a hearty, happy, healthy, overpowering sort of dashed female, +not so very tall but making up for it by measuring about six feet from the O.P. +to the Prompt Side. She fitted into my biggest arm-chair as if it had been +built round her by someone who knew they were wearing arm-chairs tight about +the hips that season. She had bright, bulging eyes and a lot of yellow hair, +and when she spoke she showed about fifty-seven front teeth. She was one of +those women who kind of numb a fellow’s faculties. She made me feel as if +I were ten years old and had been brought into the drawing-room in my Sunday +clothes to say how-d’you-do. Altogether by no means the sort of thing a +chappie would wish to find in his sitting-room before breakfast. +</p> + +<p> +Motty, the son, was about twenty-three, tall and thin and meek-looking. He had +the same yellow hair as his mother, but he wore it plastered down and parted in +the middle. His eyes bulged, too, but they weren’t bright. They were a +dull grey with pink rims. His chin gave up the struggle about half-way down, +and he didn’t appear to have any eyelashes. A mild, furtive, sheepish +sort of blighter, in short. +</p> + +<p> +“Awfully glad to see you,” I said. “So you’ve popped +over, eh? Making a long stay in America?” +</p> + +<p> +“About a month. Your aunt gave me your address and told me to be sure and +call on you.” +</p> + +<p> +I was glad to hear this, as it showed that Aunt Agatha was beginning to come +round a bit. There had been some unpleasantness a year before, when she had +sent me over to New York to disentangle my Cousin Gussie from the clutches of a +girl on the music-hall stage. When I tell you that by the time I had finished +my operations, Gussie had not only married the girl but had gone on the stage +himself, and was doing well, you’ll understand that Aunt Agatha was upset +to no small extent. I simply hadn’t dared go back and face her, and it +was a relief to find that time had healed the wound and all that sort of thing +enough to make her tell her pals to look me up. What I mean is, much as I liked +America, I didn’t want to have England barred to me for the rest of my +natural; and, believe me, England is a jolly sight too small for anyone to live +in with Aunt Agatha, if she’s really on the warpath. So I braced on +hearing these kind words and smiled genially on the assemblage. +</p> + +<p> +“Your aunt said that you would do anything that was in your power to be +of assistance to us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rather? Oh, rather! Absolutely!” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you so much. I want you to put dear Motty up for a little +while.” +</p> + +<p> +I didn’t get this for a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“Put him up? For my clubs?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no! Darling Motty is essentially a home bird. Aren’t you, +Motty darling?” +</p> + +<p> +Motty, who was sucking the knob of his stick, uncorked himself. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, mother,” he said, and corked himself up again. +</p> + +<p> +“I should not like him to belong to clubs. I mean put him up here. Have +him to live with you while I am away.” +</p> + +<p> +These frightful words trickled out of her like honey. The woman simply +didn’t seem to understand the ghastly nature of her proposal. I gave +Motty the swift east-to-west. He was sitting with his mouth nuzzling the stick, +blinking at the wall. The thought of having this planted on me for an +indefinite period appalled me. Absolutely appalled me, don’t you know. I +was just starting to say that the shot wasn’t on the board at any price, +and that the first sign Motty gave of trying to nestle into my little home I +would yell for the police, when she went on, rolling placidly over me, as it +were. +</p> + +<p> +There was something about this woman that sapped a chappie’s will-power. +</p> + +<p> +“I am leaving New York by the midday train, as I have to pay a visit to +Sing-Sing prison. I am extremely interested in prison conditions in America. +After that I work my way gradually across to the coast, visiting the points of +interest on the journey. You see, Mr. Wooster, I am in America principally on +business. No doubt you read my book, <i>India and the Indians</i>? My +publishers are anxious for me to write a companion volume on the United States. +I shall not be able to spend more than a month in the country, as I have to get +back for the season, but a month should be ample. I was less than a month in +India, and my dear friend Sir Roger Cremorne wrote his <i>America from +Within</i> after a stay of only two weeks. I should love to take dear Motty +with me, but the poor boy gets so sick when he travels by train. I shall have +to pick him up on my return.” +</p> + +<p> +From where I sat I could see Jeeves in the dining-room, laying the +breakfast-table. I wished I could have had a minute with him alone. I felt +certain that he would have been able to think of some way of putting a stop to +this woman. +</p> + +<p> +“It will be such a relief to know that Motty is safe with you, Mr. +Wooster. I know what the temptations of a great city are. Hitherto dear Motty +has been sheltered from them. He has lived quietly with me in the country. I +know that you will look after him carefully, Mr. Wooster. He will give very +little trouble.” She talked about the poor blighter as if he wasn’t +there. Not that Motty seemed to mind. He had stopped chewing his walking-stick +and was sitting there with his mouth open. “He is a vegetarian and a +teetotaller and is devoted to reading. Give him a nice book and he will be +quite contented.” She got up. “Thank you so much, Mr. Wooster! I +don’t know what I should have done without your help. Come, Motty! We +have just time to see a few of the sights before my train goes. But I shall +have to rely on you for most of my information about New York, darling. Be sure +to keep your eyes open and take notes of your impressions! It will be such a +help. Good-bye, Mr. Wooster. I will send Motty back early in the +afternoon.” +</p> + +<p> +They went out, and I howled for Jeeves. +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves! What about it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s to be done? You heard it all, didn’t you? You were in +the dining-room most of the time. That pill is coming to stay here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pill, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“The excrescence.” +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +I looked at Jeeves sharply. This sort of thing wasn’t like him. It was as +if he were deliberately trying to give me the pip. Then I understood. The man +was really upset about that tie. He was trying to get his own back. +</p> + +<p> +“Lord Pershore will be staying here from to-night, Jeeves,” I said +coldly. +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir. Breakfast is ready, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +I could have sobbed into the bacon and eggs. That there wasn’t any +sympathy to be got out of Jeeves was what put the lid on it. For a moment I +almost weakened and told him to destroy the hat and tie if he didn’t like +them, but I pulled myself together again. I was dashed if I was going to let +Jeeves treat me like a bally one-man chain-gang! +</p> + +<p> +But, what with brooding on Jeeves and brooding on Motty, I was in a pretty +reduced sort of state. The more I examined the situation, the more blighted it +became. There was nothing I could do. If I slung Motty out, he would report to +his mother, and she would pass it on to Aunt Agatha, and I didn’t like to +think what would happen then. Sooner or later, I should be wanting to go back +to England, and I didn’t want to get there and find Aunt Agatha waiting +on the quay for me with a stuffed eelskin. There was absolutely nothing for it +but to put the fellow up and make the best of it. +</p> + +<p> +About midday Motty’s luggage arrived, and soon afterward a large parcel +of what I took to be nice books. I brightened up a little when I saw it. It was +one of those massive parcels and looked as if it had enough in it to keep the +chappie busy for a year. I felt a trifle more cheerful, and I got my Country +Gentleman hat and stuck it on my head, and gave the pink tie a twist, and +reeled out to take a bite of lunch with one or two of the lads at a +neighbouring hostelry; and what with excellent browsing and sluicing and cheery +conversation and what-not, the afternoon passed quite happily. By dinner-time I +had almost forgotten blighted Motty’s existence. +</p> + +<p> +I dined at the club and looked in at a show afterward, and it wasn’t till +fairly late that I got back to the flat. There were no signs of Motty, and I +took it that he had gone to bed. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed rummy to me, though, that the parcel of nice books was still there +with the string and paper on it. It looked as if Motty, after seeing mother off +at the station, had decided to call it a day. +</p> + +<p> +Jeeves came in with the nightly whisky-and-soda. I could tell by the +chappie’s manner that he was still upset. +</p> + +<p> +“Lord Pershore gone to bed, Jeeves?” I asked, with reserved hauteur +and what-not. +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir. His lordship has not yet returned.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not returned? What do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“His lordship came in shortly after six-thirty, and, having dressed, went +out again.” +</p> + +<p> +At this moment there was a noise outside the front door, a sort of scrabbling +noise, as if somebody were trying to paw his way through the woodwork. Then a +sort of thud. +</p> + +<p> +“Better go and see what that is, Jeeves.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +He went out and came back again. +</p> + +<p> +“If you would not mind stepping this way, sir, I think we might be able +to carry him in.” +</p> + +<p> +“Carry him in?” +</p> + +<p> +“His lordship is lying on the mat, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +I went to the front door. The man was right. There was Motty huddled up outside +on the floor. He was moaning a bit. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s had some sort of dashed fit,” I said. I took another +look. “Jeeves! Someone’s been feeding him meat!” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s a vegetarian, you know. He must have been digging into a +steak or something. Call up a doctor!” +</p> + +<p> +“I hardly think it will be necessary, sir. If you would take his +lordship’s legs, while I——” +</p> + +<p> +“Great Scot, Jeeves! You don’t think—he can’t +be——” +</p> + +<p> +“I am inclined to think so, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +And, by Jove, he was right! Once on the right track, you couldn’t mistake +it. Motty was under the surface. +</p> + +<p> +It was the deuce of a shock. +</p> + +<p> +“You never can tell, Jeeves!” +</p> + +<p> +“Very seldom, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Remove the eye of authority and where are you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Precisely, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is my wandering boy to-night and all that sort of thing, +what?” +</p> + +<p> +“It would seem so, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, we had better bring him in, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +So we lugged him in, and Jeeves put him to bed, and I lit a cigarette and sat +down to think the thing over. I had a kind of foreboding. It seemed to me that +I had let myself in for something pretty rocky. +</p> + +<p> +Next morning, after I had sucked down a thoughtful cup of tea, I went into +Motty’s room to investigate. I expected to find the fellow a wreck, but +there he was, sitting up in bed, quite chirpy, reading Gingery stories. +</p> + +<p> +“What ho!” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“What ho!” said Motty. +</p> + +<p> +“What ho! What ho!” +</p> + +<p> +“What ho! What ho! What ho!” +</p> + +<p> +After that it seemed rather difficult to go on with the conversation. +</p> + +<p> +“How are you feeling this morning?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Topping!” replied Motty, blithely and with abandon. “I say, +you know, that fellow of yours—Jeeves, you know—is a corker. I had +a most frightful headache when I woke up, and he brought me a sort of rummy +dark drink, and it put me right again at once. Said it was his own invention. I +must see more of that lad. He seems to me distinctly one of the ones!” +</p> + +<p> +I couldn’t believe that this was the same blighter who had sat and sucked +his stick the day before. +</p> + +<p> +“You ate something that disagreed with you last night, didn’t +you?” I said, by way of giving him a chance to slide out of it if he +wanted to. But he wouldn’t have it, at any price. +</p> + +<p> +“No!” he replied firmly. “I didn’t do anything of the +kind. I drank too much! Much too much. Lots and lots too much! And, +what’s more, I’m going to do it again! I’m going to do it +every night. If ever you see me sober, old top,” he said, with a kind of +holy exaltation, “tap me on the shoulder and say, ‘Tut! Tut!’ +and I’ll apologize and remedy the defect.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I say, you know, what about me?” +</p> + +<p> +“What about you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’m, so to speak, as it were, kind of responsible for you. +What I mean to say is, if you go doing this sort of thing I’m apt to get +in the soup somewhat.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t help your troubles,” said Motty firmly. +“Listen to me, old thing: this is the first time in my life that +I’ve had a real chance to yield to the temptations of a great city. +What’s the use of a great city having temptations if fellows don’t +yield to them? Makes it so bally discouraging for a great city. Besides, mother +told me to keep my eyes open and collect impressions.” +</p> + +<p> +I sat on the edge of the bed. I felt dizzy. +</p> + +<p> +“I know just how you feel, old dear,” said Motty consolingly. +“And, if my principles would permit it, I would simmer down for your +sake. But duty first! This is the first time I’ve been let out alone, and +I mean to make the most of it. We’re only young once. Why interfere with +life’s morning? Young man, rejoice in thy youth! Tra-la! What ho!” +</p> + +<p> +Put like that, it did seem reasonable. +</p> + +<p> +“All my bally life, dear boy,” Motty went on, “I’ve +been cooped up in the ancestral home at Much Middlefold, in Shropshire, and +till you’ve been cooped up in Much Middlefold you don’t know what +cooping is! The only time we get any excitement is when one of the choir-boys +is caught sucking chocolate during the sermon. When that happens, we talk about +it for days. I’ve got about a month of New York, and I mean to store up a +few happy memories for the long winter evenings. This is my only chance to +collect a past, and I’m going to do it. Now tell me, old sport, as man to +man, how does one get in touch with that very decent chappie Jeeves? Does one +ring a bell or shout a bit? I should like to discuss the subject of a good +stiff b.-and-s. with him!” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +I had had a sort of vague idea, don’t you know, that if I stuck close to +Motty and went about the place with him, I might act as a bit of a damper on +the gaiety. What I mean is, I thought that if, when he was being the life and +soul of the party, he were to catch my reproving eye he might ease up a trifle +on the revelry. So the next night I took him along to supper with me. It was +the last time. I’m a quiet, peaceful sort of chappie who has lived all +his life in London, and I can’t stand the pace these swift sportsmen from +the rural districts set. What I mean to say is this, I’m all for rational +enjoyment and so forth, but I think a chappie makes himself conspicuous when he +throws soft-boiled eggs at the electric fan. And decent mirth and all that sort +of thing are all right, but I do bar dancing on tables and having to dash all +over the place dodging waiters, managers, and chuckers-out, just when you want +to sit still and digest. +</p> + +<p> +Directly I managed to tear myself away that night and get home, I made up my +mind that this was jolly well the last time that I went about with Motty. The +only time I met him late at night after that was once when I passed the door of +a fairly low-down sort of restaurant and had to step aside to dodge him as he +sailed through the air <i>en route</i> for the opposite pavement, with a +muscular sort of looking chappie peering out after him with a kind of gloomy +satisfaction. +</p> + +<p> +In a way, I couldn’t help sympathizing with the fellow. He had about four +weeks to have the good time that ought to have been spread over about ten +years, and I didn’t wonder at his wanting to be pretty busy. I should +have been just the same in his place. Still, there was no denying that it was a +bit thick. If it hadn’t been for the thought of Lady Malvern and Aunt +Agatha in the background, I should have regarded Motty’s rapid work with +an indulgent smile. But I couldn’t get rid of the feeling that, sooner or +later, I was the lad who was scheduled to get it behind the ear. And what with +brooding on this prospect, and sitting up in the old flat waiting for the +familiar footstep, and putting it to bed when it got there, and stealing into +the sick-chamber next morning to contemplate the wreckage, I was beginning to +lose weight. Absolutely becoming the good old shadow, I give you my honest +word. Starting at sudden noises and what-not. +</p> + +<p> +And no sympathy from Jeeves. That was what cut me to the quick. The man was +still thoroughly pipped about the hat and tie, and simply wouldn’t rally +round. One morning I wanted comforting so much that I sank the pride of the +Woosters and appealed to the fellow direct. +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves,” I said, “this is getting a bit thick!” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir?” Business and cold respectfulness. +</p> + +<p> +“You know what I mean. This lad seems to have chucked all the principles +of a well-spent boyhood. He has got it up his nose!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I shall get blamed, don’t you know. You know what my Aunt +Agatha is!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, then.” +</p> + +<p> +I waited a moment, but he wouldn’t unbend. +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves,” I said, “haven’t you any scheme up your +sleeve for coping with this blighter?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +And he shimmered off to his lair. Obstinate devil! So dashed absurd, +don’t you know. It wasn’t as if there was anything wrong with that +Country Gentleman hat. It was a remarkably priceless effort, and much admired +by the lads. But, just because he preferred the Longacre, he left me flat. +</p> + +<p> +It was shortly after this that young Motty got the idea of bringing pals back +in the small hours to continue the gay revels in the home. This was where I +began to crack under the strain. You see, the part of town where I was living +wasn’t the right place for that sort of thing. I knew lots of chappies +down Washington Square way who started the evening at about 2 +a.m.—artists and writers and what-not, who frolicked considerably till +checked by the arrival of the morning milk. That was all right. They like that +sort of thing down there. The neighbours can’t get to sleep unless +there’s someone dancing Hawaiian dances over their heads. But on +Fifty-seventh Street the atmosphere wasn’t right, and when Motty turned +up at three in the morning with a collection of hearty lads, who only stopped +singing their college song when they started singing “The Old Oaken +Bucket,” there was a marked peevishness among the old settlers in the +flats. The management was extremely terse over the telephone at breakfast-time, +and took a lot of soothing. +</p> + +<p> +The next night I came home early, after a lonely dinner at a place which +I’d chosen because there didn’t seem any chance of meeting Motty +there. The sitting-room was quite dark, and I was just moving to switch on the +light, when there was a sort of explosion and something collared hold of my +trouser-leg. Living with Motty had reduced me to such an extent that I was +simply unable to cope with this thing. I jumped backward with a loud yell of +anguish, and tumbled out into the hall just as Jeeves came out of his den to +see what the matter was. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you call, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves! There’s something in there that grabs you by the +leg!” +</p> + +<p> +“That would be Rollo, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“I would have warned you of his presence, but I did not hear you come in. +His temper is a little uncertain at present, as he has not yet settled +down.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who the deuce is Rollo?” +</p> + +<p> +“His lordship’s bull-terrier, sir. His lordship won him in a +raffle, and tied him to the leg of the table. If you will allow me, sir, I will +go in and switch on the light.” +</p> + +<p> +There really is nobody like Jeeves. He walked straight into the sitting-room, +the biggest feat since Daniel and the lions’ den, without a quiver. +What’s more, his magnetism or whatever they call it was such that the +dashed animal, instead of pinning him by the leg, calmed down as if he had had +a bromide, and rolled over on his back with all his paws in the air. If Jeeves +had been his rich uncle he couldn’t have been more chummy. Yet directly +he caught sight of me again, he got all worked up and seemed to have only one +idea in life—to start chewing me where he had left off. +</p> + +<p> +“Rollo is not used to you yet, sir,” said Jeeves, regarding the +bally quadruped in an admiring sort of way. “He is an excellent +watchdog.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want a watchdog to keep me out of my rooms.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what am I to do?” +</p> + +<p> +“No doubt in time the animal will learn to discriminate, sir. He will +learn to distinguish your peculiar scent.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean—my peculiar scent? Correct the impression that I +intend to hang about in the hall while life slips by, in the hope that one of +these days that dashed animal will decide that I smell all right.” I +thought for a bit. “Jeeves!” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going away—to-morrow morning by the first train. I shall +go and stop with Mr. Todd in the country.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you wish me to accompany you, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know when I shall be back. Forward my letters.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +As a matter of fact, I was back within the week. Rocky Todd, the pal I went to +stay with, is a rummy sort of a chap who lives all alone in the wilds of Long +Island, and likes it; but a little of that sort of thing goes a long way with +me. Dear old Rocky is one of the best, but after a few days in his cottage in +the woods, miles away from anywhere, New York, even with Motty on the premises, +began to look pretty good to me. The days down on Long Island have forty-eight +hours in them; you can’t get to sleep at night because of the bellowing +of the crickets; and you have to walk two miles for a drink and six for an +evening paper. I thanked Rocky for his kind hospitality, and caught the only +train they have down in those parts. It landed me in New York about +dinner-time. I went straight to the old flat. Jeeves came out of his lair. I +looked round cautiously for Rollo. +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s that dog, Jeeves? Have you got him tied up?” +</p> + +<p> +“The animal is no longer here, sir. His lordship gave him to the porter, +who sold him. His lordship took a prejudice against the animal on account of +being bitten by him in the calf of the leg.” +</p> + +<p> +I don’t think I’ve ever been so bucked by a bit of news. I felt I +had misjudged Rollo. Evidently, when you got to know him better, he had a lot +of intelligence in him. +</p> + +<p> +“Ripping!” I said. “Is Lord Pershore in, Jeeves?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you expect him back to dinner?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is he?” +</p> + +<p> +“In prison, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Have you ever trodden on a rake and had the handle jump up and hit you? +That’s how I felt then. +</p> + +<p> +“In prison!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t mean—in prison?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +I lowered myself into a chair. +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“He assaulted a constable, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lord Pershore assaulted a constable!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +I digested this. +</p> + +<p> +“But, Jeeves, I say! This is frightful!” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“What will Lady Malvern say when she finds out?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not fancy that her ladyship will find out, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“But she’ll come back and want to know where he is.” +</p> + +<p> +“I rather fancy, sir, that his lordship’s bit of time will have run +out by then.” +</p> + +<p> +“But supposing it hasn’t?” +</p> + +<p> +“In that event, sir, it may be judicious to prevaricate a little.” +</p> + +<p> +“How?” +</p> + +<p> +“If I might make the suggestion, sir, I should inform her ladyship that +his lordship has left for a short visit to Boston.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why Boston?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very interesting and respectable centre, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves, I believe you’ve hit it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I fancy so, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, this is really the best thing that could have happened. If this +hadn’t turned up to prevent him, young Motty would have been in a +sanatorium by the time Lady Malvern got back.” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +The more I looked at it in that way, the sounder this prison wheeze seemed to +me. There was no doubt in the world that prison was just what the doctor +ordered for Motty. It was the only thing that could have pulled him up. I was +sorry for the poor blighter, but, after all, I reflected, a chappie who had +lived all his life with Lady Malvern, in a small village in the interior of +Shropshire, wouldn’t have much to kick at in a prison. Altogether, I +began to feel absolutely braced again. Life became like what the poet Johnnie +says—one grand, sweet song. Things went on so comfortably and peacefully +for a couple of weeks that I give you my word that I’d almost forgotten +such a person as Motty existed. The only flaw in the scheme of things was that +Jeeves was still pained and distant. It wasn’t anything he said or did, +mind you, but there was a rummy something about him all the time. Once when I +was tying the pink tie I caught sight of him in the looking-glass. There was a +kind of grieved look in his eye. +</p> + +<p> +And then Lady Malvern came back, a good bit ahead of schedule. I hadn’t +been expecting her for days. I’d forgotten how time had been slipping +along. She turned up one morning while I was still in bed sipping tea and +thinking of this and that. Jeeves flowed in with the announcement that he had +just loosed her into the sitting-room. I draped a few garments round me and +went in. +</p> + +<p> +There she was, sitting in the same arm-chair, looking as massive as ever. The +only difference was that she didn’t uncover the teeth, as she had done +the first time. +</p> + +<p> +“Good morning,” I said. “So you’ve got back, +what?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have got back.” +</p> + +<p> +There was something sort of bleak about her tone, rather as if she had +swallowed an east wind. This I took to be due to the fact that she probably +hadn’t breakfasted. It’s only after a bit of breakfast that +I’m able to regard the world with that sunny cheeriness which makes a +fellow the universal favourite. I’m never much of a lad till I’ve +engulfed an egg or two and a beaker of coffee. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you haven’t breakfasted?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have not yet breakfasted.” +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t you have an egg or something? Or a sausage or something? Or +something?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, thank you.” +</p> + +<p> +She spoke as if she belonged to an anti-sausage society or a league for the +suppression of eggs. There was a bit of a silence. +</p> + +<p> +“I called on you last night,” she said, “but you were +out.” +</p> + +<p> +“Awfully sorry! Had a pleasant trip?” +</p> + +<p> +“Extremely, thank you.” +</p> + +<p> +“See everything? Niag’ra Falls, Yellowstone Park, and the jolly old +Grand Canyon, and what-not?” +</p> + +<p> +“I saw a great deal.” +</p> + +<p> +There was another slightly <i>frappé</i> silence. Jeeves floated silently into +the dining-room and began to lay the breakfast-table. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope Wilmot was not in your way, Mr. Wooster?” +</p> + +<p> +I had been wondering when she was going to mention Motty. +</p> + +<p> +“Rather not! Great pals! Hit it off splendidly.” +</p> + +<p> +“You were his constant companion, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely! We were always together. Saw all the sights, don’t you +know. We’d take in the Museum of Art in the morning, and have a bit of +lunch at some good vegetarian place, and then toddle along to a sacred concert +in the afternoon, and home to an early dinner. We usually played dominoes after +dinner. And then the early bed and the refreshing sleep. We had a great time. I +was awfully sorry when he went away to Boston.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Wilmot is in Boston?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I ought to have let you know, but of course we didn’t know +where you were. You were dodging all over the place like a snipe—I mean, +don’t you know, dodging all over the place, and we couldn’t get at +you. Yes, Motty went off to Boston.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re sure he went to Boston?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, absolutely.” I called out to Jeeves, who was now messing about +in the next room with forks and so forth: “Jeeves, Lord Pershore +didn’t change his mind about going to Boston, did he?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought I was right. Yes, Motty went to Boston.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then how do you account, Mr. Wooster, for the fact that when I went +yesterday afternoon to Blackwell’s Island prison, to secure material for +my book, I saw poor, dear Wilmot there, dressed in a striped suit, seated +beside a pile of stones with a hammer in his hands?” +</p> + +<p> +I tried to think of something to say, but nothing came. A chappie has to be a +lot broader about the forehead than I am to handle a jolt like this. I strained +the old bean till it creaked, but between the collar and the hair parting +nothing stirred. I was dumb. Which was lucky, because I wouldn’t have had +a chance to get any persiflage out of my system. Lady Malvern collared the +conversation. She had been bottling it up, and now it came out with a rush: +</p> + +<p> +“So this is how you have looked after my poor, dear boy, Mr. Wooster! So +this is how you have abused my trust! I left him in your charge, thinking that +I could rely on you to shield him from evil. He came to you innocent, unversed +in the ways of the world, confiding, unused to the temptations of a large city, +and you led him astray!” +</p> + +<p> +I hadn’t any remarks to make. All I could think of was the picture of +Aunt Agatha drinking all this in and reaching out to sharpen the hatchet +against my return. +</p> + +<p> +“You deliberately——” +</p> + +<p> +Far away in the misty distance a soft voice spoke: +</p> + +<p> +“If I might explain, your ladyship.” +</p> + +<p> +Jeeves had projected himself in from the dining-room and materialized on the +rug. Lady Malvern tried to freeze him with a look, but you can’t do that +sort of thing to Jeeves. He is look-proof. +</p> + +<p> +“I fancy, your ladyship, that you have misunderstood Mr. Wooster, and +that he may have given you the impression that he was in New York when his +lordship—was removed. When Mr. Wooster informed your ladyship that his +lordship had gone to Boston, he was relying on the version I had given him of +his lordship’s movements. Mr. Wooster was away, visiting a friend in the +country, at the time, and knew nothing of the matter till your ladyship +informed him.” +</p> + +<p> +Lady Malvern gave a kind of grunt. It didn’t rattle Jeeves. +</p> + +<p> +“I feared Mr. Wooster might be disturbed if he knew the truth, as he is +so attached to his lordship and has taken such pains to look after him, so I +took the liberty of telling him that his lordship had gone away for a visit. It +might have been hard for Mr. Wooster to believe that his lordship had gone to +prison voluntarily and from the best motives, but your ladyship, knowing him +better, will readily understand.” +</p> + +<p> +“What!” Lady Malvern goggled at him. “Did you say that Lord +Pershore went to prison voluntarily?” +</p> + +<p> +“If I might explain, your ladyship. I think that your ladyship’s +parting words made a deep impression on his lordship. I have frequently heard +him speak to Mr. Wooster of his desire to do something to follow your +ladyship’s instructions and collect material for your ladyship’s +book on America. Mr. Wooster will bear me out when I say that his lordship was +frequently extremely depressed at the thought that he was doing so little to +help.” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely, by Jove! Quite pipped about it!” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“The idea of making a personal examination into the prison system of the +country—from within—occurred to his lordship very suddenly one +night. He embraced it eagerly. There was no restraining him.” +</p> + +<p> +Lady Malvern looked at Jeeves, then at me, then at Jeeves again. I could see +her struggling with the thing. +</p> + +<p> +“Surely, your ladyship,” said Jeeves, “it is more reasonable +to suppose that a gentleman of his lordship’s character went to prison of +his own volition than that he committed some breach of the law which +necessitated his arrest?” +</p> + +<p> +Lady Malvern blinked. Then she got up. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Wooster,” she said, “I apologize. I have done you an +injustice. I should have known Wilmot better. I should have had more faith in +his pure, fine spirit.” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely!” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Your breakfast is ready, sir,” said Jeeves. +</p> + +<p> +I sat down and dallied in a dazed sort of way with a poached egg. +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves,” I said, “you are certainly a life-saver!” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing would have convinced my Aunt Agatha that I hadn’t lured +that blighter into riotous living.” +</p> + +<p> +“I fancy you are right, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +I champed my egg for a bit. I was most awfully moved, don’t you know, by +the way Jeeves had rallied round. Something seemed to tell me that this was an +occasion that called for rich rewards. For a moment I hesitated. Then I made up +my mind. +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves!” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“That pink tie!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“Burn it!” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“And, Jeeves!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“Take a taxi and get me that Longacre hat, as worn by John Drew!” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you very much, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +I felt most awfully braced. I felt as if the clouds had rolled away and all was +as it used to be. I felt like one of those chappies in the novels who calls off +the fight with his wife in the last chapter and decides to forget and forgive. +I felt I wanted to do all sorts of other things to show Jeeves that I +appreciated him. +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves,” I said, “it isn’t enough. Is there anything +else you would like?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir. If I may make the suggestion—fifty dollars.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fifty dollars?” +</p> + +<p> +“It will enable me to pay a debt of honour, sir. I owe it to his +lordship.” +</p> + +<p> +“You owe Lord Pershore fifty dollars?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir. I happened to meet him in the street the night his lordship +was arrested. I had been thinking a good deal about the most suitable method of +inducing him to abandon his mode of living, sir. His lordship was a little +over-excited at the time and I fancy that he mistook me for a friend of his. At +any rate when I took the liberty of wagering him fifty dollars that he would +not punch a passing policeman in the eye, he accepted the bet very cordially +and won it.” +</p> + +<p> +I produced my pocket-book and counted out a hundred. +</p> + +<p> +“Take this, Jeeves,” I said; “fifty isn’t enough. Do +you know, Jeeves, you’re—well, you absolutely stand alone!” +</p> + +<p> +“I endeavour to give satisfaction, sir,” said Jeeves. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>JEEVES AND THE HARD-BOILED EGG</h2> + +<p> +Sometimes of a morning, as I’ve sat in bed sucking down the early cup of +tea and watched my man Jeeves flitting about the room and putting out the +raiment for the day, I’ve wondered what the deuce I should do if the +fellow ever took it into his head to leave me. It’s not so bad now +I’m in New York, but in London the anxiety was frightful. There used to +be all sorts of attempts on the part of low blighters to sneak him away from +me. Young Reggie Foljambe to my certain knowledge offered him double what I was +giving him, and Alistair Bingham-Reeves, who’s got a valet who had been +known to press his trousers sideways, used to look at him, when he came to see +me, with a kind of glittering hungry eye which disturbed me deucedly. Bally +pirates! +</p> + +<p> +The thing, you see, is that Jeeves is so dashed competent. You can spot it even +in the way he shoves studs into a shirt. +</p> + +<p> +I rely on him absolutely in every crisis, and he never lets me down. And, +what’s more, he can always be counted on to extend himself on behalf of +any pal of mine who happens to be to all appearances knee-deep in the bouillon. +Take the rather rummy case, for instance, of dear old Bicky and his uncle, the +hard-boiled egg. +</p> + +<p> +It happened after I had been in America for a few months. I got back to the +flat latish one night, and when Jeeves brought me the final drink he said: +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Bickersteth called to see you this evening, sir, while you were +out.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Twice, sir. He appeared a trifle agitated.” +</p> + +<p> +“What, pipped?” +</p> + +<p> +“He gave that impression, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +I sipped the whisky. I was sorry if Bicky was in trouble, but, as a matter of +fact, I was rather glad to have something I could discuss freely with Jeeves +just then, because things had been a bit strained between us for some time, and +it had been rather difficult to hit on anything to talk about that wasn’t +apt to take a personal turn. You see, I had decided—rightly or +wrongly—to grow a moustache and this had cut Jeeves to the quick. He +couldn’t stick the thing at any price, and I had been living ever since +in an atmosphere of bally disapproval till I was getting jolly well fed up with +it. What I mean is, while there’s no doubt that in certain matters of +dress Jeeves’s judgment is absolutely sound and should be followed, it +seemed to me that it was getting a bit too thick if he was going to edit my +face as well as my costume. No one can call me an unreasonable chappie, and +many’s the time I’ve given in like a lamb when Jeeves has voted +against one of my pet suits or ties; but when it comes to a valet’s +staking out a claim on your upper lip you’ve simply got to have a bit of +the good old bulldog pluck and defy the blighter. +</p> + +<p> +“He said that he would call again later, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Something must be up, Jeeves.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +I gave the moustache a thoughtful twirl. It seemed to hurt Jeeves a good deal, +so I chucked it. +</p> + +<p> +“I see by the paper, sir, that Mr. Bickersteth’s uncle is arriving +on the <i>Carmantic</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” +</p> + +<p> +“His Grace the Duke of Chiswick, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +This was news to me, that Bicky’s uncle was a duke. Rum, how little one +knows about one’s pals! I had met Bicky for the first time at a species +of beano or jamboree down in Washington Square, not long after my arrival in +New York. I suppose I was a bit homesick at the time, and I rather took to +Bicky when I found that he was an Englishman and had, in fact, been up at +Oxford with me. Besides, he was a frightful chump, so we naturally drifted +together; and while we were taking a quiet snort in a corner that wasn’t +all cluttered up with artists and sculptors and what-not, he furthermore +endeared himself to me by a most extraordinarily gifted imitation of a +bull-terrier chasing a cat up a tree. But, though we had subsequently become +extremely pally, all I really knew about him was that he was generally hard up, +and had an uncle who relieved the strain a bit from time to time by sending him +monthly remittances. +</p> + +<p> +“If the Duke of Chiswick is his uncle,” I said, “why +hasn’t he a title? Why isn’t he Lord What-Not?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Bickersteth is the son of his grace’s late sister, sir, who +married Captain Rollo Bickersteth of the Coldstream Guards.” +</p> + +<p> +Jeeves knows everything. +</p> + +<p> +“Is Mr. Bickersteth’s father dead, too?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Leave any money?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +I began to understand why poor old Bicky was always more or less on the rocks. +To the casual and irreflective observer, if you know what I mean, it may sound +a pretty good wheeze having a duke for an uncle, but the trouble about old +Chiswick was that, though an extremely wealthy old buster, owning half London +and about five counties up north, he was notoriously the most prudent spender +in England. He was what American chappies would call a hard-boiled egg. If +Bicky’s people hadn’t left him anything and he depended on what he +could prise out of the old duke, he was in a pretty bad way. Not that that +explained why he was hunting me like this, because he was a chap who never +borrowed money. He said he wanted to keep his pals, so never bit any +one’s ear on principle. +</p> + +<p> +At this juncture the door bell rang. Jeeves floated out to answer it. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir. Mr. Wooster has just returned,” I heard him say. And +Bicky came trickling in, looking pretty sorry for himself. +</p> + +<p> +“Halloa, Bicky!” I said. “Jeeves told me you had been trying +to get me. Jeeves, bring another glass, and let the revels commence. +What’s the trouble, Bicky?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m in a hole, Bertie. I want your advice.” +</p> + +<p> +“Say on, old lad!” +</p> + +<p> +“My uncle’s turning up to-morrow, Bertie.” +</p> + +<p> +“So Jeeves told me.” +</p> + +<p> +“The Duke of Chiswick, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“So Jeeves told me.” +</p> + +<p> +Bicky seemed a bit surprised. +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves seems to know everything.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rather rummily, that’s exactly what I was thinking just now +myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I wish,” said Bicky gloomily, “that he knew a way to +get me out of the hole I’m in.” +</p> + +<p> +Jeeves shimmered in with the glass, and stuck it competently on the table. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Bickersteth is in a bit of a hole, Jeeves,” I said, “and +wants you to rally round.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Bicky looked a bit doubtful. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, of course, you know, Bertie, this thing is by way of being a bit +private and all that.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shouldn’t worry about that, old top. I bet Jeeves knows all +about it already. Don’t you, Jeeves?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh!” said Bicky, rattled. +</p> + +<p> +“I am open to correction, sir, but is not your dilemma due to the fact +that you are at a loss to explain to his grace why you are in New York instead +of in Colorado?” +</p> + +<p> +Bicky rocked like a jelly in a high wind. +</p> + +<p> +“How the deuce do you know anything about it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I chanced to meet his grace’s butler before we left England. He +informed me that he happened to overhear his grace speaking to you on the +matter, sir, as he passed the library door.” +</p> + +<p> +Bicky gave a hollow sort of laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, as everybody seems to know all about it, there’s no need to +try to keep it dark. The old boy turfed me out, Bertie, because he said I was a +brainless nincompoop. The idea was that he would give me a remittance on +condition that I dashed out to some blighted locality of the name of Colorado +and learned farming or ranching, or whatever they call it, at some bally ranch +or farm or whatever it’s called. I didn’t fancy the idea a bit. I +should have had to ride horses and pursue cows, and so forth. I hate horses. +They bite at you. I was all against the scheme. At the same time, don’t +you know, I had to have that remittance.” +</p> + +<p> +“I get you absolutely, dear boy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, when I got to New York it looked a decent sort of place to me, so +I thought it would be a pretty sound notion to stop here. So I cabled to my +uncle telling him that I had dropped into a good business wheeze in the city +and wanted to chuck the ranch idea. He wrote back that it was all right, and +here I’ve been ever since. He thinks I’m doing well at something or +other over here. I never dreamed, don’t you know, that he would ever come +out here. What on earth am I to do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves,” I said, “what on earth is Mr. Bickersteth to +do?” +</p> + +<p> +“You see,” said Bicky, “I had a wireless from him to say that +he was coming to stay with me—to save hotel bills, I suppose. I’ve +always given him the impression that I was living in pretty good style. I +can’t have him to stay at my boarding-house.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thought of anything, Jeeves?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“To what extent, sir, if the question is not a delicate one, are you +prepared to assist Mr. Bickersteth?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll do anything I can for you, of course, Bicky, old man.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, if I might make the suggestion, sir, you might lend Mr. +Bickersteth——” +</p> + +<p> +“No, by Jove!” said Bicky firmly. “I never have touched you, +Bertie, and I’m not going to start now. I may be a chump, but it’s +my boast that I don’t owe a penny to a single soul—not counting +tradesmen, of course.” +</p> + +<p> +“I was about to suggest, sir, that you might lend Mr. Bickersteth this +flat. Mr. Bickersteth could give his grace the impression that he was the owner +of it. With your permission I could convey the notion that I was in Mr. +Bickersteth’s employment, and not in yours. You would be residing here +temporarily as Mr. Bickersteth’s guest. His grace would occupy the second +spare bedroom. I fancy that you would find this answer satisfactorily, +sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Bicky had stopped rocking himself and was staring at Jeeves in an awed sort of +way. +</p> + +<p> +“I would advocate the dispatching of a wireless message to his grace on +board the vessel, notifying him of the change of address. Mr. Bickersteth could +meet his grace at the dock and proceed directly here. Will that meet the +situation, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Bicky followed him with his eye till the door closed. +</p> + +<p> +“How does he do it, Bertie?” he said. “I’ll tell you +what I think it is. I believe it’s something to do with the shape of his +head. Have you ever noticed his head, Bertie, old man? It sort of sticks out at +the back!” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +I hopped out of bed early next morning, so as to be among those present when +the old boy should arrive. I knew from experience that these ocean liners fetch +up at the dock at a deucedly ungodly hour. It wasn’t much after nine by +the time I’d dressed and had my morning tea and was leaning out of the +window, watching the street for Bicky and his uncle. It was one of those jolly, +peaceful mornings that make a chappie wish he’d got a soul or something, +and I was just brooding on life in general when I became aware of the dickens +of a spate in progress down below. A taxi had driven up, and an old boy in a +top hat had got out and was kicking up a frightful row about the fare. As far +as I could make out, he was trying to get the cab chappie to switch from New +York to London prices, and the cab chappie had apparently never heard of London +before, and didn’t seem to think a lot of it now. The old boy said that +in London the trip would have set him back eightpence; and the cabby said he +should worry. I called to Jeeves. +</p> + +<p> +“The duke has arrived, Jeeves.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’ll be him at the door now.” +</p> + +<p> +Jeeves made a long arm and opened the front door, and the old boy crawled in, +looking licked to a splinter. +</p> + +<p> +“How do you do, sir?” I said, bustling up and being the ray of +sunshine. “Your nephew went down to the dock to meet you, but you must +have missed him. My name’s Wooster, don’t you know. Great pal of +Bicky’s, and all that sort of thing. I’m staying with him, you +know. Would you like a cup of tea? Jeeves, bring a cup of tea.” +</p> + +<p> +Old Chiswick had sunk into an arm-chair and was looking about the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Does this luxurious flat belong to my nephew Francis?” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely.” +</p> + +<p> +“It must be terribly expensive.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pretty well, of course. Everything costs a lot over here, you +know.” +</p> + +<p> +He moaned. Jeeves filtered in with the tea. Old Chiswick took a stab at it to +restore his tissues, and nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“A terrible country, Mr. Wooster! A terrible country! Nearly eight +shillings for a short cab-drive! Iniquitous!” He took another look round +the room. It seemed to fascinate him. “Have you any idea how much my +nephew pays for this flat, Mr. Wooster?” +</p> + +<p> +“About two hundred dollars a month, I believe.” +</p> + +<p> +“What! Forty pounds a month!” +</p> + +<p> +I began to see that, unless I made the thing a bit more plausible, the scheme +might turn out a frost. I could guess what the old boy was thinking. He was +trying to square all this prosperity with what he knew of poor old Bicky. And +one had to admit that it took a lot of squaring, for dear old Bicky, though a +stout fellow and absolutely unrivalled as an imitator of bull-terriers and +cats, was in many ways one of the most pronounced fatheads that ever pulled on +a suit of gent’s underwear. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose it seems rummy to you,” I said, “but the fact is +New York often bucks chappies up and makes them show a flash of speed that you +wouldn’t have imagined them capable of. It sort of develops them. +Something in the air, don’t you know. I imagine that Bicky in the past, +when you knew him, may have been something of a chump, but it’s quite +different now. Devilish efficient sort of chappie, and looked on in commercial +circles as quite the nib!” +</p> + +<p> +“I am amazed! What is the nature of my nephew’s business, Mr. +Wooster?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, just business, don’t you know. The same sort of thing Carnegie +and Rockefeller and all these coves do, you know.” I slid for the door. +“Awfully sorry to leave you, but I’ve got to meet some of the lads +elsewhere.” +</p> + +<p> +Coming out of the lift I met Bicky bustling in from the street. +</p> + +<p> +“Halloa, Bertie! I missed him. Has he turned up?” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s upstairs now, having some tea.” +</p> + +<p> +“What does he think of it all?” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s absolutely rattled.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ripping! I’ll be toddling up, then. Toodle-oo, Bertie, old man. +See you later.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pip-pip, Bicky, dear boy.” +</p> + +<p> +He trotted off, full of merriment and good cheer, and I went off to the club to +sit in the window and watch the traffic coming up one way and going down the +other. +</p> + +<p> +It was latish in the evening when I looked in at the flat to dress for dinner. +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s everybody, Jeeves?” I said, finding no little feet +pattering about the place. “Gone out?” +</p> + +<p> +“His grace desired to see some of the sights of the city, sir. Mr. +Bickersteth is acting as his escort. I fancy their immediate objective was +Grant’s Tomb.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose Mr. Bickersteth is a bit braced at the way things are +going—what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“I say, I take it that Mr. Bickersteth is tolerably full of beans.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not altogether, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s his trouble now?” +</p> + +<p> +“The scheme which I took the liberty of suggesting to Mr. Bickersteth and +yourself has, unfortunately, not answered entirely satisfactorily, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Surely the duke believes that Mr. Bickersteth is doing well in business, +and all that sort of thing?” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly, sir. With the result that he has decided to cancel Mr. +Bickersteth’s monthly allowance, on the ground that, as Mr. Bickersteth +is doing so well on his own account, he no longer requires pecuniary +assistance.” +</p> + +<p> +“Great Scot, Jeeves! This is awful.” +</p> + +<p> +“Somewhat disturbing, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never expected anything like this!” +</p> + +<p> +“I confess I scarcely anticipated the contingency myself, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose it bowled the poor blighter over absolutely?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Bickersteth appeared somewhat taken aback, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +My heart bled for Bicky. +</p> + +<p> +“We must do something, Jeeves.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can you think of anything?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at the moment, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“There must be something we can do.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was a maxim of one of my former employers, sir—as I believe I +mentioned to you once before—the present Lord Bridgnorth, that there is +always a way. I remember his lordship using the expression on the +occasion—he was then a business gentleman and had not yet received his +title—when a patent hair-restorer which he chanced to be promoting failed +to attract the public. He put it on the market under another name as a +depilatory, and amassed a substantial fortune. I have generally found his +lordship’s aphorism based on sound foundations. No doubt we shall be able +to discover some solution of Mr. Bickersteth’s difficulty, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, have a stab at it, Jeeves!” +</p> + +<p> +“I will spare no pains, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +I went and dressed sadly. It will show you pretty well how pipped I was when I +tell you that I near as a toucher put on a white tie with a dinner-jacket. I +sallied out for a bit of food more to pass the time than because I wanted it. +It seemed brutal to be wading into the bill of fare with poor old Bicky headed +for the breadline. +</p> + +<p> +When I got back old Chiswick had gone to bed, but Bicky was there, hunched up +in an arm-chair, brooding pretty tensely, with a cigarette hanging out of the +corner of his mouth and a more or less glassy stare in his eyes. He had the +aspect of one who had been soaked with what the newspaper chappies call +“some blunt instrument.” +</p> + +<p> +“This is a bit thick, old thing—what!” I said. +</p> + +<p> +He picked up his glass and drained it feverishly, overlooking the fact that it +hadn’t anything in it. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m done, Bertie!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +He had another go at the glass. It didn’t seem to do him any good. +</p> + +<p> +“If only this had happened a week later, Bertie! My next month’s +money was due to roll in on Saturday. I could have worked a wheeze I’ve +been reading about in the magazine advertisements. It seems that you can make a +dashed amount of money if you can only collect a few dollars and start a +chicken-farm. Jolly sound scheme, Bertie! Say you buy a hen—call it one +hen for the sake of argument. It lays an egg every day of the week. You sell +the eggs seven for twenty-five cents. Keep of hen costs nothing. Profit +practically twenty-five cents on every seven eggs. Or look at it another way: +Suppose you have a dozen hens. Each of the hens has a dozen chickens. The +chickens grow up and have more chickens. Why, in no time you’d have the +place covered knee-deep in hens, all laying eggs, at twenty-five cents for +every seven. You’d make a fortune. Jolly life, too, keeping hens!” +He had begun to get quite worked up at the thought of it, but he slopped back +in his chair at this juncture with a good deal of gloom. “But, of course, +it’s no good,” he said, “because I haven’t the +cash.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve only to say the word, you know, Bicky, old top.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks awfully, Bertie, but I’m not going to sponge on you.” +</p> + +<p> +That’s always the way in this world. The chappies you’d like to +lend money to won’t let you, whereas the chappies you don’t want to +lend it to will do everything except actually stand you on your head and lift +the specie out of your pockets. As a lad who has always rolled tolerably free +in the right stuff, I’ve had lots of experience of the second class. +Many’s the time, back in London, I’ve hurried along Piccadilly and +felt the hot breath of the toucher on the back of my neck and heard his sharp, +excited yapping as he closed in on me. I’ve simply spent my life +scattering largesse to blighters I didn’t care a hang for; yet here was I +now, dripping doubloons and pieces of eight and longing to hand them over, and +Bicky, poor fish, absolutely on his uppers, not taking any at any price. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, there’s only one hope, then.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir?” +</p> + +<p> +There was Jeeves, standing behind me, full of zeal. In this matter of +shimmering into rooms the chappie is rummy to a degree. You’re sitting in +the old arm-chair, thinking of this and that, and then suddenly you look up, +and there he is. He moves from point to point with as little uproar as a jelly +fish. The thing startled poor old Bicky considerably. He rose from his seat +like a rocketing pheasant. I’m used to Jeeves now, but often in the days +when he first came to me I’ve bitten my tongue freely on finding him +unexpectedly in my midst. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you call, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, there you are, Jeeves!” +</p> + +<p> +“Precisely, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves, Mr. Bickersteth is still up the pole. Any ideas?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, yes, sir. Since we had our recent conversation I fancy I have found +what may prove a solution. I do not wish to appear to be taking a liberty, sir, +but I think that we have overlooked his grace’s potentialities as a +source of revenue.” +</p> + +<p> +Bicky laughed, what I have sometimes seen described as a hollow, mocking laugh, +a sort of bitter cackle from the back of the throat, rather like a gargle. +</p> + +<p> +“I do not allude, sir,” explained Jeeves, “to the possibility +of inducing his grace to part with money. I am taking the liberty of regarding +his grace in the light of an at present—if I may say so—useless +property, which is capable of being developed.” +</p> + +<p> +Bicky looked at me in a helpless kind of way. I’m bound to say I +didn’t get it myself. +</p> + +<p> +“Couldn’t you make it a bit easier, Jeeves!” +</p> + +<p> +“In a nutshell, sir, what I mean is this: His grace is, in a sense, a +prominent personage. The inhabitants of this country, as no doubt you are +aware, sir, are peculiarly addicted to shaking hands with prominent personages. +It occurred to me that Mr. Bickersteth or yourself might know of persons who +would be willing to pay a small fee—let us say two dollars or +three—for the privilege of an introduction, including handshake, to his +grace.” +</p> + +<p> +Bicky didn’t seem to think much of it. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean to say that anyone would be mug enough to part with solid +cash just to shake hands with my uncle?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have an aunt, sir, who paid five shillings to a young fellow for +bringing a moving-picture actor to tea at her house one Sunday. It gave her +social standing among the neighbours.” +</p> + +<p> +Bicky wavered. +</p> + +<p> +“If you think it could be done——” +</p> + +<p> +“I feel convinced of it, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you think, Bertie?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m for it, old boy, absolutely. A very brainy wheeze.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, sir. Will there be anything further? Good night, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +And he floated out, leaving us to discuss details. +</p> + +<p> +Until we started this business of floating old Chiswick as a money-making +proposition I had never realized what a perfectly foul time those Stock +Exchange chappies must have when the public isn’t biting freely. Nowadays +I read that bit they put in the financial reports about “The market +opened quietly” with a sympathetic eye, for, by Jove, it certainly opened +quietly for us! You’d hardly believe how difficult it was to interest the +public and make them take a flutter on the old boy. By the end of the week the +only name we had on our list was a delicatessen-store keeper down in +Bicky’s part of the town, and as he wanted us to take it out in sliced +ham instead of cash that didn’t help much. There was a gleam of light +when the brother of Bicky’s pawnbroker offered ten dollars, money down, +for an introduction to old Chiswick, but the deal fell through, owing to its +turning out that the chap was an anarchist and intended to kick the old boy +instead of shaking hands with him. At that, it took me the deuce of a time to +persuade Bicky not to grab the cash and let things take their course. He seemed +to regard the pawnbroker’s brother rather as a sportsman and benefactor +of his species than otherwise. +</p> + +<p> +The whole thing, I’m inclined to think, would have been off if it +hadn’t been for Jeeves. There is no doubt that Jeeves is in a class of +his own. In the matter of brain and resource I don’t think I have ever +met a chappie so supremely like mother made. He trickled into my room one +morning with a good old cup of tea, and intimated that there was something +doing. +</p> + +<p> +“Might I speak to you with regard to that matter of his grace, +sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all off. We’ve decided to chuck it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“It won’t work. We can’t get anybody to come.” +</p> + +<p> +“I fancy I can arrange that aspect of the matter, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean to say you’ve managed to get anybody?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir. Eighty-seven gentlemen from Birdsburg, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +I sat up in bed and spilt the tea. +</p> + +<p> +“Birdsburg?” +</p> + +<p> +“Birdsburg, Missouri, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“How did you get them?” +</p> + +<p> +“I happened last night, sir, as you had intimated that you would be +absent from home, to attend a theatrical performance, and entered into +conversation between the acts with the occupant of the adjoining seat. I had +observed that he was wearing a somewhat ornate decoration in his buttonhole, +sir—a large blue button with the words ‘Boost for Birdsburg’ +upon it in red letters, scarcely a judicious addition to a gentleman’s +evening costume. To my surprise I noticed that the auditorium was full of +persons similarly decorated. I ventured to inquire the explanation, and was +informed that these gentlemen, forming a party of eighty-seven, are a +convention from a town of the name of Birdsburg, in the State of Missouri. +Their visit, I gathered, was purely of a social and pleasurable nature, and my +informant spoke at some length of the entertainments arranged for their stay in +the city. It was when he related with a considerable amount of satisfaction and +pride, that a deputation of their number had been introduced to and had shaken +hands with a well-known prizefighter, that it occurred to me to broach the +subject of his grace. To make a long story short, sir, I have arranged, subject +to your approval, that the entire convention shall be presented to his grace +to-morrow afternoon.” +</p> + +<p> +I was amazed. This chappie was a Napoleon. +</p> + +<p> +“Eighty-seven, Jeeves. At how much a head?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was obliged to agree to a reduction for quantity, sir. The terms +finally arrived at were one hundred and fifty dollars for the party.” +</p> + +<p> +I thought a bit. +</p> + +<p> +“Payable in advance?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir. I endeavoured to obtain payment in advance, but was not +successful.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, any way, when we get it I’ll make it up to five hundred. +Bicky’ll never know. Do you suspect Mr. Bickersteth would suspect +anything, Jeeves, if I made it up to five hundred?” +</p> + +<p> +“I fancy not, sir. Mr. Bickersteth is an agreeable gentleman, but not +bright.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right, then. After breakfast run down to the bank and get me some +money.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“You know, you’re a bit of a marvel, Jeeves.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Right-o!” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +When I took dear old Bicky aside in the course of the morning and told him what +had happened he nearly broke down. He tottered into the sitting-room and +buttonholed old Chiswick, who was reading the comic section of the morning +paper with a kind of grim resolution. +</p> + +<p> +“Uncle,” he said, “are you doing anything special to-morrow +afternoon? I mean to say, I’ve asked a few of my pals in to meet you, +don’t you know.” +</p> + +<p> +The old boy cocked a speculative eye at him. +</p> + +<p> +“There will be no reporters among them?” +</p> + +<p> +“Reporters? Rather not! Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“I refuse to be badgered by reporters. There were a number of adhesive +young men who endeavoured to elicit from me my views on America while the boat +was approaching the dock. I will not be subjected to this persecution +again.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’ll be absolutely all right, uncle. There won’t be a +newspaper-man in the place.” +</p> + +<p> +“In that case I shall be glad to make the acquaintance of your +friends.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll shake hands with them and so forth?” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall naturally order my behaviour according to the accepted rules of +civilized intercourse.” +</p> + +<p> +Bicky thanked him heartily and came off to lunch with me at the club, where he +babbled freely of hens, incubators, and other rotten things. +</p> + +<p> +After mature consideration we had decided to unleash the Birdsburg contingent +on the old boy ten at a time. Jeeves brought his theatre pal round to see us, +and we arranged the whole thing with him. A very decent chappie, but rather +inclined to collar the conversation and turn it in the direction of his +home-town’s new water-supply system. We settled that, as an hour was +about all he would be likely to stand, each gang should consider itself +entitled to seven minutes of the duke’s society by Jeeves’s +stop-watch, and that when their time was up Jeeves should slide into the room +and cough meaningly. Then we parted with what I believe are called mutual +expressions of goodwill, the Birdsburg chappie extending a cordial invitation +to us all to pop out some day and take a look at the new water-supply system, +for which we thanked him. +</p> + +<p> +Next day the deputation rolled in. The first shift consisted of the cove we had +met and nine others almost exactly like him in every respect. They all looked +deuced keen and businesslike, as if from youth up they had been working in the +office and catching the boss’s eye and what-not. They shook hands with +the old boy with a good deal of apparent satisfaction—all except one +chappie, who seemed to be brooding about something—and then they stood +off and became chatty. +</p> + +<p> +“What message have you for Birdsburg, Duke?” asked our pal. +</p> + +<p> +The old boy seemed a bit rattled. +</p> + +<p> +“I have never been to Birdsburg.” +</p> + +<p> +The chappie seemed pained. +</p> + +<p> +“You should pay it a visit,” he said. “The most +rapidly-growing city in the country. Boost for Birdsburg!” +</p> + +<p> +“Boost for Birdsburg!” said the other chappies reverently. +</p> + +<p> +The chappie who had been brooding suddenly gave tongue. +</p> + +<p> +“Say!” +</p> + +<p> +He was a stout sort of well-fed cove with one of those determined chins and a +cold eye. +</p> + +<p> +The assemblage looked at him. +</p> + +<p> +“As a matter of business,” said the chappie—“mind you, +I’m not questioning anybody’s good faith, but, as a matter of +strict business—I think this gentleman here ought to put himself on +record before witnesses as stating that he really is a duke.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean, sir?” cried the old boy, getting purple. +</p> + +<p> +“No offence, simply business. I’m not saying anything, mind you, +but there’s one thing that seems kind of funny to me. This gentleman here +says his name’s Mr. Bickersteth, as I understand it. Well, if +you’re the Duke of Chiswick, why isn’t he Lord Percy Something? +I’ve read English novels, and I know all about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“This is monstrous!” +</p> + +<p> +“Now don’t get hot under the collar. I’m only asking. +I’ve a right to know. You’re going to take our money, so it’s +only fair that we should see that we get our money’s worth.” +</p> + +<p> +The water-supply cove chipped in: +</p> + +<p> +“You’re quite right, Simms. I overlooked that when making the +agreement. You see, gentlemen, as business men we’ve a right to +reasonable guarantees of good faith. We are paying Mr. Bickersteth here a +hundred and fifty dollars for this reception, and we naturally want to +know——” +</p> + +<p> +Old Chiswick gave Bicky a searching look; then he turned to the water-supply +chappie. He was frightfully calm. +</p> + +<p> +“I can assure you that I know nothing of this,” he said, quite +politely. “I should be grateful if you would explain.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, we arranged with Mr. Bickersteth that eighty-seven citizens of +Birdsburg should have the privilege of meeting and shaking hands with you for a +financial consideration mutually arranged, and what my friend Simms here +means—and I’m with him—is that we have only Mr. +Bickersteth’s word for it—and he is a stranger to us—that you +are the Duke of Chiswick at all.” +</p> + +<p> +Old Chiswick gulped. +</p> + +<p> +“Allow me to assure you, sir,” he said, in a rummy kind of voice, +“that I am the Duke of Chiswick.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then that’s all right,” said the chappie heartily. +“That was all we wanted to know. Let the thing go on.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am sorry to say,” said old Chiswick, “that it cannot go +on. I am feeling a little tired. I fear I must ask to be excused.” +</p> + +<p> +“But there are seventy-seven of the boys waiting round the corner at this +moment, Duke, to be introduced to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I fear I must disappoint them.” +</p> + +<p> +“But in that case the deal would have to be off.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is a matter for you and my nephew to discuss.” +</p> + +<p> +The chappie seemed troubled. +</p> + +<p> +“You really won’t meet the rest of them?” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, I guess we’ll be going.” +</p> + +<p> +They went out, and there was a pretty solid silence. Then old Chiswick turned +to Bicky: +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +Bicky didn’t seem to have anything to say. +</p> + +<p> +“Was it true what that man said?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, uncle.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean by playing this trick?” +</p> + +<p> +Bicky seemed pretty well knocked out, so I put in a word. +</p> + +<p> +“I think you’d better explain the whole thing, Bicky, old +top.” +</p> + +<p> +Bicky’s Adam’s-apple jumped about a bit; then he started: +</p> + +<p> +“You see, you had cut off my allowance, uncle, and I wanted a bit of +money to start a chicken farm. I mean to say it’s an absolute cert if you +once get a bit of capital. You buy a hen, and it lays an egg every day of the +week, and you sell the eggs, say, seven for twenty-five cents. +</p> + +<p> +“Keep of hens cost nothing. Profit practically——” +</p> + +<p> +“What is all this nonsense about hens? You led me to suppose you were a +substantial business man.” +</p> + +<p> +“Old Bicky rather exaggerated, sir,” I said, helping the chappie +out. “The fact is, the poor old lad is absolutely dependent on that +remittance of yours, and when you cut it off, don’t you know, he was +pretty solidly in the soup, and had to think of some way of closing in on a bit +of the ready pretty quick. That’s why we thought of this handshaking +scheme.” +</p> + +<p> +Old Chiswick foamed at the mouth. +</p> + +<p> +“So you have lied to me! You have deliberately deceived me as to your +financial status!” +</p> + +<p> +“Poor old Bicky didn’t want to go to that ranch,” I +explained. “He doesn’t like cows and horses, but he rather thinks +he would be hot stuff among the hens. All he wants is a bit of capital. +Don’t you think it would be rather a wheeze if you were +to——” +</p> + +<p> +“After what has happened? After this—this deceit and foolery? Not a +penny!” +</p> + +<p> +“But——” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a penny!” +</p> + +<p> +There was a respectful cough in the background. +</p> + +<p> +“If I might make a suggestion, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +Jeeves was standing on the horizon, looking devilish brainy. +</p> + +<p> +“Go ahead, Jeeves!” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“I would merely suggest, sir, that if Mr. Bickersteth is in need of a +little ready money, and is at a loss to obtain it elsewhere, he might secure +the sum he requires by describing the occurrences of this afternoon for the +Sunday issue of one of the more spirited and enterprising newspapers.” +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove!” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“By George!” said Bicky. +</p> + +<p> +“Great heavens!” said old Chiswick. +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir,” said Jeeves. +</p> + +<p> +Bicky turned to old Chiswick with a gleaming eye. +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves is right. I’ll do it! The <i>Chronicle</i> would jump at +it. They eat that sort of stuff.” +</p> + +<p> +Old Chiswick gave a kind of moaning howl. +</p> + +<p> +“I absolutely forbid you, Francis, to do this thing!” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all very well,” said Bicky, wonderfully braced, +“but if I can’t get the money any other way——” +</p> + +<p> +“Wait! Er—wait, my boy! You are so impetuous! We might arrange +something.” +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t go to that bally ranch.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no! No, no, my boy! I would not suggest it. I would not for a moment +suggest it. I—I think——” +</p> + +<p> +He seemed to have a bit of a struggle with himself. “I—I think +that, on the whole, it would be best if you returned with me to England. +I—I might—in fact, I think I see my way to doing—to—I +might be able to utilize your services in some secretarial position.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shouldn’t mind that.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should not be able to offer you a salary, but, as you know, in English +political life the unpaid secretary is a recognized figure——” +</p> + +<p> +“The only figure I’ll recognize,” said Bicky firmly, +“is five hundred quid a year, paid quarterly.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear boy!” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely!” +</p> + +<p> +“But your recompense, my dear Francis, would consist in the unrivalled +opportunities you would have, as my secretary, to gain experience, to accustom +yourself to the intricacies of political life, to—in fact, you would be +in an exceedingly advantageous position.” +</p> + +<p> +“Five hundred a year!” said Bicky, rolling it round his tongue. +“Why, that would be nothing to what I could make if I started a chicken +farm. It stands to reason. Suppose you have a dozen hens. Each of the hens has +a dozen chickens. After a bit the chickens grow up and have a dozen chickens +each themselves, and then they all start laying eggs! There’s a fortune +in it. You can get anything you like for eggs in America. Chappies keep them on +ice for years and years, and don’t sell them till they fetch about a +dollar a whirl. You don’t think I’m going to chuck a future like +this for anything under five hundred o’ goblins a year—what?” +</p> + +<p> +A look of anguish passed over old Chiswick’s face, then he seemed to be +resigned to it. “Very well, my boy,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“What-o!” said Bicky. “All right, then.” +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves,” I said. Bicky had taken the old boy off to dinner to +celebrate, and we were alone. “Jeeves, this has been one of your best +efforts.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“It beats me how you do it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“The only trouble is you haven’t got much out of +it—what!” +</p> + +<p> +“I fancy Mr. Bickersteth intends—I judge from his remarks—to +signify his appreciation of anything I have been fortunate enough to do to +assist him, at some later date when he is in a more favourable position to do +so.” +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t enough, Jeeves!” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir?” +</p> + +<p> +It was a wrench, but I felt it was the only possible thing to be done. +</p> + +<p> +“Bring my shaving things.” +</p> + +<p> +A gleam of hope shone in the chappie’s eye, mixed with doubt. +</p> + +<p> +“You mean, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“And shave off my moustache.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a moment’s silence. I could see the fellow was deeply moved. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you very much indeed, sir,” he said, in a low voice, and +popped off. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a>ABSENT TREATMENT</h2> + +<p> +I want to tell you all about dear old Bobbie Cardew. It’s a most +interesting story. I can’t put in any literary style and all that; but I +don’t have to, don’t you know, because it goes on its Moral Lesson. +If you’re a man you mustn’t miss it, because it’ll be a +warning to you; and if you’re a woman you won’t want to, because +it’s all about how a girl made a man feel pretty well fed up with things. +</p> + +<p> +If you’re a recent acquaintance of Bobbie’s, you’ll probably +be surprised to hear that there was a time when he was more remarkable for the +weakness of his memory than anything else. Dozens of fellows, who have only met +Bobbie since the change took place, have been surprised when I told them that. +Yet it’s true. Believe <i>me</i>. +</p> + +<p> +In the days when I first knew him Bobbie Cardew was about the most pronounced +young rotter inside the four-mile radius. People have called me a silly ass, +but I was never in the same class with Bobbie. When it came to being a silly +ass, he was a plus-four man, while my handicap was about six. Why, if I wanted +him to dine with me, I used to post him a letter at the beginning of the week, +and then the day before send him a telegram and a phone-call on the day itself, +and—half an hour before the time we’d fixed—a messenger in a +taxi, whose business it was to see that he got in and that the chauffeur had +the address all correct. By doing this I generally managed to get him, unless +he had left town before my messenger arrived. +</p> + +<p> +The funny thing was that he wasn’t altogether a fool in other ways. Deep +down in him there was a kind of stratum of sense. I had known him, once or +twice, show an almost human intelligence. But to reach that stratum, mind you, +you needed dynamite. +</p> + +<p> +At least, that’s what I thought. But there was another way which +hadn’t occurred to me. Marriage, I mean. Marriage, the dynamite of the +soul; that was what hit Bobbie. He married. Have you ever seen a bull-pup +chasing a bee? The pup sees the bee. It looks good to him. But he still +doesn’t know what’s at the end of it till he gets there. It was +like that with Bobbie. He fell in love, got married—with a sort of whoop, +as if it were the greatest fun in the world—and then began to find out +things. +</p> + +<p> +She wasn’t the sort of girl you would have expected Bobbie to rave about. +And yet, I don’t know. What I mean is, she worked for her living; and to +a fellow who has never done a hand’s turn in his life there’s +undoubtedly a sort of fascination, a kind of romance, about a girl who works +for her living. +</p> + +<p> +Her name was Anthony. Mary Anthony. She was about five feet six; she had a ton +and a half of red-gold hair, grey eyes, and one of those determined chins. She +was a hospital nurse. When Bobbie smashed himself up at polo, she was told off +by the authorities to smooth his brow and rally round with cooling unguents and +all that; and the old boy hadn’t been up and about again for more than a +week before they popped off to the registrar’s and fixed it up. Quite the +romance. +</p> + +<p> +Bobbie broke the news to me at the club one evening, and next day he introduced +me to her. I admired her. I’ve never worked myself—my name’s +Pepper, by the way. Almost forgot to mention it. Reggie Pepper. My uncle Edward +was Pepper, Wells, and Co., the Colliery people. He left me a sizable chunk of +bullion—I say I’ve never worked myself, but I admire any one who +earns a living under difficulties, especially a girl. And this girl had had a +rather unusually tough time of it, being an orphan and all that, and having had +to do everything off her own bat for years. +</p> + +<p> +Mary and I got along together splendidly. We don’t now, but we’ll +come to that later. I’m speaking of the past. She seemed to think Bobbie +the greatest thing on earth, judging by the way she looked at him when she +thought I wasn’t noticing. And Bobbie seemed to think the same about her. +So that I came to the conclusion that, if only dear old Bobbie didn’t +forget to go to the wedding, they had a sporting chance of being quite happy. +</p> + +<p> +Well, let’s brisk up a bit here, and jump a year. The story doesn’t +really start till then. +</p> + +<p> +They took a flat and settled down. I was in and out of the place quite a good +deal. I kept my eyes open, and everything seemed to me to be running along as +smoothly as you could want. If this was marriage, I thought, I couldn’t +see why fellows were so frightened of it. There were a lot of worse things that +could happen to a man. +</p> + +<p> +But we now come to the incident of the quiet Dinner, and it’s just here +that love’s young dream hits a snag, and things begin to occur. +</p> + +<p> +I happened to meet Bobbie in Piccadilly, and he asked me to come back to dinner +at the flat. And, like a fool, instead of bolting and putting myself under +police protection, I went. +</p> + +<p> +When we got to the flat, there was Mrs. Bobbie looking—well, I tell you, +it staggered me. Her gold hair was all piled up in waves and crinkles and +things, with a what-d’-you-call-it of diamonds in it. And she was wearing +the most perfectly ripping dress. I couldn’t begin to describe it. I can +only say it was the limit. It struck me that if this was how she was in the +habit of looking every night when they were dining quietly at home together, it +was no wonder that Bobbie liked domesticity. +</p> + +<p> +“Here’s old Reggie, dear,” said Bobbie. “I’ve +brought him home to have a bit of dinner. I’ll phone down to the kitchen +and ask them to send it up now—what?” +</p> + +<p> +She stared at him as if she had never seen him before. Then she turned scarlet. +Then she turned as white as a sheet. Then she gave a little laugh. It was most +interesting to watch. Made me wish I was up a tree about eight hundred miles +away. Then she recovered herself. +</p> + +<p> +“I am so glad you were able to come, Mr. Pepper,” she said, smiling +at me. +</p> + +<p> +And after that she was all right. At least, you would have said so. She talked +a lot at dinner, and chaffed Bobbie, and played us ragtime on the piano +afterwards, as if she hadn’t a care in the world. Quite a jolly little +party it was—not. I’m no lynx-eyed sleuth, and all that sort of +thing, but I had seen her face at the beginning, and I knew that she was +working the whole time and working hard, to keep herself in hand, and that she +would have given that diamond what’s-its-name in her hair and everything +else she possessed to have one good scream—just one. I’ve sat +through some pretty thick evenings in my time, but that one had the rest beaten +in a canter. At the very earliest moment I grabbed my hat and got away. +</p> + +<p> +Having seen what I did, I wasn’t particularly surprised to meet Bobbie at +the club next day looking about as merry and bright as a lonely gum-drop at an +Eskimo tea-party. +</p> + +<p> +He started in straightway. He seemed glad to have someone to talk to about it. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know how long I’ve been married?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +I didn’t exactly. +</p> + +<p> +“About a year, isn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not <i>about</i> a year,” he said sadly. “Exactly a +year—yesterday!” +</p> + +<p> +Then I understood. I saw light—a regular flash of light. +</p> + +<p> +“Yesterday was——?” +</p> + +<p> +“The anniversary of the wedding. I’d arranged to take Mary to the +Savoy, and on to Covent Garden. She particularly wanted to hear Caruso. I had +the ticket for the box in my pocket. Do you know, all through dinner I had a +kind of rummy idea that there was something I’d forgotten, but I +couldn’t think what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Till your wife mentioned it?” +</p> + +<p> +He nodded—— +</p> + +<p> +“She—mentioned it,” he said thoughtfully. +</p> + +<p> +I didn’t ask for details. Women with hair and chins like Mary’s may +be angels most of the time, but, when they take off their wings for a bit, they +aren’t half-hearted about it. +</p> + +<p> +“To be absolutely frank, old top,” said poor old Bobbie, in a +broken sort of way, “my stock’s pretty low at home.” +</p> + +<p> +There didn’t seem much to be done. I just lit a cigarette and sat there. +He didn’t want to talk. Presently he went out. I stood at the window of +our upper smoking-room, which looks out on to Piccadilly, and watched him. He +walked slowly along for a few yards, stopped, then walked on again, and finally +turned into a jeweller’s. Which was an instance of what I meant when I +said that deep down in him there was a certain stratum of sense. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +It was from now on that I began to be really interested in this problem of +Bobbie’s married life. Of course, one’s always mildly interested in +one’s friends’ marriages, hoping they’ll turn out well and +all that; but this was different. The average man isn’t like Bobbie, and +the average girl isn’t like Mary. It was that old business of the +immovable mass and the irresistible force. There was Bobbie, ambling gently +through life, a dear old chap in a hundred ways, but undoubtedly a chump of the +first water. +</p> + +<p> +And there was Mary, determined that he shouldn’t be a chump. And Nature, +mind you, on Bobbie’s side. When Nature makes a chump like dear old +Bobbie, she’s proud of him, and doesn’t want her handiwork +disturbed. She gives him a sort of natural armour to protect him against +outside interference. And that armour is shortness of memory. Shortness of +memory keeps a man a chump, when, but for it, he might cease to be one. Take my +case, for instance. I’m a chump. Well, if I had remembered half the +things people have tried to teach me during my life, my size in hats would be +about number nine. But I didn’t. I forgot them. And it was just the same +with Bobbie. +</p> + +<p> +For about a week, perhaps a bit more, the recollection of that quiet little +domestic evening bucked him up like a tonic. Elephants, I read somewhere, are +champions at the memory business, but they were fools to Bobbie during that +week. But, bless you, the shock wasn’t nearly big enough. It had dinted +the armour, but it hadn’t made a hole in it. Pretty soon he was back at +the old game. +</p> + +<p> +It was pathetic, don’t you know. The poor girl loved him, and she was +frightened. It was the thin edge of the wedge, you see, and she knew it. A man +who forgets what day he was married, when he’s been married one year, +will forget, at about the end of the fourth, that he’s married at all. If +she meant to get him in hand at all, she had got to do it now, before he began +to drift away. +</p> + +<p> +I saw that clearly enough, and I tried to make Bobbie see it, when he was by +way of pouring out his troubles to me one afternoon. I can’t remember +what it was that he had forgotten the day before, but it was something she had +asked him to bring home for her—it may have been a book. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s such a little thing to make a fuss about,” said Bobbie. +“And she knows that it’s simply because I’ve got such an +infernal memory about everything. I can’t remember anything. Never +could.” +</p> + +<p> +He talked on for a while, and, just as he was going, he pulled out a couple of +sovereigns. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, by the way,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s this for?” I asked, though I knew. +</p> + +<p> +“I owe it you.” +</p> + +<p> +“How’s that?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, that bet on Tuesday. In the billiard-room. Murray and Brown were +playing a hundred up, and I gave you two to one that Brown would win, and +Murray beat him by twenty odd.” +</p> + +<p> +“So you do remember some things?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +He got quite excited. Said that if I thought he was the sort of rotter who +forgot to pay when he lost a bet, it was pretty rotten of me after knowing him +all these years, and a lot more like that. +</p> + +<p> +“Subside, laddie,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +Then I spoke to him like a father. +</p> + +<p> +“What you’ve got to do, my old college chum,” I said, +“is to pull yourself together, and jolly quick, too. As things are +shaping, you’re due for a nasty knock before you know what’s hit +you. You’ve got to make an effort. Don’t say you can’t. This +two quid business shows that, even if your memory is rocky, you can remember +some things. What you’ve got to do is to see that wedding anniversaries +and so on are included in the list. It may be a brainstrain, but you +can’t get out of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you’re right,” said Bobbie. “But it beats me +why she thinks such a lot of these rotten little dates. What’s it matter +if I forgot what day we were married on or what day she was born on or what day +the cat had the measles? She knows I love her just as much as if I were a +memorizing freak at the halls.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s not enough for a woman,” I said. “They want to +be shown. Bear that in mind, and you’re all right. Forget it, and +there’ll be trouble.” +</p> + +<p> +He chewed the knob of his stick. +</p> + +<p> +“Women are frightfully rummy,” he said gloomily. +</p> + +<p> +“You should have thought of that before you married one,” I said. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +I don’t see that I could have done any more. I had put the whole thing in +a nutshell for him. You would have thought he’d have seen the point, and +that it would have made him brace up and get a hold on himself. But no. Off he +went again in the same old way. I gave up arguing with him. I had a good deal +of time on my hands, but not enough to amount to anything when it was a +question of reforming dear old Bobbie by argument. If you see a man asking for +trouble, and insisting on getting it, the only thing to do is to stand by and +wait till it comes to him. After that you may get a chance. But till then +there’s nothing to be done. But I thought a lot about him. +</p> + +<p> +Bobbie didn’t get into the soup all at once. Weeks went by, and months, +and still nothing happened. Now and then he’d come into the club with a +kind of cloud on his shining morning face, and I’d know that there had +been doings in the home; but it wasn’t till well on in the spring that he +got the thunderbolt just where he had been asking for it—in the thorax. +</p> + +<p> +I was smoking a quiet cigarette one morning in the window looking out over +Piccadilly, and watching the buses and motors going up one way and down the +other—most interesting it is; I often do it—when in rushed Bobbie, +with his eyes bulging and his face the colour of an oyster, waving a piece of +paper in his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Reggie,” he said. “Reggie, old top, she’s gone!” +</p> + +<p> +“Gone!” I said. “Who?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mary, of course! Gone! Left me! Gone!” +</p> + +<p> +“Where?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +Silly question? Perhaps you’re right. Anyhow, dear old Bobbie nearly +foamed at the mouth. +</p> + +<p> +“Where? How should I know where? Here, read this.” +</p> + +<p> +He pushed the paper into my hand. It was a letter. +</p> + +<p> +“Go on,” said Bobbie. “Read it.” +</p> + +<p> +So I did. It certainly was quite a letter. There was not much of it, but it was +all to the point. This is what it said: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“M<small>Y DEAR</small> B<small>OBBIE,</small>—I am going away. +When you care enough about me to remember to wish me many happy returns on my +birthday, I will come back. My address will be Box 341, <i>London Morning +News</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +I read it twice, then I said, “Well, why don’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why don’t I what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why don’t you wish her many happy returns? It doesn’t seem +much to ask.” +</p> + +<p> +“But she says on her birthday.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, when is her birthday?” +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t you understand?” said Bobbie. “I’ve +forgotten.” +</p> + +<p> +“Forgotten!” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Bobbie. “Forgotten.” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you mean, forgotten?” I said. “Forgotten whether +it’s the twentieth or the twenty-first, or what? How near do you get to +it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I know it came somewhere between the first of January and the +thirty-first of December. That’s how near I get to it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Think.” +</p> + +<p> +“Think? What’s the use of saying ‘Think’? Think I +haven’t thought? I’ve been knocking sparks out of my brain ever +since I opened that letter.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you can’t remember?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +I rang the bell and ordered restoratives. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Bobbie,” I said, “it’s a pretty hard case to +spring on an untrained amateur like me. Suppose someone had come to Sherlock +Holmes and said, ‘Mr. Holmes, here’s a case for you. When is my +wife’s birthday?’ Wouldn’t that have given Sherlock a jolt? +However, I know enough about the game to understand that a fellow can’t +shoot off his deductive theories unless you start him with a clue, so rouse +yourself out of that pop-eyed trance and come across with two or three. For +instance, can’t you remember the last time she had a birthday? What sort +of weather was it? That might fix the month.” +</p> + +<p> +Bobbie shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“It was just ordinary weather, as near as I can recollect.” +</p> + +<p> +“Warm?” +</p> + +<p> +“Warmish.” +</p> + +<p> +“Or cold?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, fairly cold, perhaps. I can’t remember.” +</p> + +<p> +I ordered two more of the same. They seemed indicated in the Young +Detective’s Manual. “You’re a great help, Bobbie,” I +said. “An invaluable assistant. One of those indispensable adjuncts +without which no home is complete.” +</p> + +<p> +Bobbie seemed to be thinking. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got it,” he said suddenly. “Look here. I gave her +a present on her last birthday. All we have to do is to go to the shop, hunt up +the date when it was bought, and the thing’s done.” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely. What did you give her?” +</p> + +<p> +He sagged. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t remember,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Getting ideas is like golf. Some days you’re right off, others it’s +as easy as falling off a log. I don’t suppose dear old Bobbie had ever +had two ideas in the same morning before in his life; but now he did it without +an effort. He just loosed another dry Martini into the undergrowth, and before +you could turn round it had flushed quite a brain-wave. +</p> + +<p> +Do you know those little books called <i>When were you Born</i>? There’s +one for each month. They tell you your character, your talents, your strong +points, and your weak points at fourpence halfpenny a go. Bobbie’s idea +was to buy the whole twelve, and go through them till we found out which month +hit off Mary’s character. That would give us the month, and narrow it +down a whole lot. +</p> + +<p> +A pretty hot idea for a non-thinker like dear old Bobbie. We sallied out at +once. He took half and I took half, and we settled down to work. As I say, it +sounded good. But when we came to go into the thing, we saw that there was a +flaw. There was plenty of information all right, but there wasn’t a +single month that didn’t have something that exactly hit off Mary. For +instance, in the December book it said, “December people are apt to keep +their own secrets. They are extensive travellers.” Well, Mary had +certainly kept her secret, and she had travelled quite extensively enough for +Bobbie’s needs. Then, October people were “born with original +ideas” and “loved moving.” You couldn’t have summed up +Mary’s little jaunt more neatly. February people had “wonderful +memories”—Mary’s speciality. +</p> + +<p> +We took a bit of a rest, then had another go at the thing. +</p> + +<p> +Bobbie was all for May, because the book said that women born in that month +were “inclined to be capricious, which is always a barrier to a happy +married life”; but I plumped for February, because February women +“are unusually determined to have their own way, are very earnest, and +expect a full return in their companion or mates.” Which he owned was +about as like Mary as anything could be. +</p> + +<p> +In the end he tore the books up, stamped on them, burnt them, and went home. +</p> + +<p> +It was wonderful what a change the next few days made in dear old Bobbie. Have +you ever seen that picture, “The Soul’s Awakening”? It +represents a flapper of sorts gazing in a startled sort of way into the middle +distance with a look in her eyes that seems to say, “Surely that is +George’s step I hear on the mat! Can this be love?” Well, Bobbie +had a soul’s awakening too. I don’t suppose he had ever troubled to +think in his life before—not really <i>think</i>. But now he was wearing +his brain to the bone. It was painful in a way, of course, to see a fellow +human being so thoroughly in the soup, but I felt strongly that it was all for +the best. I could see as plainly as possible that all these brainstorms were +improving Bobbie out of knowledge. When it was all over he might possibly +become a rotter again of a sort, but it would only be a pale reflection of the +rotter he had been. It bore out the idea I had always had that what he needed +was a real good jolt. +</p> + +<p> +I saw a great deal of him these days. I was his best friend, and he came to me +for sympathy. I gave it him, too, with both hands, but I never failed to hand +him the Moral Lesson when I had him weak. +</p> + +<p> +One day he came to me as I was sitting in the club, and I could see that he had +had an idea. He looked happier than he had done in weeks. +</p> + +<p> +“Reggie,” he said, “I’m on the trail. This time +I’m convinced that I shall pull it off. I’ve remembered something +of vital importance.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“I remember distinctly,” he said, “that on Mary’s last +birthday we went together to the Coliseum. How does that hit you?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a fine bit of memorizing,” I said; “but how does +it help?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, they change the programme every week there.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” I said. “Now you are talking.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the week we went one of the turns was Professor Some One’s +Terpsichorean Cats. I recollect them distinctly. Now, are we narrowing it down, +or aren’t we? Reggie, I’m going round to the Coliseum this minute, +and I’m going to dig the date of those Terpsichorean Cats out of them, if +I have to use a crowbar.” +</p> + +<p> +So that got him within six days; for the management treated us like brothers; +brought out the archives, and ran agile fingers over the pages till they treed +the cats in the middle of May. +</p> + +<p> +“I told you it was May,” said Bobbie. “Maybe you’ll +listen to me another time.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you’ve any sense,” I said, “there won’t be +another time.” +</p> + +<p> +And Bobbie said that there wouldn’t. +</p> + +<p> +Once you get your memory on the run, it parts as if it enjoyed doing it. I had +just got off to sleep that night when my telephone-bell rang. It was Bobbie, of +course. He didn’t apologize. +</p> + +<p> +“Reggie,” he said, “I’ve got it now for certain. +It’s just come to me. We saw those Terpsichorean Cats at a matinee, old +man.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, don’t you see that that brings it down to two days? It must +have been either Wednesday the seventh or Saturday the tenth.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” I said, “if they didn’t have daily matinees at +the Coliseum.” +</p> + +<p> +I heard him give a sort of howl. +</p> + +<p> +“Bobbie,” I said. My feet were freezing, but I was fond of him. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve remembered something too. It’s this. The day you went +to the Coliseum I lunched with you both at the Ritz. You had forgotten to bring +any money with you, so you wrote a cheque.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I’m always writing cheques.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are. But this was for a tenner, and made out to the hotel. Hunt up +your cheque-book and see how many cheques for ten pounds payable to the Ritz +Hotel you wrote out between May the fifth and May the tenth.” +</p> + +<p> +He gave a kind of gulp. +</p> + +<p> +“Reggie,” he said, “you’re a genius. I’ve always +said so. I believe you’ve got it. Hold the line.” +</p> + +<p> +Presently he came back again. +</p> + +<p> +“Halloa!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m here,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“It was the eighth. Reggie, old man, I——” +</p> + +<p> +“Topping,” I said. “Good night.” +</p> + +<p> +It was working along into the small hours now, but I thought I might as well +make a night of it and finish the thing up, so I rang up an hotel near the +Strand. +</p> + +<p> +“Put me through to Mrs. Cardew,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s late,” said the man at the other end. +</p> + +<p> +“And getting later every minute,” I said. “Buck along, +laddie.” +</p> + +<p> +I waited patiently. I had missed my beauty-sleep, and my feet had frozen hard, +but I was past regrets. +</p> + +<p> +“What is the matter?” said Mary’s voice. +</p> + +<p> +“My feet are cold,” I said. “But I didn’t call you up +to tell you that particularly. I’ve just been chatting with Bobbie, Mrs. +Cardew.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! is that Mr. Pepper?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. He’s remembered it, Mrs. Cardew.” +</p> + +<p> +She gave a sort of scream. I’ve often thought how interesting it must be +to be one of those Exchange girls. The things they must hear, don’t you +know. Bobbie’s howl and gulp and Mrs. Bobbie’s scream and all about +my feet and all that. Most interesting it must be. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s remembered it!” she gasped. “Did you tell +him?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +Well, I hadn’t. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Pepper.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” +</p> + +<p> +“Was he—has he been—was he very worried?” +</p> + +<p> +I chuckled. This was where I was billed to be the life and soul of the party. +</p> + +<p> +“Worried! He was about the most worried man between here and Edinburgh. +He has been worrying as if he was paid to do it by the nation. He has started +out to worry after breakfast, and——” +</p> + +<p> +Oh, well, you can never tell with women. My idea was that we should pass the +rest of the night slapping each other on the back across the wire, and telling +each other what bally brainy conspirators we were, don’t you know, and +all that. But I’d got just as far as this, when she bit at me. +Absolutely! I heard the snap. And then she said “Oh!” in that +choked kind of way. And when a woman says “Oh!” like that, it means +all the bad words she’d love to say if she only knew them. +</p> + +<p> +And then she began. +</p> + +<p> +“What brutes men are! What horrid brutes! How you could stand by and see +poor dear Bobbie worrying himself into a fever, when a word from you would have +put everything right, I can’t——” +</p> + +<p> +“But——” +</p> + +<p> +“And you call yourself his friend! His friend!” (Metallic laugh, +most unpleasant.) “It shows how one can be deceived. I used to think you +a kind-hearted man.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, I say, when I suggested the thing, you thought it +perfectly——” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought it hateful, abominable.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you said it was absolutely top——” +</p> + +<p> +“I said nothing of the kind. And if I did, I didn’t mean it. I +don’t wish to be unjust, Mr. Pepper, but I must say that to me there +seems to be something positively fiendish in a man who can go out of his way to +separate a husband from his wife, simply in order to amuse himself by gloating +over his agony——” +</p> + +<p> +“But——!” +</p> + +<p> +“When one single word would have——” +</p> + +<p> +“But you made me promise not to——” I bleated. +</p> + +<p> +“And if I did, do you suppose I didn’t expect you to have the sense +to break your promise?” +</p> + +<p> +I had finished. I had no further observations to make. I hung up the receiver, +and crawled into bed. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +I still see Bobbie when he comes to the club, but I do not visit the old +homestead. He is friendly, but he stops short of issuing invitations. I ran +across Mary at the Academy last week, and her eyes went through me like a +couple of bullets through a pat of butter. And as they came out the other side, +and I limped off to piece myself together again, there occurred to me the +simple epitaph which, when I am no more, I intend to have inscribed on my +tombstone. It was this: “He was a man who acted from the best motives. +There is one born every minute.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a>HELPING FREDDIE</h2> + +<p> +I don’t want to bore you, don’t you know, and all that sort of rot, +but I must tell you about dear old Freddie Meadowes. I’m not a flier at +literary style, and all that, but I’ll get some writer chappie to give +the thing a wash and brush up when I’ve finished, so that’ll be all +right. +</p> + +<p> +Dear old Freddie, don’t you know, has been a dear old pal of mine for +years and years; so when I went into the club one morning and found him sitting +alone in a dark corner, staring glassily at nothing, and generally looking like +the last rose of summer, you can understand I was quite disturbed about it. As +a rule, the old rotter is the life and soul of our set. Quite the little lump +of fun, and all that sort of thing. +</p> + +<p> +Jimmy Pinkerton was with me at the time. Jimmy’s a fellow who writes +plays—a deuced brainy sort of fellow—and between us we set to work +to question the poor pop-eyed chappie, until finally we got at what the matter +was. +</p> + +<p> +As we might have guessed, it was a girl. He had had a quarrel with Angela West, +the girl he was engaged to, and she had broken off the engagement. What the row +had been about he didn’t say, but apparently she was pretty well fed up. +She wouldn’t let him come near her, refused to talk on the phone, and +sent back his letters unopened. +</p> + +<p> +I was sorry for poor old Freddie. I knew what it felt like. I was once in love +myself with a girl called Elizabeth Shoolbred, and the fact that she +couldn’t stand me at any price will be recorded in my autobiography. I +knew the thing for Freddie. +</p> + +<p> +“Change of scene is what you want, old scout,” I said. “Come +with me to Marvis Bay. I’ve taken a cottage there. Jimmy’s coming +down on the twenty-fourth. We’ll be a cosy party.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s absolutely right,” said Jimmy. “Change of +scene’s the thing. I knew a man. Girl refused him. Man went abroad. Two +months later girl wired him, ‘Come back. Muriel.’ Man started to +write out a reply; suddenly found that he couldn’t remember girl’s +surname; so never answered at all.” +</p> + +<p> +But Freddie wouldn’t be comforted. He just went on looking as if he had +swallowed his last sixpence. However, I got him to promise to come to Marvis +Bay with me. He said he might as well be there as anywhere. +</p> + +<p> +Do you know Marvis Bay? It’s in Dorsetshire. It isn’t what +you’d call a fiercely exciting spot, but it has its good points. You +spend the day there bathing and sitting on the sands, and in the evening you +stroll out on the shore with the gnats. At nine o’clock you rub ointment +on the wounds and go to bed. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to suit poor old Freddie. Once the moon was up and the breeze sighing +in the trees, you couldn’t drag him from that beach with a rope. He +became quite a popular pet with the gnats. They’d hang round waiting for +him to come out, and would give perfectly good strollers the miss-in-baulk just +so as to be in good condition for him. +</p> + +<p> +Yes, it was a peaceful sort of life, but by the end of the first week I began +to wish that Jimmy Pinkerton had arranged to come down earlier: for as a +companion Freddie, poor old chap, wasn’t anything to write home to mother +about. When he wasn’t chewing a pipe and scowling at the carpet, he was +sitting at the piano, playing “The Rosary” with one finger. He +couldn’t play anything except “The Rosary,” and he +couldn’t play much of that. Somewhere round about the third bar a fuse +would blow out, and he’d have to start all over again. +</p> + +<p> +He was playing it as usual one morning when I came in from bathing. +</p> + +<p> +“Reggie,” he said, in a hollow voice, looking up, “I’ve +seen her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Seen her?” I said. “What, Miss West?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was down at the post office, getting the letters, and we met in the +doorway. She cut me!” +</p> + +<p> +He started “The Rosary” again, and side-slipped in the second bar. +</p> + +<p> +“Reggie,” he said, “you ought never to have brought me here. +I must go away.” +</p> + +<p> +“Go away?” I said. “Don’t talk such rot. This is the +best thing that could have happened. This is where you come out strong.” +</p> + +<p> +“She cut me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind. Be a sportsman. Have another dash at her.” +</p> + +<p> +“She looked clean through me!” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course she did. But don’t mind that. Put this thing in my +hands. I’ll see you through. Now, what you want,” I said, “is +to place her under some obligation to you. What you want is to get her timidly +thanking you. What you want——” +</p> + +<p> +“But what’s she going to thank me timidly for?” +</p> + +<p> +I thought for a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“Look out for a chance and save her from drowning,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t swim,” said Freddie. +</p> + +<p> +That was Freddie all over, don’t you know. A dear old chap in a thousand +ways, but no help to a fellow, if you know what I mean. +</p> + +<p> +He cranked up the piano once more and I sprinted for the open. +</p> + +<p> +I strolled out on to the sands and began to think this thing over. There was no +doubt that the brain-work had got to be done by me. Dear old Freddie had his +strong qualities. He was top-hole at polo, and in happier days I’ve heard +him give an imitation of cats fighting in a backyard that would have surprised +you. But apart from that he wasn’t a man of enterprise. +</p> + +<p> +Well, don’t you know, I was rounding some rocks, with my brain whirring +like a dynamo, when I caught sight of a blue dress, and, by Jove, it was the +girl. I had never met her, but Freddie had sixteen photographs of her sprinkled +round his bedroom, and I knew I couldn’t be mistaken. She was sitting on +the sand, helping a small, fat child build a castle. On a chair close by was an +elderly lady reading a novel. I heard the girl call her “aunt.” So, +doing the Sherlock Holmes business, I deduced that the fat child was her +cousin. It struck me that if Freddie had been there he would probably have +tried to work up some sentiment about the kid on the strength of it. Personally +I couldn’t manage it. I don’t think I ever saw a child who made me +feel less sentimental. He was one of those round, bulging kids. +</p> + +<p> +After he had finished the castle he seemed to get bored with life, and began to +whimper. The girl took him off to where a fellow was selling sweets at a stall. +And I walked on. +</p> + +<p> +Now, fellows, if you ask them, will tell you that I’m a chump. Well, I +don’t mind. I admit it. I <i>am</i> a chump. All the Peppers have been +chumps. But what I do say is that every now and then, when you’d least +expect it, I get a pretty hot brain-wave; and that’s what happened now. I +doubt if the idea that came to me then would have occurred to a single one of +any dozen of the brainiest chappies you care to name. +</p> + +<p> +It came to me on my return journey. I was walking back along the shore, when I +saw the fat kid meditatively smacking a jelly-fish with a spade. The girl +wasn’t with him. In fact, there didn’t seem to be any one in sight. +I was just going to pass on when I got the brain-wave. I thought the whole +thing out in a flash, don’t you know. From what I had seen of the two, +the girl was evidently fond of this kid, and, anyhow, he was her cousin, so +what I said to myself was this: If I kidnap this young heavy-weight for the +moment, and if, when the girl has got frightfully anxious about where he can +have got to, dear old Freddie suddenly appears leading the infant by the hand +and telling a story to the effect that he has found him wandering at large +about the country and practically saved his life, why, the girl’s +gratitude is bound to make her chuck hostilities and be friends again. So I +gathered in the kid and made off with him. All the way home I pictured that +scene of reconciliation. I could see it so vividly, don’t you know, that, +by George, it gave me quite a choky feeling in my throat. +</p> + +<p> +Freddie, dear old chap, was rather slow at getting on to the fine points of the +idea. When I appeared, carrying the kid, and dumped him down in our +sitting-room, he didn’t absolutely effervesce with joy, if you know what +I mean. The kid had started to bellow by this time, and poor old Freddie seemed +to find it rather trying. +</p> + +<p> +“Stop it!” he said. “Do you think nobody’s got any +troubles except you? What the deuce is all this, Reggie?” +</p> + +<p> +The kid came back at him with a yell that made the window rattle. I raced to +the kitchen and fetched a jar of honey. It was the right stuff. The kid stopped +bellowing and began to smear his face with the stuff. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” said Freddie, when silence had set in. I explained the +idea. After a while it began to strike him. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re not such a fool as you look, sometimes, Reggie,” he +said handsomely. “I’m bound to say this seems pretty good.” +</p> + +<p> +And he disentangled the kid from the honey-jar and took him out, to scour the +beach for Angela. +</p> + +<p> +I don’t know when I’ve felt so happy. I was so fond of dear old +Freddie that to know that he was soon going to be his old bright self again +made me feel as if somebody had left me about a million pounds. I was leaning +back in a chair on the veranda, smoking peacefully, when down the road I saw +the old boy returning, and, by George, the kid was still with him. And Freddie +looked as if he hadn’t a friend in the world. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello!” I said. “Couldn’t you find her?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I found her,” he replied, with one of those bitter, hollow +laughs. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then——?” +</p> + +<p> +Freddie sank into a chair and groaned. +</p> + +<p> +“This isn’t her cousin, you idiot!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s no relation at all. He’s just a kid she happened to +meet on the beach. She had never seen him before in her life.” +</p> + +<p> +“What! Who is he, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know. Oh, Lord, I’ve had a time! Thank goodness +you’ll probably spend the next few years of your life in Dartmoor for +kidnapping. That’s my only consolation. I’ll come and jeer at you +through the bars.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me all, old boy,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +It took him a good long time to tell the story, for he broke off in the middle +of nearly every sentence to call me names, but I gathered gradually what had +happened. She had listened like an iceberg while he told the story he had +prepared, and then—well, she didn’t actually call him a liar, but +she gave him to understand in a general sort of way that if he and Dr. Cook +ever happened to meet, and started swapping stories, it would be about the +biggest duel on record. And then he had crawled away with the kid, licked to a +splinter. +</p> + +<p> +“And mind, this is your affair,” he concluded. “I’m not +mixed up in it at all. If you want to escape your sentence, you’d better +go and find the kid’s parents and return him before the police come for +you.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +By Jove, you know, till I started to tramp the place with this infernal kid, I +never had a notion it would have been so deuced difficult to restore a child to +its anxious parents. It’s a mystery to me how kidnappers ever get caught. +I searched Marvis Bay like a bloodhound, but nobody came forward to claim the +infant. You’d have thought, from the lack of interest in him, that he was +stopping there all by himself in a cottage of his own. It wasn’t till, by +an inspiration, I thought to ask the sweet-stall man that I found out that his +name was Medwin, and that his parents lived at a place called Ocean Rest, in +Beach Road. +</p> + +<p> +I shot off there like an arrow and knocked at the door. Nobody answered. I +knocked again. I could hear movements inside, but nobody came. I was just going +to get to work on that knocker in such a way that the idea would filter through +into these people’s heads that I wasn’t standing there just for the +fun of the thing, when a voice from somewhere above shouted, “Hi!” +</p> + +<p> +I looked up and saw a round, pink face, with grey whiskers east and west of it, +staring down from an upper window. +</p> + +<p> +“Hi!” it shouted again. +</p> + +<p> +“What the deuce do you mean by ‘Hi’?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t come in,” said the face. “Hello, is that +Tootles?” +</p> + +<p> +“My name is not Tootles, and I don’t want to come in,” I +said. “Are you Mr. Medwin? I’ve brought back your son.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see him. Peep-bo, Tootles! Dadda can see ’oo!” +</p> + +<p> +The face disappeared with a jerk. I could hear voices. The face reappeared. +</p> + +<p> +“Hi!” +</p> + +<p> +I churned the gravel madly. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you live here?” said the face. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m staying here for a few weeks.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s your name?” +</p> + +<p> +“Pepper. But——” +</p> + +<p> +“Pepper? Any relation to Edward Pepper, the colliery owner?” +</p> + +<p> +“My uncle. But——” +</p> + +<p> +“I used to know him well. Dear old Edward Pepper! I wish I was with him +now.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you were,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +He beamed down at me. +</p> + +<p> +“This is most fortunate,” he said. “We were wondering what we +were to do with Tootles. You see, we have the mumps here. My daughter Bootles +has just developed mumps. Tootles must not be exposed to the risk of infection. +We could not think what we were to do with him. It was most fortunate your +finding him. He strayed from his nurse. I would hesitate to trust him to the +care of a stranger, but you are different. Any nephew of Edward Pepper’s +has my implicit confidence. You must take Tootles to your house. It will be an +ideal arrangement. I have written to my brother in London to come and fetch +him. He may be here in a few days.” +</p> + +<p> +“May!” +</p> + +<p> +“He is a busy man, of course; but he should certainly be here within a +week. Till then Tootles can stop with you. It is an excellent plan. Very much +obliged to you. Your wife will like Tootles.” +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t got a wife,” I yelled; but the window had closed +with a bang, as if the man with the whiskers had found a germ trying to escape, +don’t you know, and had headed it off just in time. +</p> + +<p> +I breathed a deep breath and wiped my forehead. +</p> + +<p> +The window flew up again. +</p> + +<p> +“Hi!” +</p> + +<p> +A package weighing about a ton hit me on the head and burst like a bomb. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you catch it?” said the face, reappearing. “Dear me, you +missed it! Never mind. You can get it at the grocer’s. Ask for +Bailey’s Granulated Breakfast Chips. Tootles takes them for breakfast +with a little milk. Be certain to get Bailey’s.” +</p> + +<p> +My spirit was broken, if you know what I mean. I accepted the situation. Taking +Tootles by the hand, I walked slowly away. Napoleon’s retreat from Moscow +was a picnic by the side of it. +</p> + +<p> +As we turned up the road we met Freddie’s Angela. +</p> + +<p> +The sight of her had a marked effect on the kid Tootles. He pointed at her and +said, “Wah!” +</p> + +<p> +The girl stopped and smiled. I loosed the kid, and he ran to her. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, baby?” she said, bending down to him. “So father found +you again, did he? Your little son and I made friends on the beach this +morning,” she said to me. +</p> + +<p> +This was the limit. Coming on top of that interview with the whiskered lunatic +it so utterly unnerved me, don’t you know, that she had nodded good-bye +and was half-way down the road before I caught up with my breath enough to deny +the charge of being the infant’s father. +</p> + +<p> +I hadn’t expected dear old Freddie to sing with joy when he found out +what had happened, but I did think he might have shown a little more manly +fortitude. He leaped up, glared at the kid, and clutched his head. He +didn’t speak for a long time, but, on the other hand, when he began he +did not leave off for a long time. He was quite emotional, dear old boy. It +beat me where he could have picked up such expressions. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” he said, when he had finished, “say something! +Heavens! man, why don’t you say something?” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t give me a chance, old top,” I said soothingly. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you going to do about it?” +</p> + +<p> +“What can we do about it?” +</p> + +<p> +“We can’t spend our time acting as nurses to this—this +exhibit.” +</p> + +<p> +He got up. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going back to London,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Freddie!” I cried. “Freddie, old man!” My voice shook. +“Would you desert a pal at a time like this?” +</p> + +<p> +“I would. This is your business, and you’ve got to manage +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Freddie,” I said, “you’ve got to stand by me. You +must. Do you realize that this child has to be undressed, and bathed, and +dressed again? You wouldn’t leave me to do all that single-handed? +Freddie, old scout, we were at school together. Your mother likes me. You owe +me a tenner.” +</p> + +<p> +He sat down again. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, well,” he said resignedly. +</p> + +<p> +“Besides, old top,” I said, “I did it all for your sake, +don’t you know?” +</p> + +<p> +He looked at me in a curious way. +</p> + +<p> +“Reggie,” he said, in a strained voice, “one moment. +I’ll stand a good deal, but I won’t stand for being expected to be +grateful.” +</p> + +<p> +Looking back at it, I see that what saved me from Colney Hatch in that crisis +was my bright idea of buying up most of the contents of the local sweet-shop. +By serving out sweets to the kid practically incessantly we managed to get +through the rest of that day pretty satisfactorily. At eight o’clock he +fell asleep in a chair, and, having undressed him by unbuttoning every button +in sight and, where there were no buttons, pulling till something gave, we +carried him up to bed. +</p> + +<p> +Freddie stood looking at the pile of clothes on the floor and I knew what he +was thinking. To get the kid undressed had been simple—a mere matter of +muscle. But how were we to get him into his clothes again? I stirred the pile +with my foot. There was a long linen arrangement which might have been +anything. Also a strip of pink flannel which was like nothing on earth. We +looked at each other and smiled wanly. +</p> + +<p> +But in the morning I remembered that there were children at the next bungalow +but one. We went there before breakfast and borrowed their nurse. Women are +wonderful, by George they are! She had that kid dressed and looking fit for +anything in about eight minutes. I showered wealth on her, and she promised to +come in morning and evening. I sat down to breakfast almost cheerful again. It +was the first bit of silver lining there had been to the cloud up to date. +</p> + +<p> +“And after all,” I said, “there’s lots to be said for +having a child about the house, if you know what I mean. Kind of cosy and +domestic—what!” +</p> + +<p> +Just then the kid upset the milk over Freddie’s trousers, and when he had +come back after changing his clothes he began to talk about what a +much-maligned man King Herod was. The more he saw of Tootles, he said, the less +he wondered at those impulsive views of his on infanticide. +</p> + +<p> +Two days later Jimmy Pinkerton came down. Jimmy took one look at the kid, who +happened to be howling at the moment, and picked up his portmanteau. +</p> + +<p> +“For me,” he said, “the hotel. I can’t write dialogue +with that sort of thing going on. Whose work is this? Which of you adopted this +little treasure?” +</p> + +<p> +I told him about Mr. Medwin and the mumps. Jimmy seemed interested. +</p> + +<p> +“I might work this up for the stage,” he said. “It +wouldn’t make a bad situation for act two of a farce.” +</p> + +<p> +“Farce!” snarled poor old Freddie. +</p> + +<p> +“Rather. Curtain of act one on hero, a well-meaning, half-baked sort of +idiot just like—that is to say, a well-meaning, half-baked sort of idiot, +kidnapping the child. Second act, his adventures with it. I’ll rough it +out to-night. Come along and show me the hotel, Reggie.” +</p> + +<p> +As we went I told him the rest of the story—the Angela part. He laid down +his portmanteau and looked at me like an owl through his glasses. +</p> + +<p> +“What!” he said. “Why, hang it, this is a play, ready-made. +It’s the old ‘Tiny Hand’ business. Always safe stuff. Parted +lovers. Lisping child. Reconciliation over the little cradle. It’s big. +Child, centre. Girl L.C.; Freddie, up stage, by the piano. Can Freddie play the +piano?” +</p> + +<p> +“He can play a little of ‘The Rosary’ with one finger.” +</p> + +<p> +Jimmy shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“No; we shall have to cut out the soft music. But the rest’s all +right. Look here.” He squatted in the sand. “This stone is the +girl. This bit of seaweed’s the child. This nutshell is Freddie. Dialogue +leading up to child’s line. Child speaks like, ‘Boofer lady, does +i’oo love dadda?’ Business of outstretched hands. Hold picture for +a moment. Freddie crosses L., takes girl’s hand. Business of swallowing +lump in throat. Then big speech. ‘Ah, Marie,’ or whatever her name +is—Jane—Agnes—Angela? Very well. ‘Ah, Angela, has not +this gone on too long? A little child rebukes us! Angela!’ And so on. +Freddie must work up his own part. I’m just giving you the general +outline. And we must get a good line for the child. ‘Boofer lady, does +’oo love dadda?’ isn’t definite enough. We want something +more—ah! ‘Kiss Freddie,’ that’s it. Short, crisp, and +has the punch.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Jimmy, old top,” I said, “the only objection is, +don’t you know, that there’s no way of getting the girl to the +cottage. She cuts Freddie. She wouldn’t come within a mile of him.” +</p> + +<p> +Jimmy frowned. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s awkward,” he said. “Well, we shall have to make +it an exterior set instead of an interior. We can easily corner her on the +beach somewhere, when we’re ready. Meanwhile, we must get the kid +letter-perfect. First rehearsal for lines and business eleven sharp +to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +Poor old Freddie was in such a gloomy state of mind that we decided not to tell +him the idea till we had finished coaching the kid. He wasn’t in the mood +to have a thing like that hanging over him. So we concentrated on Tootles. And +pretty early in the proceedings we saw that the only way to get Tootles worked +up to the spirit of the thing was to introduce sweets of some sort as a +sub-motive, so to speak. +</p> + +<p> +“The chief difficulty,” said Jimmy Pinkerton at the end of the +first rehearsal, “is to establish a connection in the kid’s mind +between his line and the sweets. Once he has grasped the basic fact that those +two words, clearly spoken, result automatically in acid-drops, we have got a +success.” +</p> + +<p> +I’ve often thought, don’t you know, how interesting it must be to +be one of those animal-trainer Johnnies: to stimulate the dawning intelligence, +and that sort of thing. Well, this was every bit as exciting. Some days success +seemed to be staring us in the eye, and the kid got the line out as if +he’d been an old professional. And then he’d go all to pieces +again. And time was flying. +</p> + +<p> +“We must hurry up, Jimmy,” I said. “The kid’s uncle may +arrive any day now and take him away.” +</p> + +<p> +“And we haven’t an understudy,” said Jimmy. +“There’s something in that. We must work! My goodness, that +kid’s a bad study. I’ve known deaf-mutes who would have learned the +part quicker.” +</p> + +<p> +I will say this for the kid, though: he was a trier. Failure didn’t +discourage him. Whenever there was any kind of sweet near he had a dash at his +line, and kept on saying something till he got what he was after. His only +fault was his uncertainty. Personally, I would have been prepared to risk it, +and start the performance at the first opportunity, but Jimmy said no. +</p> + +<p> +“We’re not nearly ready,” said Jimmy. “To-day, for +instance, he said ‘Kick Freddie.’ That’s not going to win any +girl’s heart. And she might do it, too. No; we must postpone production +awhile yet.” +</p> + +<p> +But, by George, we didn’t. The curtain went up the very next afternoon. +</p> + +<p> +It was nobody’s fault—certainly not mine. It was just Fate. Freddie +had settled down at the piano, and I was leading the kid out of the house to +exercise it, when, just as we’d got out to the veranda, along came the +girl Angela on her way to the beach. The kid set up his usual yell at the sight +of her, and she stopped at the foot of the steps. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello, baby!” she said. “Good morning,” she said to +me. “May I come up?” +</p> + +<p> +She didn’t wait for an answer. She just came. She seemed to be that sort +of girl. She came up on the veranda and started fussing over the kid. And six +feet away, mind you, Freddie smiting the piano in the sitting-room. It was a +dash disturbing situation, don’t you know. At any minute Freddie might +take it into his head to come out on to the veranda, and we hadn’t even +begun to rehearse him in his part. +</p> + +<p> +I tried to break up the scene. +</p> + +<p> +“We were just going down to the beach,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” said the girl. She listened for a moment. “So +you’re having your piano tuned?” she said. “My aunt has been +trying to find a tuner for ours. Do you mind if I go in and tell this man to +come on to us when he’s finished here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Er—not yet!” I said. “Not yet, if you don’t +mind. He can’t bear to be disturbed when he’s working. It’s +the artistic temperament. I’ll tell him later.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” she said, getting up to go. “Ask him to call at +Pine Bungalow. West is the name. Oh, he seems to have stopped. I suppose he +will be out in a minute now. I’ll wait.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you think—shouldn’t we be going on to the +beach?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +She had started talking to the kid and didn’t hear. She was feeling in +her pocket for something. +</p> + +<p> +“The beach,” I babbled. +</p> + +<p> +“See what I’ve brought for you, baby,” she said. And, by +George, don’t you know, she held up in front of the kid’s bulging +eyes a chunk of toffee about the size of the Automobile Club. +</p> + +<p> +That finished it. We had just been having a long rehearsal, and the kid was all +worked up in his part. He got it right first time. +</p> + +<p> +“Kiss Fweddie!” he shouted. +</p> + +<p> +And the front door opened, and Freddie came out on to the veranda, for all the +world as if he had been taking a cue. +</p> + +<p> +He looked at the girl, and the girl looked at him. I looked at the ground, and +the kid looked at the toffee. +</p> + +<p> +“Kiss Fweddie!” he yelled. “Kiss Fweddie!” +</p> + +<p> +The girl was still holding up the toffee, and the kid did what Jimmy Pinkerton +would have called “business of outstretched hands” towards it. +</p> + +<p> +“Kiss Fweddie!” he shrieked. +</p> + +<p> +“What does this mean?” said the girl, turning to me. +</p> + +<p> +“You’d better give it to him, don’t you know,” I said. +“He’ll go on till you do.” +</p> + +<p> +She gave the kid his toffee, and he subsided. Poor old Freddie still stood +there gaping, without a word. +</p> + +<p> +“What does it mean?” said the girl again. Her face was pink, and +her eyes were sparkling in the sort of way, don’t you know, that makes a +fellow feel as if he hadn’t any bones in him, if you know what I mean. +Did you ever tread on your partner’s dress at a dance and tear it, and +see her smile at you like an angel and say: “<i>Please</i> don’t +apologize. It’s nothing,” and then suddenly meet her clear blue +eyes and feel as if you had stepped on the teeth of a rake and had the handle +jump up and hit you in the face? Well, that’s how Freddie’s Angela +looked. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Well?</i>” she said, and her teeth gave a little click. +</p> + +<p> +I gulped. Then I said it was nothing. Then I said it was nothing much. Then I +said, “Oh, well, it was this way.” And, after a few brief remarks +about Jimmy Pinkerton, I told her all about it. And all the while Idiot Freddie +stood there gaping, without a word. +</p> + +<p> +And the girl didn’t speak, either. She just stood listening. +</p> + +<p> +And then she began to laugh. I never heard a girl laugh so much. She leaned +against the side of the veranda and shrieked. And all the while Freddie, the +World’s Champion Chump, stood there, saying nothing. +</p> + +<p> +Well I sidled towards the steps. I had said all I had to say, and it seemed to +me that about here the stage-direction “exit” was written in my +part. I gave poor old Freddie up in despair. If only he had said a word, it +might have been all right. But there he stood, speechless. What can a fellow do +with a fellow like that? +</p> + +<p> +Just out of sight of the house I met Jimmy Pinkerton. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello, Reggie!” he said. “I was just coming to you. +Where’s the kid? We must have a big rehearsal to-day.” +</p> + +<p> +“No good,” I said sadly. “It’s all over. The +thing’s finished. Poor dear old Freddie has made an ass of himself and +killed the whole show.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me,” said Jimmy. +</p> + +<p> +I told him. +</p> + +<p> +“Fluffed in his lines, did he?” said Jimmy, nodding thoughtfully. +“It’s always the way with these amateurs. We must go back at once. +Things look bad, but it may not be too late,” he said as we started. +“Even now a few well-chosen words from a man of the world, +and——” +</p> + +<p> +“Great Scot!” I cried. “Look!” +</p> + +<p> +In front of the cottage stood six children, a nurse, and the fellow from the +grocer’s staring. From the windows of the houses opposite projected about +four hundred heads of both sexes, staring. Down the road came galloping five +more children, a dog, three men, and a boy, about to stare. And on our porch, +as unconscious of the spectators as if they had been alone in the Sahara, stood +Freddie and Angela, clasped in each other’s arms. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Dear old Freddie may have been fluffy in his lines, but, by George, his +business had certainly gone with a bang! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a>RALLYING ROUND OLD GEORGE</h2> + +<p> +I think one of the rummiest affairs I was ever mixed up with, in the course of +a lifetime devoted to butting into other people’s business, was that +affair of George Lattaker at Monte Carlo. I wouldn’t bore you, +don’t you know, for the world, but I think you ought to hear about it. +</p> + +<p> +We had come to Monte Carlo on the yacht <i>Circe</i>, belonging to an old +sportsman of the name of Marshall. Among those present were myself, my man +Voules, a Mrs. Vanderley, her daughter Stella, Mrs. Vanderley’s maid +Pilbeam and George. +</p> + +<p> +George was a dear old pal of mine. In fact, it was I who had worked him into +the party. You see, George was due to meet his Uncle Augustus, who was +scheduled, George having just reached his twenty-fifth birthday, to hand over +to him a legacy left by one of George’s aunts, for which he had been +trustee. The aunt had died when George was quite a kid. It was a date that +George had been looking forward to; for, though he had a sort of +income—an income, after-all, is only an income, whereas a chunk of +o’ goblins is a pile. George’s uncle was in Monte Carlo, and had +written George that he would come to London and unbelt; but it struck me that a +far better plan was for George to go to his uncle at Monte Carlo instead. Kill +two birds with one stone, don’t you know. Fix up his affairs and have a +pleasant holiday simultaneously. So George had tagged along, and at the time +when the trouble started we were anchored in Monaco Harbour, and Uncle Augustus +was due next day. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Looking back, I may say that, so far as I was mixed up in it, the thing began +at seven o’clock in the morning, when I was aroused from a dreamless +sleep by the dickens of a scrap in progress outside my state-room door. The +chief ingredients were a female voice that sobbed and said: “Oh, +Harold!” and a male voice “raised in anger,” as they say, +which after considerable difficulty, I identified as Voules’s. I hardly +recognized it. In his official capacity Voules talks exactly like you’d +expect a statue to talk, if it could. In private, however, he evidently relaxed +to some extent, and to have that sort of thing going on in my midst at that +hour was too much for me. +</p> + +<p> +“Voules!” I yelled. +</p> + +<p> +Spion Kop ceased with a jerk. There was silence, then sobs diminishing in the +distance, and finally a tap at the door. Voules entered with that impressive, +my-lord-the-carriage-waits look which is what I pay him for. You wouldn’t +have believed he had a drop of any sort of emotion in him. +</p> + +<p> +“Voules,” I said, “are you under the delusion that I’m +going to be Queen of the May? You’ve called me early all right. +It’s only just seven.” +</p> + +<p> +“I understood you to summon me, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“I summoned you to find out why you were making that infernal noise +outside.” +</p> + +<p> +“I owe you an apology, sir. I am afraid that in the heat of the moment I +raised my voice.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a wonder you didn’t raise the roof. Who was that with +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Pilbeam, sir; Mrs. Vanderley’s maid.” +</p> + +<p> +“What was all the trouble about?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was breaking our engagement, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +I couldn’t help gaping. Somehow one didn’t associate Voules with +engagements. Then it struck me that I’d no right to butt in on his secret +sorrows, so I switched the conversation. +</p> + +<p> +“I think I’ll get up,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t wait to breakfast with the rest. Can you get me some right +away?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +So I had a solitary breakfast and went up on deck to smoke. It was a lovely +morning. Blue sea, gleaming Casino, cloudless sky, and all the rest of the +hippodrome. Presently the others began to trickle up. Stella Vanderley was one +of the first. I thought she looked a bit pale and tired. She said she +hadn’t slept well. That accounted for it. Unless you get your eight +hours, where are you? +</p> + +<p> +“Seen George?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +I couldn’t help thinking the name seemed to freeze her a bit. Which was +queer, because all the voyage she and George had been particularly close pals. +In fact, at any moment I expected George to come to me and slip his little hand +in mine, and whisper: “I’ve done it, old scout; she loves +muh!” +</p> + +<p> +“I have not seen Mr. Lattaker,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +I didn’t pursue the subject. George’s stock was apparently low that +a.m. +</p> + +<p> +The next item in the day’s programme occurred a few minutes later when +the morning papers arrived. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Vanderley opened hers and gave a scream. +</p> + +<p> +“The poor, dear Prince!” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“What a shocking thing!” said old Marshall. +</p> + +<p> +“I knew him in Vienna,” said Mrs. Vanderley. “He waltzed +divinely.” +</p> + +<p> +Then I got at mine and saw what they were talking about. The paper was full of +it. It seemed that late the night before His Serene Highness the Prince of +Saxburg-Leignitz (I always wonder why they call these chaps +“Serene”) had been murderously assaulted in a dark street on his +way back from the Casino to his yacht. Apparently he had developed the habit of +going about without an escort, and some rough-neck, taking advantage of this, +had laid for him and slugged him with considerable vim. The Prince had been +found lying pretty well beaten up and insensible in the street by a passing +pedestrian, and had been taken back to his yacht, where he still lay +unconscious. +</p> + +<p> +“This is going to do somebody no good,” I said. “What do you +get for slugging a Serene Highness? I wonder if they’ll catch the +fellow?” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Later,’” read old Marshall, “‘the +pedestrian who discovered His Serene Highness proves to have been Mr. Denman +Sturgis, the eminent private investigator. Mr. Sturgis has offered his services +to the police, and is understood to be in possession of a most important +clue.’ That’s the fellow who had charge of that kidnapping case in +Chicago. If anyone can catch the man, he can.” +</p> + +<p> +About five minutes later, just as the rest of them were going to move off to +breakfast, a boat hailed us and came alongside. A tall, thin man came up the +gangway. He looked round the group, and fixed on old Marshall as the probable +owner of the yacht. +</p> + +<p> +“Good morning,” he said. “I believe you have a Mr. Lattaker +on board—Mr. George Lattaker?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Marshall. “He’s down below. Want to see +him? Whom shall I say?” +</p> + +<p> +“He would not know my name. I should like to see him for a moment on +somewhat urgent business.” +</p> + +<p> +“Take a seat. He’ll be up in a moment. Reggie, my boy, go and hurry +him up.” +</p> + +<p> +I went down to George’s state-room. +</p> + +<p> +“George, old man!” I shouted. +</p> + +<p> +No answer. I opened the door and went in. The room was empty. What’s +more, the bunk hadn’t been slept in. I don’t know when I’ve +been more surprised. I went on deck. +</p> + +<p> +“He isn’t there,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Not there!” said old Marshall. “Where is he, then? Perhaps +he’s gone for a stroll ashore. But he’ll be back soon for +breakfast. You’d better wait for him. Have you breakfasted? No? Then will +you join us?” +</p> + +<p> +The man said he would, and just then the gong went and they trooped down, +leaving me alone on deck. +</p> + +<p> +I sat smoking and thinking, and then smoking a bit more, when I thought I heard +somebody call my name in a sort of hoarse whisper. I looked over my shoulder, +and, by Jove, there at the top of the gangway in evening dress, dusty to the +eyebrows and without a hat, was dear old George. +</p> + +<p> +“Great Scot!” I cried. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Sh!” he whispered. “Anyone about?” +</p> + +<p> +“They’re all down at breakfast.” +</p> + +<p> +He gave a sigh of relief, sank into my chair, and closed his eyes. I regarded +him with pity. The poor old boy looked a wreck. +</p> + +<p> +“I say!” I said, touching him on the shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +He leaped out of the chair with a smothered yell. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you do that? What did you do it for? What’s the sense of it? +How do you suppose you can ever make yourself popular if you go about touching +people on the shoulder? My nerves are sticking a yard out of my body this +morning, Reggie!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, old boy?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did a murder last night.” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the sort of thing that might happen to anybody. Directly +Stella Vanderley broke off our engagement I——” +</p> + +<p> +“Broke off your engagement? How long were you engaged?” +</p> + +<p> +“About two minutes. It may have been less. I hadn’t a stop-watch. I +proposed to her at ten last night in the saloon. She accepted me. I was just +going to kiss her when we heard someone coming. I went out. Coming along the +corridor was that infernal what’s-her-name—Mrs. Vanderley’s +maid—Pilbeam. Have you ever been accepted by the girl you love, +Reggie?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never. I’ve been refused dozens——” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you won’t understand how I felt. I was off my head with joy. +I hardly knew what I was doing. I just felt I had to kiss the nearest thing +handy. I couldn’t wait. It might have been the ship’s cat. It +wasn’t. It was Pilbeam.” +</p> + +<p> +“You kissed her?” +</p> + +<p> +“I kissed her. And just at that moment the door of the saloon opened and +out came Stella.” +</p> + +<p> +“Great Scott!” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly what I said. It flashed across me that to Stella, dear girl, not +knowing the circumstances, the thing might seem a little odd. It did. She broke +off the engagement, and I got out the dinghy and rowed off. I was mad. I +didn’t care what became of me. I simply wanted to forget. I went ashore. +I—It’s just on the cards that I may have drowned my sorrows a bit. +Anyhow, I don’t remember a thing, except that I can recollect having the +deuce of a scrap with somebody in a dark street and somebody falling, and +myself falling, and myself legging it for all I was worth. I woke up this +morning in the Casino gardens. I’ve lost my hat.” +</p> + +<p> +I dived for the paper. +</p> + +<p> +“Read,” I said. “It’s all there.” +</p> + +<p> +He read. +</p> + +<p> +“Good heavens!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“You didn’t do a thing to His Serene Nibs, did you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Reggie, this is awful.” +</p> + +<p> +“Cheer up. They say he’ll recover.” +</p> + +<p> +“That doesn’t matter.” +</p> + +<p> +“It does to him.” +</p> + +<p> +He read the paper again. +</p> + +<p> +“It says they’ve a clue.” +</p> + +<p> +“They always say that.” +</p> + +<p> +“But—My hat!” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“My hat. I must have dropped it during the scrap. This man, Denman +Sturgis, must have found it. It had my name in it!” +</p> + +<p> +“George,” I said, “you mustn’t waste time. Oh!” +</p> + +<p> +He jumped a foot in the air. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t do it!” he said, irritably. “Don’t bark +like that. What’s the matter?” +</p> + +<p> +“The man!” +</p> + +<p> +“What man?” +</p> + +<p> +“A tall, thin man with an eye like a gimlet. He arrived just before you +did. He’s down in the saloon now, having breakfast. He said he wanted to +see you on business, and wouldn’t give his name. I didn’t like the +look of him from the first. It’s this fellow Sturgis. It must be.” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” +</p> + +<p> +“I feel it. I’m sure of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Had he a hat?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course he had a hat.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fool! I mean mine. Was he carrying a hat?” +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove, he <i>was</i> carrying a parcel. George, old scout, you must +get a move on. You must light out if you want to spend the rest of your life +out of prison. Slugging a Serene Highness is <i>lèse-majesté</i>. It’s +worse than hitting a policeman. You haven’t got a moment to waste.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I haven’t any money. Reggie, old man, lend me a tenner or +something. I must get over the frontier into Italy at once. I’ll wire my +uncle to meet me in——” +</p> + +<p> +“Look out,” I cried; “there’s someone coming!” +</p> + +<p> +He dived out of sight just as Voules came up the companion-way, carrying a +letter on a tray. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter!” I said. “What do you want?” +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon, sir. I thought I heard Mr. Lattaker’s voice. A +letter has arrived for him.” +</p> + +<p> +“He isn’t here.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir. Shall I remove the letter?” +</p> + +<p> +“No; give it to me. I’ll give it to him when he comes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Voules! Are they all still at breakfast? The gentleman who came to +see Mr. Lattaker? Still hard at it?” +</p> + +<p> +“He is at present occupied with a kippered herring, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! That’s all, Voules.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +He retired. I called to George, and he came out. +</p> + +<p> +“Who was it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Only Voules. He brought a letter for you. They’re all at breakfast +still. The sleuth’s eating kippers.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’ll hold him for a bit. Full of bones.” He began to read +his letter. He gave a kind of grunt of surprise at the first paragraph. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’m hanged!” he said, as he finished. +</p> + +<p> +“Reggie, this is a queer thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that?” +</p> + +<p> +He handed me the letter, and directly I started in on it I saw why he had +grunted. This is how it ran: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“My dear George—I shall be seeing you to-morrow, I hope; but I +think it is better, before we meet, to prepare you for a curious situation that +has arisen in connection with the legacy which your father inherited from your +Aunt Emily, and which you are expecting me, as trustee, to hand over to you, +now that you have reached your twenty-fifth birthday. You have doubtless heard +your father speak of your twin-brother Alfred, who was lost or +kidnapped—which, was never ascertained—when you were both babies. +When no news was received of him for so many years, it was supposed that he was +dead. Yesterday, however, I received a letter purporting that he had been +living all this time in Buenos Ayres as the adopted son of a wealthy South +American, and has only recently discovered his identity. He states that he is +on his way to meet me, and will arrive any day now. Of course, like other +claimants, he may prove to be an impostor, but meanwhile his intervention will, +I fear, cause a certain delay before I can hand over your money to you. It will +be necessary to go into a thorough examination of credentials, etc., and this +will take some time. But I will go fully into the matter with you when we +meet.—Your affectionate uncle, +</p> + +<p class="right"> +“A<small>UGUSTUS</small> A<small>RBUTT</small>.” +</p> + +<p> +I read it through twice, and the second time I had one of those ideas I do +sometimes get, though admittedly a chump of the premier class. I have seldom +had such a thoroughly corking brain-wave. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, old top,” I said, “this lets you out.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lets me out of half the darned money, if that’s what you mean. If +this chap’s not an imposter—and there’s no earthly reason to +suppose he is, though I’ve never heard my father say a word about +him—we shall have to split the money. Aunt Emily’s will left the +money to my father, or, failing him, his ‘offspring.’ I thought +that meant me, but apparently there are a crowd of us. I call it rotten work, +springing unexpected offspring on a fellow at the eleventh hour like +this.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, you chump,” I said, “it’s going to save you. This +lets you out of your spectacular dash across the frontier. All you’ve got +to do is to stay here and be your brother Alfred. It came to me in a +flash.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked at me in a kind of dazed way. +</p> + +<p> +“You ought to be in some sort of a home, Reggie.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ass!” I cried. “Don’t you understand? Have you ever +heard of twin-brothers who weren’t exactly alike? Who’s to say you +aren’t Alfred if you swear you are? Your uncle will be there to back you +up that you have a brother Alfred.” +</p> + +<p> +“And Alfred will be there to call me a liar.” +</p> + +<p> +“He won’t. It’s not as if you had to keep it up for the rest +of your life. It’s only for an hour or two, till we can get this +detective off the yacht. We sail for England to-morrow morning.” +</p> + +<p> +At last the thing seemed to sink into him. His face brightened. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, I really do believe it would work,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course it would work. If they want proof, show them your mole. +I’ll swear George hadn’t one.” +</p> + +<p> +“And as Alfred I should get a chance of talking to Stella and making +things all right for George. Reggie, old top, you’re a genius.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no.” +</p> + +<p> +“You <i>are</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it’s only sometimes. I can’t keep it up.” +</p> + +<p> +And just then there was a gentle cough behind us. We spun round. +</p> + +<p> +“What the devil are you doing here, Voules,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon, sir. I have heard all.” +</p> + +<p> +I looked at George. George looked at me. +</p> + +<p> +“Voules is all right,” I said. “Decent Voules! Voules +wouldn’t give us away, would you, Voules?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“You would?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Voules, old man,” I said, “be sensible. What would you +gain by it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Financially, sir, nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Whereas, by keeping quiet”—I tapped him on the +chest—“by holding your tongue, Voules, by saying nothing about it +to anybody, Voules, old fellow, you might gain a considerable sum.” +</p> + +<p> +“Am I to understand, sir, that, because you are rich and I am poor, you +think that you can buy my self-respect?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, come!” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“How much?” said Voules. +</p> + +<p> +So we switched to terms. You wouldn’t believe the way the man haggled. +You’d have thought a decent, faithful servant would have been delighted +to oblige one in a little matter like that for a fiver. But not Voules. By no +means. It was a hundred down, and the promise of another hundred when we had +got safely away, before he was satisfied. But we fixed it up at last, and poor +old George got down to his state-room and changed his clothes. +</p> + +<p> +He’d hardly gone when the breakfast-party came on deck. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you meet him?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Meet whom?” said old Marshall. +</p> + +<p> +“George’s twin-brother Alfred.” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t know George had a brother.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor did he till yesterday. It’s a long story. He was kidnapped in +infancy, and everyone thought he was dead. George had a letter from his uncle +about him yesterday. I shouldn’t wonder if that’s where George has +gone, to see his uncle and find out about it. In the meantime, Alfred has +arrived. He’s down in George’s state-room now, having a brush-up. +It’ll amaze you, the likeness between them. You’ll think it +<i>is</i> George at first. Look! Here he comes.” +</p> + +<p> +And up came George, brushed and clean, in an ordinary yachting suit. +</p> + +<p> +They were rattled. There was no doubt about that. They stood looking at him, as +if they thought there was a catch somewhere, but weren’t quite certain +where it was. I introduced him, and still they looked doubtful. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Pepper tells me my brother is not on board,” said George. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s an amazing likeness,” said old Marshall. +</p> + +<p> +“Is my brother like me?” asked George amiably. +</p> + +<p> +“No one could tell you apart,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose twins always are alike,” said George. “But if it +ever came to a question of identification, there would be one way of +distinguishing us. Do you know George well, Mr. Pepper?” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s a dear old pal of mine.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve been swimming with him perhaps?” +</p> + +<p> +“Every day last August.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, you would have noticed it if he had had a mole like this on +the back of his neck, wouldn’t you?” He turned his back and stooped +and showed the mole. His collar hid it at ordinary times. I had seen it often +when we were bathing together. +</p> + +<p> +“Has George a mole like that?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” I said. “Oh, no.” +</p> + +<p> +“You would have noticed it if he had?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” I said. “Oh, yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad of that,” said George. “It would be a +nuisance not to be able to prove one’s own identity.” +</p> + +<p> +That seemed to satisfy them all. They couldn’t get away from it. It +seemed to me that from now on the thing was a walk-over. And I think George +felt the same, for, when old Marshall asked him if he had had breakfast, he +said he had not, went below, and pitched in as if he hadn’t a care in the +world. +</p> + +<p> +Everything went right till lunch-time. George sat in the shade on the foredeck +talking to Stella most of the time. When the gong went and the rest had started +to go below, he drew me back. He was beaming. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all right,” he said. “What did I tell you?” +</p> + +<p> +“What did you tell me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, about Stella. Didn’t I say that Alfred would fix things for +George? I told her she looked worried, and got her to tell me what the trouble +was. And then——” +</p> + +<p> +“You must have shown a flash of speed if you got her to confide in you +after knowing you for about two hours.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps I did,” said George modestly, “I had no notion, till +I became him, what a persuasive sort of chap my brother Alfred was. Anyway, she +told me all about it, and I started in to show her that George was a pretty +good sort of fellow on the whole, who oughtn’t to be turned down for what +was evidently merely temporary insanity. She saw my point.” +</p> + +<p> +“And it’s all right?” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely, if only we can produce George. How much longer does that +infernal sleuth intend to stay here? He seems to have taken root.” +</p> + +<p> +“I fancy he thinks that you’re bound to come back sooner or later, +and is waiting for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s an absolute nuisance,” said George. +</p> + +<p> +We were moving towards the companion way, to go below for lunch, when a boat +hailed us. We went to the side and looked over. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s my uncle,” said George. +</p> + +<p> +A stout man came up the gangway. +</p> + +<p> +“Halloa, George!” he said. “Get my letter?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think you are mistaking me for my brother,” said George. +“My name is Alfred Lattaker.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am George’s brother Alfred. Are you my Uncle Augustus?” +</p> + +<p> +The stout man stared at him. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re very like George,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“So everyone tells me.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you’re really Alfred?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d like to talk business with you for a moment.” +</p> + +<p> +He cocked his eye at me. I sidled off and went below. +</p> + +<p> +At the foot of the companion-steps I met Voules. +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Voules. “If it would be +convenient I should be glad to have the afternoon off.” +</p> + +<p> +I’m bound to say I rather liked his manner. Absolutely normal. Not a +trace of the fellow-conspirator about it. I gave him the afternoon off. +</p> + +<p> +I had lunch—George didn’t show up—and as I was going out I +was waylaid by the girl Pilbeam. She had been crying. +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon, sir, but did Mr. Voules ask you for the +afternoon?” +</p> + +<p> +I didn’t see what business if was of hers, but she seemed all worked up +about it, so I told her. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I have given him the afternoon off.” +</p> + +<p> +She broke down—absolutely collapsed. Devilish unpleasant it was. +I’m hopeless in a situation like this. After I’d said, +“There, there!” which didn’t seem to help much, I +hadn’t any remarks to make. +</p> + +<p> +“He s-said he was going to the tables to gamble away all his savings and +then shoot himself, because he had nothing left to live for.” +</p> + +<p> +I suddenly remembered the scrap in the small hours outside my state-room door. +I hate mysteries. I meant to get to the bottom of this. I couldn’t have a +really first-class valet like Voules going about the place shooting himself up. +Evidently the girl Pilbeam was at the bottom of the thing. I questioned her. +She sobbed. +</p> + +<p> +I questioned her more. I was firm. And eventually she yielded up the facts. +Voules had seen George kiss her the night before; that was the trouble. +</p> + +<p> +Things began to piece themselves together. I went up to interview George. There +was going to be another job for persuasive Alfred. Voules’s mind had got +to be eased as Stella’s had been. I couldn’t afford to lose a +fellow with his genius for preserving a trouser-crease. +</p> + +<p> +I found George on the foredeck. What is it Shakespeare or somebody says about +some fellow’s face being sicklied o’er with the pale cast of care? +George’s was like that. He looked green. +</p> + +<p> +“Finished with your uncle?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +He grinned a ghostly grin. +</p> + +<p> +“There isn’t any uncle,” he said. “There isn’t +any Alfred. And there isn’t any money.” +</p> + +<p> +“Explain yourself, old top,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“It won’t take long. The old crook has spent every penny of the +trust money. He’s been at it for years, ever since I was a kid. When the +time came to cough up, and I was due to see that he did it, he went to the +tables in the hope of a run of luck, and lost the last remnant of the stuff. He +had to find a way of holding me for a while and postponing the squaring of +accounts while he got away, and he invented this twin-brother business. He knew +I should find out sooner or later, but meanwhile he would be able to get off to +South America, which he has done. He’s on his way now.” +</p> + +<p> +“You let him go?” +</p> + +<p> +“What could I do? I can’t afford to make a fuss with that man +Sturgis around. I can’t prove there’s no Alfred when my only chance +of avoiding prison is to be Alfred.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you’ve made things right for yourself with Stella Vanderley, +anyway,” I said, to cheer him up. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the good of that now? I’ve hardly any money and no +prospects. How can I marry her?” +</p> + +<p> +I pondered. +</p> + +<p> +“It looks to me, old top,” I said at last, “as if things were +in a bit of a mess.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve guessed it,” said poor old George. +</p> + +<p> +I spent the afternoon musing on Life. If you come to think of it, what a queer +thing Life is! So unlike anything else, don’t you know, if you see what I +mean. At any moment you may be strolling peacefully along, and all the time +Life’s waiting around the corner to fetch you one. You can’t tell +when you may be going to get it. It’s all dashed puzzling. Here was poor +old George, as well-meaning a fellow as ever stepped, getting swatted all over +the ring by the hand of Fate. Why? That’s what I asked myself. Just Life, +don’t you know. That’s all there was about it. +</p> + +<p> +It was close on six o’clock when our third visitor of the day arrived. We +were sitting on the afterdeck in the cool of the evening—old Marshall, +Denman Sturgis, Mrs. Vanderley, Stella, George, and I—when he came up. We +had been talking of George, and old Marshall was suggesting the advisability of +sending out search-parties. He was worried. So was Stella Vanderley. So, for +that matter, were George and I, only not for the same reason. +</p> + +<p> +We were just arguing the thing out when the visitor appeared. He was a +well-built, stiff sort of fellow. He spoke with a German accent. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Marshall?” he said. “I am Count Fritz von Cöslin, +equerry to His Serene Highness”—he clicked his heels together and +saluted—“the Prince of Saxburg-Leignitz.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Vanderley jumped up. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Count,” she said, “what ages since we met in Vienna! +You remember?” +</p> + +<p> +“Could I ever forget? And the charming Miss Stella, she is well, I +suppose not?” +</p> + +<p> +“Stella, you remember Count Fritz?” +</p> + +<p> +Stella shook hands with him. +</p> + +<p> +“And how is the poor, dear Prince?” asked Mrs. Vanderley. +“What a terrible thing to have happened!” +</p> + +<p> +“I rejoice to say that my high-born master is better. He has regained +consciousness and is sitting up and taking nourishment.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s good,” said old Marshall. +</p> + +<p> +“In a spoon only,” sighed the Count. “Mr. Marshall, with your +permission I should like a word with Mr. Sturgis.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Who?” +</p> + +<p> +The gimlet-eyed sportsman came forward. +</p> + +<p> +“I am Denman Sturgis, at your service.” +</p> + +<p> +“The deuce you are! What are you doing here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Sturgis,” explained the Count, “graciously volunteered +his services——” +</p> + +<p> +“I know. But what’s he doing here?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am waiting for Mr. George Lattaker, Mr. Marshall.” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“You have not found him?” asked the Count anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Not yet, Count; but I hope to do so shortly. I know what he looks like +now. This gentleman is his twin-brother. They are doubles.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are sure this gentleman is not Mr. George Lattaker?” +</p> + +<p> +George put his foot down firmly on the suggestion. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t go mixing me up with my brother,” he said. “I am +Alfred. You can tell me by my mole.” +</p> + +<p> +He exhibited the mole. He was taking no risks. +</p> + +<p> +The Count clicked his tongue regretfully. +</p> + +<p> +“I am sorry,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +George didn’t offer to console him, +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t worry,” said Sturgis. “He won’t escape me. +I shall find him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do, Mr. Sturgis, do. And quickly. Find swiftly that noble young +man.” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” shouted George. +</p> + +<p> +“That noble young man, George Lattaker, who, at the risk of his life, +saved my high-born master from the assassin.” +</p> + +<p> +George sat down suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t understand,” he said feebly. +</p> + +<p> +“We were wrong, Mr. Sturgis,” went on the Count. “We leaped +to the conclusion—was it not so?—that the owner of the hat you +found was also the assailant of my high-born master. We were wrong. I have +heard the story from His Serene Highness’s own lips. He was passing down +a dark street when a ruffian in a mask sprang out upon him. Doubtless he had +been followed from the Casino, where he had been winning heavily. My high-born +master was taken by surprise. He was felled. But before he lost consciousness +he perceived a young man in evening dress, wearing the hat you found, running +swiftly towards him. The hero engaged the assassin in combat, and my high-born +master remembers no more. His Serene Highness asks repeatedly, ‘Where is +my brave preserver?’ His gratitude is princely. He seeks for this young +man to reward him. Ah, you should be proud of your brother, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks,” said George limply. +</p> + +<p> +“And you, Mr. Sturgis, you must redouble your efforts. You must search +the land; you must scour the sea to find George Lattaker.” +</p> + +<p> +“He needn’t take all that trouble,” said a voice from the +gangway. +</p> + +<p> +It was Voules. His face was flushed, his hat was on the back of his head, and +he was smoking a fat cigar. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you where to find George Lattaker!” he shouted. +</p> + +<p> +He glared at George, who was staring at him. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, look at me,” he yelled. “Look at me. You won’t be +the first this afternoon who’s stared at the mysterious stranger who won +for two hours without a break. I’ll be even with you now, Mr. Blooming +Lattaker. I’ll learn you to break a poor man’s heart. Mr. Marshall +and gents, this morning I was on deck, and I over’eard ’im plotting +to put up a game on you. They’d spotted that gent there as a detective, +and they arranged that blooming Lattaker was to pass himself off as his own +twin-brother. And if you wanted proof, blooming Pepper tells him to show them +his mole and he’d swear George hadn’t one. Those were his very +words. That man there is George Lattaker, Hesquire, and let him deny it if he +can.” +</p> + +<p> +George got up. +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t the least desire to deny it, Voules.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Voules, if <i>you</i> please.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s true,” said George, turning to the Count. “The +fact is, I had rather a foggy recollection of what happened last night. I only +remembered knocking some one down, and, like you, I jumped to the conclusion +that I must have assaulted His Serene Highness.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you are really George Lattaker?” asked the Count. +</p> + +<p> +“I am.” +</p> + +<p> +“’Ere, what does all this mean?” demanded Voules. +</p> + +<p> +“Merely that I saved the life of His Serene Highness the Prince of +Saxburg-Leignitz, Mr. Voules.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a swindle!” began Voules, when there was a sudden rush +and the girl Pilbeam cannoned into the crowd, sending me into old +Marshall’s chair, and flung herself into the arms of Voules. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Harold!” she cried. “I thought you were dead. I thought +you’d shot yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +He sort of braced himself together to fling her off, and then he seemed to +think better of it and fell into the clinch. +</p> + +<p> +It was all dashed romantic, don’t you know, but there <i>are</i> limits. +</p> + +<p> +“Voules, you’re sacked,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Who cares?” he said. “Think I was going to stop on now +I’m a gentleman of property? Come along, Emma, my dear. Give a +month’s notice and get your ’at, and I’ll take you to dinner +at Ciro’s.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you, Mr. Lattaker,” said the Count, “may I conduct you +to the presence of my high-born master? He wishes to show his gratitude to his +preserver.” +</p> + +<p> +“You may,” said George. “May I have my hat, Mr. +Sturgis?” +</p> + +<p> +There’s just one bit more. After dinner that night I came up for a smoke, +and, strolling on to the foredeck, almost bumped into George and Stella. They +seemed to be having an argument. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not sure,” she was saying, “that I believe that a +man can be so happy that he wants to kiss the nearest thing in sight, as you +put it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you?” said George. “Well, as it happens, +I’m feeling just that way now.” +</p> + +<p> +I coughed and he turned round. +</p> + +<p> +“Halloa, Reggie!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Halloa, George!” I said. “Lovely night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Beautiful,” said Stella. +</p> + +<p> +“The moon,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Ripping,” said George. +</p> + +<p> +“Lovely,” said Stella. +</p> + +<p> +“And look at the reflection of the stars on the——” +</p> + +<p> +George caught my eye. “Pop off,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +I popped. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>DOING CLARENCE A BIT OF GOOD</h2> + +<p> +Have you ever thought about—and, when I say thought about, I mean really +carefully considered the question of—the coolness, the cheek, or, if you +prefer it, the gall with which Woman, as a sex, fairly bursts? <i>I</i> have, +by Jove! But then I’ve had it thrust on my notice, by George, in a way I +should imagine has happened to pretty few fellows. And the limit was reached by +that business of the Yeardsley “Venus.” +</p> + +<p> +To make you understand the full what-d’you-call-it of the situation, I +shall have to explain just how matters stood between Mrs. Yeardsley and myself. +</p> + +<p> +When I first knew her she was Elizabeth Shoolbred. Old Worcestershire family; +pots of money; pretty as a picture. Her brother Bill was at Oxford with me. +</p> + +<p> +I loved Elizabeth Shoolbred. I loved her, don’t you know. And there was a +time, for about a week, when we were engaged to be married. But just as I was +beginning to take a serious view of life and study furniture catalogues and +feel pretty solemn when the restaurant orchestra played “The Wedding +Glide,” I’m hanged if she didn’t break it off, and a month +later she was married to a fellow of the name of Yeardsley—Clarence +Yeardsley, an artist. +</p> + +<p> +What with golf, and billiards, and a bit of racing, and fellows at the club +rallying round and kind of taking me out of myself, as it were, I got over it, +and came to look on the affair as a closed page in the book of my life, if you +know what I mean. It didn’t seem likely to me that we should meet again, +as she and Clarence had settled down in the country somewhere and never came to +London, and I’m bound to own that, by the time I got her letter, the +wound had pretty well healed, and I was to a certain extent sitting up and +taking nourishment. In fact, to be absolutely honest, I was jolly thankful the +thing had ended as it had done. +</p> + +<p> +This letter I’m telling you about arrived one morning out of a blue sky, +as it were. It ran like this: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“MY DEAR OLD REGGIE,—What ages it seems since I saw anything of +you. How are you? We have settled down here in the most perfect old house, with +a lovely garden, in the middle of delightful country. Couldn’t you run +down here for a few days? Clarence and I would be so glad to see you. Bill is +here, and is most anxious to meet you again. He was speaking of you only this +morning. <i>Do</i> come. Wire your train, and I will send the car to meet you. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +—Yours most sincerely,<br> +E<small>LIZABETH</small> Y<small>EARDSLEY.</small> +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“P.S.—We can give you new milk and fresh eggs. Think of that! +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“P.P.S.—Bill says our billiard-table is one of the best he has ever +played on. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“P.P.S.S.—We are only half a mile from a golf course. Bill says it +is better than St. Andrews. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“P.P.S.S.S.—You <i>must</i> come!” +</p> + +<p> +Well, a fellow comes down to breakfast one morning, with a bit of a head on, +and finds a letter like that from a girl who might quite easily have blighted +his life! It rattled me rather, I must confess. +</p> + +<p> +However, that bit about the golf settled me. I knew Bill knew what he was +talking about, and, if he said the course was so topping, it must be something +special. So I went. +</p> + +<p> +Old Bill met me at the station with the car. I hadn’t come across him for +some months, and I was glad to see him again. And he apparently was glad to see +me. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank goodness you’ve come,” he said, as we drove off. +“I was just about at my last grip.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the trouble, old scout?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“If I had the artistic what’s-its-name,” he went on, +“if the mere mention of pictures didn’t give me the pip, I dare say +it wouldn’t be so bad. As it is, it’s rotten!” +</p> + +<p> +“Pictures?” +</p> + +<p> +“Pictures. Nothing else is mentioned in this household. Clarence is an +artist. So is his father. And you know yourself what Elizabeth is like when one +gives her her head?” +</p> + +<p> +I remembered then—it hadn’t come back to me before—that most +of my time with Elizabeth had been spent in picture-galleries. During the +period when I had let her do just what she wanted to do with me, I had had to +follow her like a dog through gallery after gallery, though pictures are poison +to me, just as they are to old Bill. Somehow it had never struck me that she +would still be going on in this way after marrying an artist. I should have +thought that by this time the mere sight of a picture would have fed her up. +Not so, however, according to old Bill. +</p> + +<p> +“They talk pictures at every meal,” he said. “I tell you, it +makes a chap feel out of it. How long are you down for?” +</p> + +<p> +“A few days.” +</p> + +<p> +“Take my tip, and let me send you a wire from London. I go there +to-morrow. I promised to play against the Scottish. The idea was that I was to +come back after the match. But you couldn’t get me back with a +lasso.” +</p> + +<p> +I tried to point out the silver lining. +</p> + +<p> +“But, Bill, old scout, your sister says there’s a most corking +links near here.” +</p> + +<p> +He turned and stared at me, and nearly ran us into the bank. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t mean honestly she said that?” +</p> + +<p> +“She said you said it was better than St. Andrews.” +</p> + +<p> +“So I did. Was that all she said I said?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, wasn’t it enough?” +</p> + +<p> +“She didn’t happen to mention that I added the words, ‘I +don’t think’?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, she forgot to tell me that.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the worst course in Great Britain.” +</p> + +<p> +I felt rather stunned, don’t you know. Whether it’s a bad habit to +have got into or not, I can’t say, but I simply can’t do without my +daily allowance of golf when I’m not in London. +</p> + +<p> +I took another whirl at the silver lining. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll have to take it out in billiards,” I said. +“I’m glad the table’s good.” +</p> + +<p> +“It depends what you call good. It’s half-size, and there’s a +seven-inch cut just out of baulk where Clarence’s cue slipped. Elizabeth +has mended it with pink silk. Very smart and dressy it looks, but it +doesn’t improve the thing as a billiard-table.” +</p> + +<p> +“But she said you said——” +</p> + +<p> +“Must have been pulling your leg.” +</p> + +<p> +We turned in at the drive gates of a good-sized house standing well back from +the road. It looked black and sinister in the dusk, and I couldn’t help +feeling, you know, like one of those Johnnies you read about in stories who are +lured to lonely houses for rummy purposes and hear a shriek just as they get +there. Elizabeth knew me well enough to know that a specially good golf course +was a safe draw to me. And she had deliberately played on her knowledge. What +was the game? That was what I wanted to know. And then a sudden thought struck +me which brought me out in a cold perspiration. She had some girl down here and +was going to have a stab at marrying me off. I’ve often heard that young +married women are all over that sort of thing. Certainly she had said there was +nobody at the house but Clarence and herself and Bill and Clarence’s +father, but a woman who could take the name of St. Andrews in vain as she had +done wouldn’t be likely to stick at a trifle. +</p> + +<p> +“Bill, old scout,” I said, “there aren’t any frightful +girls or any rot of that sort stopping here, are there?” +</p> + +<p> +“Wish there were,” he said. “No such luck.” +</p> + +<p> +As we pulled up at the front door, it opened, and a woman’s figure +appeared. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you got him, Bill?” she said, which in my present frame of +mind struck me as a jolly creepy way of putting it. The sort of thing Lady +Macbeth might have said to Macbeth, don’t you know. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean me?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +She came down into the light. It was Elizabeth, looking just the same as in the +old days. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that you, Reggie? I’m so glad you were able to come. I was +afraid you might have forgotten all about it. You know what you are. Come along +in and have some tea.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Have you ever been turned down by a girl who afterwards married and then been +introduced to her husband? If so you’ll understand how I felt when +Clarence burst on me. You know the feeling. First of all, when you hear about +the marriage, you say to yourself, “I wonder what he’s like.” +Then you meet him, and think, “There must be some mistake. She +can’t have preferred <i>this</i> to me!” That’s what I +thought, when I set eyes on Clarence. +</p> + +<p> +He was a little thin, nervous-looking chappie of about thirty-five. His hair +was getting grey at the temples and straggly on top. He wore pince-nez, and he +had a drooping moustache. I’m no Bombardier Wells myself, but in front of +Clarence I felt quite a nut. And Elizabeth, mind you, is one of those tall, +splendid girls who look like princesses. Honestly, I believe women do it out of +pure cussedness. +</p> + +<p> +“How do you do, Mr. Pepper? Hark! Can you hear a mewing cat?” said +Clarence. All in one breath, don’t you know. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“A mewing cat. I feel sure I hear a mewing cat. Listen!” +</p> + +<p> +While we were listening the door opened, and a white-haired old gentleman came +in. He was built on the same lines as Clarence, but was an earlier model. I +took him, correctly, to be Mr. Yeardsley, senior. Elizabeth introduced us. +</p> + +<p> +“Father,” said Clarence, “did you meet a mewing cat outside? +I feel positive I heard a cat mewing.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said the father, shaking his head; “no mewing +cat.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t bear mewing cats,” said Clarence. “A mewing +cat gets on my nerves!” +</p> + +<p> +“A mewing cat is so trying,” said Elizabeth. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>I</i> dislike mewing cats,” said old Mr. Yeardsley. +</p> + +<p> +That was all about mewing cats for the moment. They seemed to think they had +covered the ground satisfactorily, and they went back to pictures. +</p> + +<p> +We talked pictures steadily till it was time to dress for dinner. At least, +they did. I just sort of sat around. Presently the subject of picture-robberies +came up. Somebody mentioned the “Monna Lisa,” and then I happened +to remember seeing something in the evening paper, as I was coming down in the +train, about some fellow somewhere having had a valuable painting pinched by +burglars the night before. It was the first time I had had a chance of breaking +into the conversation with any effect, and I meant to make the most of it. The +paper was in the pocket of my overcoat in the hall. I went and fetched it. +</p> + +<p> +“Here it is,” I said. “A Romney belonging to Sir Bellamy +Palmer——” +</p> + +<p> +They all shouted “What!” exactly at the same time, like a chorus. +Elizabeth grabbed the paper. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me look! Yes. ‘Late last night burglars entered the residence +of Sir Bellamy Palmer, Dryden Park, Midford, Hants——’” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, that’s near here,” I said. “I passed through +Midford——” +</p> + +<p> +“Dryden Park is only two miles from this house,” said Elizabeth. I +noticed her eyes were sparkling. +</p> + +<p> +“Only two miles!” she said. “It might have been us! It might +have been the ‘Venus’!” +</p> + +<p> +Old Mr. Yeardsley bounded in his chair. +</p> + +<p> +“The ‘Venus’!” he cried. +</p> + +<p> +They all seemed wonderfully excited. My little contribution to the +evening’s chat had made quite a hit. +</p> + +<p> +Why I didn’t notice it before I don’t know, but it was not till +Elizabeth showed it to me after dinner that I had my first look at the +Yeardsley “Venus.” When she led me up to it, and switched on the +light, it seemed impossible that I could have sat right through dinner without +noticing it. But then, at meals, my attention is pretty well riveted on the +foodstuffs. Anyway, it was not till Elizabeth showed it to me that I was aware +of its existence. +</p> + +<p> +She and I were alone in the drawing-room after dinner. Old Yeardsley was +writing letters in the morning-room, while Bill and Clarence were rollicking on +the half-size billiard table with the pink silk tapestry effects. All, in fact, +was joy, jollity, and song, so to speak, when Elizabeth, who had been sitting +wrapped in thought for a bit, bent towards me and said, “Reggie.” +</p> + +<p> +And the moment she said it I knew something was going to happen. You know that +pre-what-d’you-call-it you get sometimes? Well, I got it then. +</p> + +<p> +“What-o?” I said nervously. +</p> + +<p> +“Reggie,” she said, “I want to ask a great favour of +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” +</p> + +<p> +She stooped down and put a log on the fire, and went on, with her back to me: +</p> + +<p> +“Do you remember, Reggie, once saying you would do anything in the world +for me?” +</p> + +<p> +There! That’s what I meant when I said that about the cheek of Woman as a +sex. What I mean is, after what had happened, you’d have thought she +would have preferred to let the dead past bury its dead, and all that sort of +thing, what? +</p> + +<p> +Mind you, I <i>had</i> said I would do anything in the world for her. I admit +that. But it was a distinctly pre-Clarence remark. He hadn’t appeared on +the scene then, and it stands to reason that a fellow who may have been a +perfect knight-errant to a girl when he was engaged to her, doesn’t feel +nearly so keen on spreading himself in that direction when she has given him +the miss-in-baulk, and gone and married a man who reason and instinct both tell +him is a decided blighter. +</p> + +<p> +I couldn’t think of anything to say but “Oh, yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s something you can do for me now, which will make me +everlastingly grateful.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know, Reggie,” she said suddenly, “that only a few +months ago Clarence was very fond of cats?” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh! Well, he still seems—er—<i>interested</i> in them, +what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Now they get on his nerves. Everything gets on his nerves.” +</p> + +<p> +“Some fellows swear by that stuff you see advertised all over +the——” +</p> + +<p> +“No, that wouldn’t help him. He doesn’t need to take +anything. He wants to get rid of something.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t quite follow. Get rid of something?” +</p> + +<p> +“The ‘Venus,’” said Elizabeth. +</p> + +<p> +She looked up and caught my bulging eye. +</p> + +<p> +“You saw the ‘Venus,’” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Not that I remember.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, come into the dining-room.” +</p> + +<p> +We went into the dining-room, and she switched on the lights. +</p> + +<p> +“There,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +On the wall close to the door—that may have been why I hadn’t +noticed it before; I had sat with my back to it—was a large oil-painting. +It was what you’d call a classical picture, I suppose. What I mean +is—well, you know what I mean. All I can say is that it’s funny I +<i>hadn’t</i> noticed it. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that the ‘Venus’?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +She nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“How would you like to have to look at that every time you sat down to a +meal?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I don’t know. I don’t think it would affect me much. +I’d worry through all right.” +</p> + +<p> +She jerked her head impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +“But you’re not an artist,” she said. “Clarence +is.” +</p> + +<p> +And then I began to see daylight. What exactly was the trouble I didn’t +understand, but it was evidently something to do with the good old Artistic +Temperament, and I could believe anything about that. It explains everything. +It’s like the Unwritten Law, don’t you know, which you plead in +America if you’ve done anything they want to send you to chokey for and +you don’t want to go. What I mean is, if you’re absolutely off your +rocker, but don’t find it convenient to be scooped into the luny-bin, you +simply explain that, when you said you were a teapot, it was just your Artistic +Temperament, and they apologize and go away. So I stood by to hear just how the +A.T. had affected Clarence, the Cat’s Friend, ready for anything. +</p> + +<p> +And, believe me, it had hit Clarence badly. +</p> + +<p> +It was this way. It seemed that old Yeardsley was an amateur artist and that +this “Venus” was his masterpiece. He said so, and he ought to have +known. Well, when Clarence married, he had given it to him, as a wedding +present, and had hung it where it stood with his own hands. All right so far, +what? But mark the sequel. Temperamental Clarence, being a professional artist +and consequently some streets ahead of the dad at the game, saw flaws in the +“Venus.” He couldn’t stand it at any price. He didn’t +like the drawing. He didn’t like the expression of the face. He +didn’t like the colouring. In fact, it made him feel quite ill to look at +it. Yet, being devoted to his father and wanting to do anything rather than +give him pain, he had not been able to bring himself to store the thing in the +cellar, and the strain of confronting the picture three times a day had begun +to tell on him to such an extent that Elizabeth felt something had to be done. +</p> + +<p> +“Now you see,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“In a way,” I said. “But don’t you think it’s +making rather heavy weather over a trifle?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, can’t you understand? Look!” Her voice dropped as if she +was in church, and she switched on another light. It shone on the picture next +to old Yeardsley’s. “There!” she said. “Clarence +painted that!” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at me expectantly, as if she were waiting for me to swoon, or yell, +or something. I took a steady look at Clarence’s effort. It was another +Classical picture. It seemed to me very much like the other one. +</p> + +<p> +Some sort of art criticism was evidently expected of me, so I made a dash at +it. +</p> + +<p> +“Er—‘Venus’?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +Mark you, Sherlock Holmes would have made the same mistake. On the evidence, I +mean. +</p> + +<p> +“No. ‘Jocund Spring,’” she snapped. She switched off +the light. “I see you don’t understand even now. You never had any +taste about pictures. When we used to go to the galleries together, you would +far rather have been at your club.” +</p> + +<p> +This was so absolutely true, that I had no remark to make. She came up to me, +and put her hand on my arm. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry, Reggie. I didn’t mean to be cross. Only I do want +to make you understand that Clarence is <i>suffering</i>. +Suppose—suppose—well, let us take the case of a great musician. +Suppose a great musician had to sit and listen to a cheap vulgar tune—the +same tune—day after day, day after day, wouldn’t you expect his +nerves to break! Well, it’s just like that with Clarence. Now you +see?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but——” +</p> + +<p> +“But what? Surely I’ve put it plainly enough?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. But what I mean is, where do I come in? What do you want me to +do?” +</p> + +<p> +“I want you to steal the ‘Venus.’” +</p> + +<p> +I looked at her. +</p> + +<p> +“You want me to——?” +</p> + +<p> +“Steal it. Reggie!” Her eyes were shining with excitement. +“Don’t you see? It’s Providence. When I asked you to come +here, I had just got the idea. I knew I could rely on you. And then by a +miracle this robbery of the Romney takes place at a house not two miles away. +It removes the last chance of the poor old man suspecting anything and having +his feelings hurt. Why, it’s the most wonderful compliment to him. Think! +One night thieves steal a splendid Romney; the next the same gang take his +‘Venus.’ It will be the proudest moment of his life. Do it +to-night, Reggie. I’ll give you a sharp knife. You simply cut the canvas +out of the frame, and it’s done.” +</p> + +<p> +“But one moment,” I said. “I’d be delighted to be of +any use to you, but in a purely family affair like this, wouldn’t it be +better—in fact, how about tackling old Bill on the subject?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have asked Bill already. Yesterday. He refused.” +</p> + +<p> +“But if I’m caught?” +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t be. All you have to do is to take the picture, open one +of the windows, leave it open, and go back to your room.” +</p> + +<p> +It sounded simple enough. +</p> + +<p> +“And as to the picture itself—when I’ve got it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Burn it. I’ll see that you have a good fire in your room.” +</p> + +<p> +“But——” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at me. She always did have the most wonderful eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Reggie,” she said; nothing more. Just “Reggie.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at me. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, after all, if you see what I mean—The days that are no more, +don’t you know. Auld Lang Syne, and all that sort of thing. You follow +me?” +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” I said. “I’ll do it.” +</p> + +<p> +I don’t know if you happen to be one of those Johnnies who are steeped in +crime, and so forth, and think nothing of pinching diamond necklaces. If +you’re not, you’ll understand that I felt a lot less keen on the +job I’d taken on when I sat in my room, waiting to get busy, than I had +done when I promised to tackle it in the dining-room. On paper it all seemed +easy enough, but I couldn’t help feeling there was a catch somewhere, and +I’ve never known time pass slower. The kick-off was scheduled for one +o’clock in the morning, when the household might be expected to be pretty +sound asleep, but at a quarter to I couldn’t stand it any longer. I lit +the lantern I had taken from Bill’s bicycle, took a grip of my knife, and +slunk downstairs. +</p> + +<p> +The first thing I did on getting to the dining-room was to open the window. I +had half a mind to smash it, so as to give an extra bit of local colour to the +affair, but decided not to on account of the noise. I had put my lantern on the +table, and was just reaching out for it, when something happened. What it was +for the moment I couldn’t have said. It might have been an explosion of +some sort or an earthquake. Some solid object caught me a frightful whack on +the chin. Sparks and things occurred inside my head and the next thing I +remember is feeling something wet and cold splash into my face, and hearing a +voice that sounded like old Bill’s say, “Feeling better now?” +</p> + +<p> +I sat up. The lights were on, and I was on the floor, with old Bill kneeling +beside me with a soda siphon. +</p> + +<p> +“What happened?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m awfully sorry, old man,” he said. “I hadn’t +a notion it was you. I came in here, and saw a lantern on the table, and the +window open and a chap with a knife in his hand, so I didn’t stop to make +inquiries. I just let go at his jaw for all I was worth. What on earth do you +think you’re doing? Were you walking in your sleep?” +</p> + +<p> +“It was Elizabeth,” I said. “Why, you know all about it. She +said she had told you.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t mean——” +</p> + +<p> +“The picture. You refused to take it on, so she asked me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Reggie, old man,” he said. “I’ll never believe what +they say about repentance again. It’s a fool’s trick and upsets +everything. If I hadn’t repented, and thought it was rather rough on +Elizabeth not to do a little thing like that for her, and come down here to do +it after all, you wouldn’t have stopped that sleep-producer with your +chin. I’m sorry.” +</p> + +<p> +“Me, too,” I said, giving my head another shake to make certain it +was still on. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you feeling better now?” +</p> + +<p> +“Better than I was. But that’s not saying much.” +</p> + +<p> +“Would you like some more soda-water? No? Well, how about getting this +job finished and going to bed? And let’s be quick about it too. You made +a noise like a ton of bricks when you went down just now, and it’s on the +cards some of the servants may have heard. Toss you who carves.” +</p> + +<p> +“Heads.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tails it is,” he said, uncovering the coin. “Up you get. +I’ll hold the light. Don’t spike yourself on that sword of +yours.” +</p> + +<p> +It was as easy a job as Elizabeth had said. Just four quick cuts, and the thing +came out of its frame like an oyster. I rolled it up. Old Bill had put the +lantern on the floor and was at the sideboard, collecting whisky, soda, and +glasses. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ve got a long evening before us,” he said. “You +can’t burn a picture of that size in one chunk. You’d set the +chimney on fire. Let’s do the thing comfortably. Clarence can’t +grudge us the stuff. We’ve done him a bit of good this trip. +To-morrow’ll be the maddest, merriest day of Clarence’s glad New +Year. On we go.” +</p> + +<p> +We went up to my room, and sat smoking and yarning away and sipping our drinks, +and every now and then cutting a slice off the picture and shoving it in the +fire till it was all gone. And what with the cosiness of it and the cheerful +blaze, and the comfortable feeling of doing good by stealth, I don’t know +when I’ve had a jollier time since the days when we used to brew in my +study at school. +</p> + +<p> +We had just put the last slice on when Bill sat up suddenly, and gripped my +arm. +</p> + +<p> +“I heard something,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +I listened, and, by Jove, I heard something, too. My room was just over the +dining-room, and the sound came up to us quite distinctly. Stealthy footsteps, +by George! And then a chair falling over. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s somebody in the dining-room,” I whispered. +</p> + +<p> +There’s a certain type of chap who takes a pleasure in positively +chivvying trouble. Old Bill’s like that. If I had been alone, it would +have taken me about three seconds to persuade myself that I hadn’t really +heard anything after all. I’m a peaceful sort of cove, and believe in +living and letting live, and so forth. To old Bill, however, a visit from +burglars was pure jam. He was out of his chair in one jump. +</p> + +<p> +“Come on,” he said. “Bring the poker.” +</p> + +<p> +I brought the tongs as well. I felt like it. Old Bill collared the knife. We +crept downstairs. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll fling the door open and make a rush,” said Bill. +</p> + +<p> +“Supposing they shoot, old scout?” +</p> + +<p> +“Burglars never shoot,” said Bill. +</p> + +<p> +Which was comforting provided the burglars knew it. +</p> + +<p> +Old Bill took a grip of the handle, turned it quickly, and in he went. And then +we pulled up sharp, staring. +</p> + +<p> +The room was in darkness except for a feeble splash of light at the near end. +Standing on a chair in front of Clarence’s “Jocund Spring,” +holding a candle in one hand and reaching up with a knife in the other, was old +Mr. Yeardsley, in bedroom slippers and a grey dressing-gown. He had made a +final cut just as we rushed in. Turning at the sound, he stopped, and he and +the chair and the candle and the picture came down in a heap together. The +candle went out. +</p> + +<p> +“What on earth?” said Bill. +</p> + +<p> +I felt the same. I picked up the candle and lit it, and then a most fearful +thing happened. The old man picked himself up, and suddenly collapsed into a +chair and began to cry like a child. Of course, I could see it was only the +Artistic Temperament, but still, believe me, it was devilish unpleasant. I +looked at old Bill. Old Bill looked at me. We shut the door quick, and after +that we didn’t know what to do. I saw Bill look at the sideboard, and I +knew what he was looking for. But we had taken the siphon upstairs, and his +ideas of first-aid stopped short at squirting soda-water. We just waited, and +presently old Yeardsley switched off, sat up, and began talking with a rush. +</p> + +<p> +“Clarence, my boy, I was tempted. It was that burglary at Dryden Park. It +tempted me. It made it all so simple. I knew you would put it down to the same +gang, Clarence, my boy. I——” +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to dawn upon him at this point that Clarence was not among those +present. +</p> + +<p> +“Clarence?” he said hesitatingly. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s in bed,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“In bed! Then he doesn’t know? Even now—Young men, I throw +myself on your mercy. Don’t be hard on me. Listen.” He grabbed at +Bill, who sidestepped. “I can explain everything—everything.” +</p> + +<p> +He gave a gulp. +</p> + +<p> +“You are not artists, you two young men, but I will try to make you +understand, make you realise what this picture means to me. I was two years +painting it. It is my child. I watched it grow. I loved it. It was part of my +life. Nothing would have induced me to sell it. And then Clarence married, and +in a mad moment I gave my treasure to him. You cannot understand, you two young +men, what agonies I suffered. The thing was done. It was irrevocable. I saw how +Clarence valued the picture. I knew that I could never bring myself to ask him +for it back. And yet I was lost without it. What could I do? Till this evening +I could see no hope. Then came this story of the theft of the Romney from a +house quite close to this, and I saw my way. Clarence would never suspect. He +would put the robbery down to the same band of criminals who stole the Romney. +Once the idea had come, I could not drive it out. I fought against it, but to +no avail. At last I yielded, and crept down here to carry out my plan. You +found me.” He grabbed again, at me this time, and got me by the arm. He +had a grip like a lobster. “Young man,” he said, “you would +not betray me? You would not tell Clarence?” +</p> + +<p> +I was feeling most frightfully sorry for the poor old chap by this time, +don’t you know, but I thought it would be kindest to give it him straight +instead of breaking it by degrees. +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t say a word to Clarence, Mr. Yeardsley,” I said. +“I quite understand your feelings. The Artistic Temperament, and all that +sort of thing. I mean—what? <i>I</i> know. But I’m +afraid—Well, look!” +</p> + +<p> +I went to the door and switched on the electric light, and there, staring him +in the face, were the two empty frames. He stood goggling at them in silence. +Then he gave a sort of wheezy grunt. +</p> + +<p> +“The gang! The burglars! They <i>have</i> been here, and they have taken +Clarence’s picture!” He paused. “It might have been mine! My +Venus!” he whispered It was getting most fearfully painful, you know, but +he had to know the truth. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m awfully sorry, you know,” I said. “But it +<i>was</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +He started, poor old chap. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh? What do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“They <i>did</i> take your Venus.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I have it here.” +</p> + +<p> +I shook my head. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s Clarence’s ‘Jocund Spring,’” I +said. +</p> + +<p> +He jumped at it and straightened it out. +</p> + +<p> +“What! What are you talking about? Do you think I don’t know my own +picture—my child—my Venus. See! My own signature in the corner. Can +you read, boy? Look: ‘Matthew Yeardsley.’ This is <i>my</i> +picture!” +</p> + +<p> +And—well, by Jove, it <i>was</i>, don’t you know! +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Well, we got him off to bed, him and his infernal Venus, and we settled down to +take a steady look at the position of affairs. Bill said it was my fault for +getting hold of the wrong picture, and I said it was Bill’s fault for +fetching me such a crack on the jaw that I couldn’t be expected to see +what I was getting hold of, and then there was a pretty massive silence for a +bit. +</p> + +<p> +“Reggie,” said Bill at last, “how exactly do you feel about +facing Clarence and Elizabeth at breakfast?” +</p> + +<p> +“Old scout,” I said. “I was thinking much the same +myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Reggie,” said Bill, “I happen to know there’s a +milk-train leaving Midford at three-fifteen. It isn’t what you’d +call a flier. It gets to London at about half-past nine. Well—er—in +the circumstances, how about it?” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a>THE AUNT AND THE SLUGGARD</h2> + +<p> +Now that it’s all over, I may as well admit that there was a time during +the rather funny affair of Rockmetteller Todd when I thought that Jeeves was +going to let me down. The man had the appearance of being baffled. +</p> + +<p> +Jeeves is my man, you know. Officially he pulls in his weekly wages for +pressing my clothes and all that sort of thing; but actually he’s more +like what the poet Johnnie called some bird of his acquaintance who was apt to +rally round him in times of need—a guide, don’t you know; +philosopher, if I remember rightly, and—I rather fancy—friend. I +rely on him at every turn. +</p> + +<p> +So naturally, when Rocky Todd told me about his aunt, I didn’t hesitate. +Jeeves was in on the thing from the start. +</p> + +<p> +The affair of Rocky Todd broke loose early one morning of spring. I was in bed, +restoring the good old tissues with about nine hours of the dreamless, when the +door flew open and somebody prodded me in the lower ribs and began to shake the +bedclothes. After blinking a bit and generally pulling myself together, I +located Rocky, and my first impression was that it was some horrid dream. +</p> + +<p> +Rocky, you see, lived down on Long Island somewhere, miles away from New York; +and not only that, but he had told me himself more than once that he never got +up before twelve, and seldom earlier than one. Constitutionally the laziest +young devil in America, he had hit on a walk in life which enabled him to go +the limit in that direction. He was a poet. At least, he wrote poems when he +did anything; but most of his time, as far as I could make out, he spent in a +sort of trance. He told me once that he could sit on a fence, watching a worm +and wondering what on earth it was up to, for hours at a stretch. +</p> + +<p> +He had his scheme of life worked out to a fine point. About once a month he +would take three days writing a few poems; the other three hundred and +twenty-nine days of the year he rested. I didn’t know there was enough +money in poetry to support a chappie, even in the way in which Rocky lived; but +it seems that, if you stick to exhortations to young men to lead the strenuous +life and don’t shove in any rhymes, American editors fight for the stuff. +Rocky showed me one of his things once. It began: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Be!<br> +Be!<br> + The past is dead.<br> + To-morrow is not born.<br> + Be to-day!<br> +To-day!<br> + Be with every nerve,<br> + With every muscle,<br> + With every drop of your red blood!<br> +Be! +</p> + +<p> +It was printed opposite the frontispiece of a magazine with a sort of scroll +round it, and a picture in the middle of a fairly-nude chappie, with bulging +muscles, giving the rising sun the glad eye. Rocky said they gave him a hundred +dollars for it, and he stayed in bed till four in the afternoon for over a +month. +</p> + +<p> +As regarded the future he was pretty solid, owing to the fact that he had a +moneyed aunt tucked away somewhere in Illinois; and, as he had been named +Rockmetteller after her, and was her only nephew, his position was pretty +sound. He told me that when he did come into the money he meant to do no work +at all, except perhaps an occasional poem recommending the young man with life +opening out before him, with all its splendid possibilities, to light a pipe +and shove his feet upon the mantelpiece. +</p> + +<p> +And this was the man who was prodding me in the ribs in the grey dawn! +</p> + +<p> +“Read this, Bertie!” I could just see that he was waving a letter +or something equally foul in my face. “Wake up and read this!” +</p> + +<p> +I can’t read before I’ve had my morning tea and a cigarette. I +groped for the bell. +</p> + +<p> +Jeeves came in looking as fresh as a dewy violet. It’s a mystery to me +how he does it. +</p> + +<p> +“Tea, Jeeves.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +He flowed silently out of the room—he always gives you the impression of +being some liquid substance when he moves; and I found that Rocky was surging +round with his beastly letter again. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” I said. “What on earth’s the +matter?” +</p> + +<p> +“Read it!” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t. I haven’t had my tea.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, listen then.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who’s it from?” +</p> + +<p> +“My aunt.” +</p> + +<p> +At this point I fell asleep again. I woke to hear him saying: +</p> + +<p> +“So what on earth am I to do?” +</p> + +<p> +Jeeves trickled in with the tray, like some silent stream meandering over its +mossy bed; and I saw daylight. +</p> + +<p> +“Read it again, Rocky, old top,” I said. “I want Jeeves to +hear it. Mr. Todd’s aunt has written him a rather rummy letter, Jeeves, +and we want your advice.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +He stood in the middle of the room, registering devotion to the cause, and +Rocky started again: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“M<small>Y DEAR</small> R<small>OCKMETTELLER</small>.—I have been +thinking things over for a long while, and I have come to the conclusion that I +have been very thoughtless to wait so long before doing what I have made up my +mind to do now.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you make of that, Jeeves?” +</p> + +<p> +“It seems a little obscure at present, sir, but no doubt it becomes +cleared at a later point in the communication.” +</p> + +<p> +“It becomes as clear as mud!” said Rocky. +</p> + +<p> +“Proceed, old scout,” I said, champing my bread and butter. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“You know how all my life I have longed to visit New York and see for +myself the wonderful gay life of which I have read so much. I fear that now it +will be impossible for me to fulfil my dream. I am old and worn out. I seem to +have no strength left in me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sad, Jeeves, what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Extremely, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sad nothing!” said Rocky. “It’s sheer laziness. I went +to see her last Christmas and she was bursting with health. Her doctor told me +himself that there was nothing wrong with her whatever. But she will insist +that she’s a hopeless invalid, so he has to agree with her. She’s +got a fixed idea that the trip to New York would kill her; so, though +it’s been her ambition all her life to come here, she stays where she +is.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rather like the chappie whose heart was ‘in the Highlands +a-chasing of the deer,’ Jeeves?” +</p> + +<p> +“The cases are in some respects parallel, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Carry on, Rocky, dear boy.” +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“So I have decided that, if I cannot enjoy all the marvels of the city +myself, I can at least enjoy them through you. I suddenly thought of this +yesterday after reading a beautiful poem in the Sunday paper about a young man +who had longed all his life for a certain thing and won it in the end only when +he was too old to enjoy it. It was very sad, and it touched me.” +</p> + +<p> +“A thing,” interpolated Rocky bitterly, “that I’ve not +been able to do in ten years.” +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“As you know, you will have my money when I am gone; but until now I have +never been able to see my way to giving you an allowance. I have now decided to +do so—on one condition. I have written to a firm of lawyers in New York, +giving them instructions to pay you quite a substantial sum each month. My one +condition is that you live in New York and enjoy yourself as I have always +wished to do. I want you to be my representative, to spend this money for me as +I should do myself. I want you to plunge into the gay, prismatic life of New +York. I want you to be the life and soul of brilliant supper parties.<br> + “Above all, I want you—indeed, I insist on this—to write +me letters at least once a week giving me a full description of all you are +doing and all that is going on in the city, so that I may enjoy at second-hand +what my wretched health prevents my enjoying for myself. Remember that I shall +expect full details, and that no detail is too trivial to interest.—Your +affectionate Aunt, +</p> + +<p class="right"> +“I<small>SABEL</small> R<small>OCKMETTELLER</small>.” +</p> + +<p> +“What about it?” said Rocky. +</p> + +<p> +“What about it?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. What on earth am I going to do?” +</p> + +<p> +It was only then that I really got on to the extremely rummy attitude of the +chappie, in view of the fact that a quite unexpected mess of the right stuff +had suddenly descended on him from a blue sky. To my mind it was an occasion +for the beaming smile and the joyous whoop; yet here the man was, looking and +talking as if Fate had swung on his solar plexus. It amazed me. +</p> + +<p> +“Aren’t you bucked?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Bucked!” +</p> + +<p> +“If I were in your place I should be frightfully braced. I consider this +pretty soft for you.” +</p> + +<p> +He gave a kind of yelp, stared at me for a moment, and then began to talk of +New York in a way that reminded me of Jimmy Mundy, the reformer chappie. Jimmy +had just come to New York on a hit-the-trail campaign, and I had popped in at +the Garden a couple of days before, for half an hour or so, to hear him. He had +certainly told New York some pretty straight things about itself, having +apparently taken a dislike to the place, but, by Jove, you know, dear old Rocky +made him look like a publicity agent for the old metrop! +</p> + +<p> +“Pretty soft!” he cried. “To have to come and live in New +York! To have to leave my little cottage and take a stuffy, smelly, over-heated +hole of an apartment in this Heaven-forsaken, festering Gehenna. To have to mix +night after night with a mob who think that life is a sort of St. Vitus’s +dance, and imagine that they’re having a good time because they’re +making enough noise for six and drinking too much for ten. I loathe New York, +Bertie. I wouldn’t come near the place if I hadn’t got to see +editors occasionally. There’s a blight on it. It’s got moral +delirium tremens. It’s the limit. The very thought of staying more than a +day in it makes me sick. And you call this thing pretty soft for me!” +</p> + +<p> +I felt rather like Lot’s friends must have done when they dropped in for +a quiet chat and their genial host began to criticise the Cities of the Plain. +I had no idea old Rocky could be so eloquent. +</p> + +<p> +“It would kill me to have to live in New York,” he went on. +“To have to share the air with six million people! To have to wear stiff +collars and decent clothes all the time! To——” He started. +“Good Lord! I suppose I should have to dress for dinner in the evenings. +What a ghastly notion!” +</p> + +<p> +I was shocked, absolutely shocked. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear chap!” I said reproachfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you dress for dinner every night, Bertie?” +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves,” I said coldly. The man was still standing like a statue +by the door. “How many suits of evening clothes have I?” +</p> + +<p> +“We have three suits full of evening dress, sir; two dinner +jackets——” +</p> + +<p> +“Three.” +</p> + +<p> +“For practical purposes two only, sir. If you remember we cannot wear the +third. We have also seven white waistcoats.” +</p> + +<p> +“And shirts?” +</p> + +<p> +“Four dozen, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“And white ties?” +</p> + +<p> +“The first two shallow shelves in the chest of drawers are completely +filled with our white ties, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +I turned to Rocky. +</p> + +<p> +“You see?” +</p> + +<p> +The chappie writhed like an electric fan. +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t do it! I can’t do it! I’ll be hanged if +I’ll do it! How on earth can I dress up like that? Do you realize that +most days I don’t get out of my pyjamas till five in the afternoon, and +then I just put on an old sweater?” +</p> + +<p> +I saw Jeeves wince, poor chap! This sort of revelation shocked his finest +feelings. +</p> + +<p> +“Then, what are you going to do about it?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what I want to know.” +</p> + +<p> +“You might write and explain to your aunt.” +</p> + +<p> +“I might—if I wanted her to get round to her lawyer’s in two +rapid leaps and cut me out of her will.” +</p> + +<p> +I saw his point. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you suggest, Jeeves?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +Jeeves cleared his throat respectfully. +</p> + +<p> +“The crux of the matter would appear to be, sir, that Mr. Todd is obliged +by the conditions under which the money is delivered into his possession to +write Miss Rockmetteller long and detailed letters relating to his movements, +and the only method by which this can be accomplished, if Mr. Todd adheres to +his expressed intention of remaining in the country, is for Mr. Todd to induce +some second party to gather the actual experiences which Miss Rockmetteller +wishes reported to her, and to convey these to him in the shape of a careful +report, on which it would be possible for him, with the aid of his imagination, +to base the suggested correspondence.” +</p> + +<p> +Having got which off the old diaphragm, Jeeves was silent. Rocky looked at me +in a helpless sort of way. He hasn’t been brought up on Jeeves as I have, +and he isn’t on to his curves. +</p> + +<p> +“Could he put it a little clearer, Bertie?” he said. “I +thought at the start it was going to make sense, but it kind of flickered. +What’s the idea?” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear old man, perfectly simple. I knew we could stand on Jeeves. All +you’ve got to do is to get somebody to go round the town for you and take +a few notes, and then you work the notes up into letters. That’s it, +isn’t it, Jeeves?” +</p> + +<p> +“Precisely, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +The light of hope gleamed in Rocky’s eyes. He looked at Jeeves in a +startled way, dazed by the man’s vast intellect. +</p> + +<p> +“But who would do it?” he said. “It would have to be a pretty +smart sort of man, a man who would notice things.” +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves!” I said. “Let Jeeves do it.” +</p> + +<p> +“But would he?” +</p> + +<p> +“You would do it, wouldn’t you, Jeeves?” +</p> + +<p> +For the first time in our long connection I observed Jeeves almost smile. The +corner of his mouth curved quite a quarter of an inch, and for a moment his eye +ceased to look like a meditative fish’s. +</p> + +<p> +“I should be delighted to oblige, sir. As a matter of fact, I have +already visited some of New York’s places of interest on my evening out, +and it would be most enjoyable to make a practice of the pursuit.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fine! I know exactly what your aunt wants to hear about, Rocky. She +wants an earful of cabaret stuff. The place you ought to go to first, Jeeves, +is Reigelheimer’s. It’s on Forty-second Street. Anybody will show +you the way.” +</p> + +<p> +Jeeves shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Pardon me, sir. People are no longer going to Reigelheimer’s. The +place at the moment is Frolics on the Roof.” +</p> + +<p> +“You see?” I said to Rocky. “Leave it to Jeeves. He +knows.” +</p> + +<p> +It isn’t often that you find an entire group of your fellow-humans happy +in this world; but our little circle was certainly an example of the fact that +it can be done. We were all full of beans. Everything went absolutely right +from the start. +</p> + +<p> +Jeeves was happy, partly because he loves to exercise his giant brain, and +partly because he was having a corking time among the bright lights. I saw him +one night at the Midnight Revels. He was sitting at a table on the edge of the +dancing floor, doing himself remarkably well with a fat cigar and a bottle of +the best. I’d never imagined he could look so nearly human. His face wore +an expression of austere benevolence, and he was making notes in a small book. +</p> + +<p> +As for the rest of us, I was feeling pretty good, because I was fond of old +Rocky and glad to be able to do him a good turn. Rocky was perfectly contented, +because he was still able to sit on fences in his pyjamas and watch worms. And, +as for the aunt, she seemed tickled to death. She was getting Broadway at +pretty long range, but it seemed to be hitting her just right. I read one of +her letters to Rocky, and it was full of life. +</p> + +<p> +But then Rocky’s letters, based on Jeeves’s notes, were enough to +buck anybody up. It was rummy when you came to think of it. There was I, loving +the life, while the mere mention of it gave Rocky a tired feeling; yet here is +a letter I wrote to a pal of mine in London: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“DEAR FREDDIE,—Well, here I am in New York. It’s not a bad +place. I’m not having a bad time. Everything’s pretty all right. +The cabarets aren’t bad. Don’t know when I shall be back. +How’s everybody? Cheer-o!—Yours, +</p> + +<p class="right"> +“B<small>ERTIE</small>. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“PS.—Seen old Ted lately?” +</p> + +<p> +Not that I cared about Ted; but if I hadn’t dragged him in I +couldn’t have got the confounded thing on to the second page. +</p> + +<p> +Now here’s old Rocky on exactly the same subject: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“D<small>EAREST AUNT</small> I<small>SABEL</small>,—How can I ever +thank you enough for giving me the opportunity to live in this astounding city! +New York seems more wonderful every day.<br> + “Fifth Avenue is at its best, of course, just now. The dresses are +magnificent!” +</p> + +<p> +Wads of stuff about the dresses. I didn’t know Jeeves was such an +authority. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“I was out with some of the crowd at the Midnight Revels the other night. +We took in a show first, after a little dinner at a new place on Forty-third +Street. We were quite a gay party. Georgie Cohan looked in about midnight and +got off a good one about Willie Collier. Fred Stone could only stay a minute, +but Doug. Fairbanks did all sorts of stunts and made us roar. Diamond Jim Brady +was there, as usual, and Laurette Taylor showed up with a party. The show at +the Revels is quite good. I am enclosing a programme.<br> + “Last night a few of us went round to Frolics on the +Roof——” +</p> + +<p> +And so on and so forth, yards of it. I suppose it’s the artistic +temperament or something. What I mean is, it’s easier for a chappie +who’s used to writing poems and that sort of tosh to put a bit of a punch +into a letter than it is for a chappie like me. Anyway, there’s no doubt +that Rocky’s correspondence was hot stuff. I called Jeeves in and +congratulated him. +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves, you’re a wonder!” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“How you notice everything at these places beats me. I couldn’t +tell you a thing about them, except that I’ve had a good time.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s just a knack, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Mr. Todd’s letters ought to brace Miss Rockmetteller all +right, what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Undoubtedly, sir,” agreed Jeeves. +</p> + +<p> +And, by Jove, they did! They certainly did, by George! What I mean to say is, I +was sitting in the apartment one afternoon, about a month after the thing had +started, smoking a cigarette and resting the old bean, when the door opened and +the voice of Jeeves burst the silence like a bomb. +</p> + +<p> +It wasn’t that he spoke loudly. He has one of those soft, soothing voices +that slide through the atmosphere like the note of a far-off sheep. It was what +he said made me leap like a young gazelle. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Rockmetteller!” +</p> + +<p> +And in came a large, solid female. +</p> + +<p> +The situation floored me. I’m not denying it. Hamlet must have felt much +as I did when his father’s ghost bobbed up in the fairway. I’d come +to look on Rocky’s aunt as such a permanency at her own home that it +didn’t seem possible that she could really be here in New York. I stared +at her. Then I looked at Jeeves. He was standing there in an attitude of +dignified detachment, the chump, when, if ever he should have been rallying +round the young master, it was now. +</p> + +<p> +Rocky’s aunt looked less like an invalid than any one I’ve ever +seen, except my Aunt Agatha. She had a good deal of Aunt Agatha about her, as a +matter of fact. She looked as if she might be deucedly dangerous if put upon; +and something seemed to tell me that she would certainly regard herself as put +upon if she ever found out the game which poor old Rocky had been pulling on +her. +</p> + +<p> +“Good afternoon,” I managed to say. +</p> + +<p> +“How do you do?” she said. “Mr. Cohan?” +</p> + +<p> +“Er—no.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Fred Stone?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not absolutely. As a matter of fact, my name’s +Wooster—Bertie Wooster.” +</p> + +<p> +She seemed disappointed. The fine old name of Wooster appeared to mean nothing +in her life. +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t Rockmetteller home?” she said. “Where is +he?” +</p> + +<p> +She had me with the first shot. I couldn’t think of anything to say. I +couldn’t tell her that Rocky was down in the country, watching worms. +</p> + +<p> +There was the faintest flutter of sound in the background. It was the +respectful cough with which Jeeves announces that he is about to speak without +having been spoken to. +</p> + +<p> +“If you remember, sir, Mr. Todd went out in the automobile with a party +in the afternoon.” +</p> + +<p> +“So he did, Jeeves; so he did,” I said, looking at my watch. +“Did he say when he would be back?” +</p> + +<p> +“He gave me to understand, sir, that he would be somewhat late in +returning.” +</p> + +<p> +He vanished; and the aunt took the chair which I’d forgotten to offer +her. She looked at me in rather a rummy way. It was a nasty look. It made me +feel as if I were something the dog had brought in and intended to bury later +on, when he had time. My own Aunt Agatha, back in England, has looked at me in +exactly the same way many a time, and it never fails to make my spine curl. +</p> + +<p> +“You seem very much at home here, young man. Are you a great friend of +Rockmetteller’s?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, rather!” +</p> + +<p> +She frowned as if she had expected better things of old Rocky. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you need to be,” she said, “the way you treat his flat +as your own!” +</p> + +<p> +I give you my word, this quite unforeseen slam simply robbed me of the power of +speech. I’d been looking on myself in the light of the dashing host, and +suddenly to be treated as an intruder jarred me. It wasn’t, mark you, as +if she had spoken in a way to suggest that she considered my presence in the +place as an ordinary social call. She obviously looked on me as a cross between +a burglar and the plumber’s man come to fix the leak in the bathroom. It +hurt her—my being there. +</p> + +<p> +At this juncture, with the conversation showing every sign of being about to +die in awful agonies, an idea came to me. Tea—the good old stand-by. +</p> + +<p> +“Would you care for a cup of tea?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Tea?” +</p> + +<p> +She spoke as if she had never heard of the stuff. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing like a cup after a journey,” I said. “Bucks you up! +Puts a bit of zip into you. What I mean is, restores you, and so on, +don’t you know. I’ll go and tell Jeeves.” +</p> + +<p> +I tottered down the passage to Jeeves’s lair. The man was reading the +evening paper as if he hadn’t a care in the world. +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves,” I said, “we want some tea.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“I say, Jeeves, this is a bit thick, what?” +</p> + +<p> +I wanted sympathy, don’t you know—sympathy and kindness. The old +nerve centres had had the deuce of a shock. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s got the idea this place belongs to Mr. Todd. What on earth +put that into her head?” +</p> + +<p> +Jeeves filled the kettle with a restrained dignity. +</p> + +<p> +“No doubt because of Mr. Todd’s letters, sir,” he said. +“It was my suggestion, sir, if you remember, that they should be +addressed from this apartment in order that Mr. Todd should appear to possess a +good central residence in the city.” +</p> + +<p> +I remembered. We had thought it a brainy scheme at the time. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it’s bally awkward, you know, Jeeves. She looks on me as an +intruder. By Jove! I suppose she thinks I’m someone who hangs about here, +touching Mr. Todd for free meals and borrowing his shirts.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s pretty rotten, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Most disturbing, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“And there’s another thing: What are we to do about Mr. Todd? +We’ve got to get him up here as soon as ever we can. When you have +brought the tea you had better go out and send him a telegram, telling him to +come up by the next train.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have already done so, sir. I took the liberty of writing the message +and dispatching it by the lift attendant.” +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove, you think of everything, Jeeves!” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, sir. A little buttered toast with the tea? Just so, sir. +Thank you.” +</p> + +<p> +I went back to the sitting-room. She hadn’t moved an inch. She was still +bolt upright on the edge of her chair, gripping her umbrella like a +hammer-thrower. She gave me another of those looks as I came in. There was no +doubt about it; for some reason she had taken a dislike to me. I suppose +because I wasn’t George M. Cohan. It was a bit hard on a chap. +</p> + +<p> +“This is a surprise, what?” I said, after about five minutes’ +restful silence, trying to crank the conversation up again. +</p> + +<p> +“What is a surprise?” +</p> + +<p> +“Your coming here, don’t you know, and so on.” +</p> + +<p> +She raised her eyebrows and drank me in a bit more through her glasses. +</p> + +<p> +“Why is it surprising that I should visit my only nephew?” she +said. +</p> + +<p> +Put like that, of course, it did seem reasonable. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, rather,” I said. “Of course! Certainly. What I mean +is——” +</p> + +<p> +Jeeves projected himself into the room with the tea. I was jolly glad to see +him. There’s nothing like having a bit of business arranged for one when +one isn’t certain of one’s lines. With the teapot to fool about +with I felt happier. +</p> + +<p> +“Tea, tea, tea—what? What?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +It wasn’t what I had meant to say. My idea had been to be a good deal +more formal, and so on. Still, it covered the situation. I poured her out a +cup. She sipped it and put the cup down with a shudder. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean to say, young man,” she said frostily, “that you +expect me to drink this stuff?” +</p> + +<p> +“Rather! Bucks you up, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean by the expression ‘Bucks you up’?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, makes you full of beans, you know. Makes you fizz.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t understand a word you say. You’re English, +aren’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +I admitted it. She didn’t say a word. And somehow she did it in a way +that made it worse than if she had spoken for hours. Somehow it was brought +home to me that she didn’t like Englishmen, and that if she had had to +meet an Englishman, I was the one she’d have chosen last. +</p> + +<p> +Conversation languished again after that. +</p> + +<p> +Then I tried again. I was becoming more convinced every moment that you +can’t make a real lively <i>salon</i> with a couple of people, especially +if one of them lets it go a word at a time. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you comfortable at your hotel?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“At which hotel?” +</p> + +<p> +“The hotel you’re staying at.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not staying at an hotel.” +</p> + +<p> +“Stopping with friends—what?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am naturally stopping with my nephew.” +</p> + +<p> +I didn’t get it for the moment; then it hit me. +</p> + +<p> +“What! Here?” I gurgled. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly! Where else should I go?” +</p> + +<p> +The full horror of the situation rolled over me like a wave. I couldn’t +see what on earth I was to do. I couldn’t explain that this wasn’t +Rocky’s flat without giving the poor old chap away hopelessly, because +she would then ask me where he did live, and then he would be right in the +soup. I was trying to induce the old bean to recover from the shock and produce +some results when she spoke again. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you kindly tell my nephew’s man-servant to prepare my room? I +wish to lie down.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your nephew’s man-servant?” +</p> + +<p> +“The man you call Jeeves. If Rockmetteller has gone for an automobile +ride, there is no need for you to wait for him. He will naturally wish to be +alone with me when he returns.” +</p> + +<p> +I found myself tottering out of the room. The thing was too much for me. I +crept into Jeeves’s den. +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves!” I whispered. +</p> + +<p> +“Sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mix me a b.-and-s., Jeeves. I feel weak.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“This is getting thicker every minute, Jeeves.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“She thinks you’re Mr. Todd’s man. She thinks the whole place +is his, and everything in it. I don’t see what you’re to do, except +stay on and keep it up. We can’t say anything or she’ll get on to +the whole thing, and I don’t want to let Mr. Todd down. By the way, +Jeeves, she wants you to prepare her bed.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked wounded. +</p> + +<p> +“It is hardly my place, sir——” +</p> + +<p> +“I know—I know. But do it as a personal favour to me. If you come +to that, it’s hardly my place to be flung out of the flat like this and +have to go to an hotel, what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it your intention to go to an hotel, sir? What will you do for +clothes?” +</p> + +<p> +“Good Lord! I hadn’t thought of that. Can you put a few things in a +bag when she isn’t looking, and sneak them down to me at the St. +Aurea?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will endeavour to do so, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I don’t think there’s anything more, is there? Tell +Mr. Todd where I am when he gets here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +I looked round the place. The moment of parting had come. I felt sad. The whole +thing reminded me of one of those melodramas where they drive chappies out of +the old homestead into the snow. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-bye, Jeeves,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-bye, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +And I staggered out. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +You know, I rather think I agree with those poet-and-philosopher Johnnies who +insist that a fellow ought to be devilish pleased if he has a bit of trouble. +All that stuff about being refined by suffering, you know. Suffering does give +a chap a sort of broader and more sympathetic outlook. It helps you to +understand other people’s misfortunes if you’ve been through the +same thing yourself. +</p> + +<p> +As I stood in my lonely bedroom at the hotel, trying to tie my white tie +myself, it struck me for the first time that there must be whole squads of +chappies in the world who had to get along without a man to look after them. +I’d always thought of Jeeves as a kind of natural phenomenon; but, by +Jove! of course, when you come to think of it, there must be quite a lot of +fellows who have to press their own clothes themselves and haven’t got +anybody to bring them tea in the morning, and so on. It was rather a solemn +thought, don’t you know. I mean to say, ever since then I’ve been +able to appreciate the frightful privations the poor have to stick. +</p> + +<p> +I got dressed somehow. Jeeves hadn’t forgotten a thing in his packing. +Everything was there, down to the final stud. I’m not sure this +didn’t make me feel worse. It kind of deepened the pathos. It was like +what somebody or other wrote about the touch of a vanished hand. +</p> + +<p> +I had a bit of dinner somewhere and went to a show of some kind; but nothing +seemed to make any difference. I simply hadn’t the heart to go on to +supper anywhere. I just sucked down a whisky-and-soda in the hotel smoking-room +and went straight up to bed. I don’t know when I’ve felt so rotten. +Somehow I found myself moving about the room softly, as if there had been a +death in the family. If I had anybody to talk to I should have talked in a +whisper; in fact, when the telephone-bell rang I answered in such a sad, hushed +voice that the fellow at the other end of the wire said “Halloa!” +five times, thinking he hadn’t got me. +</p> + +<p> +It was Rocky. The poor old scout was deeply agitated. +</p> + +<p> +“Bertie! Is that you, Bertie! Oh, gosh? I’m having a time!” +</p> + +<p> +“Where are you speaking from?” +</p> + +<p> +“The Midnight Revels. We’ve been here an hour, and I think +we’re a fixture for the night. I’ve told Aunt Isabel I’ve +gone out to call up a friend to join us. She’s glued to a chair, with +this-is-the-life written all over her, taking it in through the pores. She +loves it, and I’m nearly crazy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me all, old top,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“A little more of this,” he said, “and I shall sneak quietly +off to the river and end it all. Do you mean to say you go through this sort of +thing every night, Bertie, and enjoy it? It’s simply infernal! I was just +snatching a wink of sleep behind the bill of fare just now when about a million +yelling girls swooped down, with toy balloons. There are two orchestras here, +each trying to see if it can’t play louder than the other. I’m a +mental and physical wreck. When your telegram arrived I was just lying down for +a quiet pipe, with a sense of absolute peace stealing over me. I had to get +dressed and sprint two miles to catch the train. It nearly gave me +heart-failure; and on top of that I almost got brain fever inventing lies to +tell Aunt Isabel. And then I had to cram myself into these confounded evening +clothes of yours.” +</p> + +<p> +I gave a sharp wail of agony. It hadn’t struck me till then that Rocky +was depending on my wardrobe to see him through. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll ruin them!” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope so,” said Rocky, in the most unpleasant way. His troubles +seemed to have had the worst effect on his character. “I should like to +get back at them somehow; they’ve given me a bad enough time. +They’re about three sizes too small, and something’s apt to give at +any moment. I wish to goodness it would, and give me a chance to breathe. I +haven’t breathed since half-past seven. Thank Heaven, Jeeves managed to +get out and buy me a collar that fitted, or I should be a strangled corpse by +now! It was touch and go till the stud broke. Bertie, this is pure Hades! Aunt +Isabel keeps on urging me to dance. How on earth can I dance when I don’t +know a soul to dance with? And how the deuce could I, even if I knew every girl +in the place? It’s taking big chances even to move in these trousers. I +had to tell her I’ve hurt my ankle. She keeps asking me when Cohan and +Stone are going to turn up; and it’s simply a question of time before she +discovers that Stone is sitting two tables away. Something’s got to be +done, Bertie! You’ve got to think up some way of getting me out of this +mess. It was you who got me into it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Me! What do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Jeeves, then. It’s all the same. It was you who suggested +leaving it to Jeeves. It was those letters I wrote from his notes that did the +mischief. I made them too good! My aunt’s just been telling me about it. +She says she had resigned herself to ending her life where she was, and then my +letters began to arrive, describing the joys of New York; and they stimulated +her to such an extent that she pulled herself together and made the trip. She +seems to think she’s had some miraculous kind of faith cure. I tell you I +can’t stand it, Bertie! It’s got to end!” +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t Jeeves think of anything?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. He just hangs round saying: ‘Most disturbing, sir!’ A +fat lot of help that is!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, old lad,” I said, “after all, it’s far worse for +me than it is for you. You’ve got a comfortable home and Jeeves. And +you’re saving a lot of money.” +</p> + +<p> +“Saving money? What do you mean—saving money?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, the allowance your aunt was giving you. I suppose she’s +paying all the expenses now, isn’t she?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly she is; but she’s stopped the allowance. She wrote the +lawyers to-night. She says that, now she’s in New York, there is no +necessity for it to go on, as we shall always be together, and it’s +simpler for her to look after that end of it. I tell you, Bertie, I’ve +examined the darned cloud with a microscope, and if it’s got a silver +lining it’s some little dissembler!” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Rocky, old top, it’s too bally awful! You’ve no notion +of what I’m going through in this beastly hotel, without Jeeves. I must +get back to the flat.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t come near the flat.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it’s my own flat.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t help that. Aunt Isabel doesn’t like you. She asked +me what you did for a living. And when I told her you didn’t do anything +she said she thought as much, and that you were a typical specimen of a useless +and decaying aristocracy. So if you think you have made a hit, forget it. Now I +must be going back, or she’ll be coming out here after me. +Good-bye.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Next morning Jeeves came round. It was all so home-like when he floated +noiselessly into the room that I nearly broke down. +</p> + +<p> +“Good morning, sir,” he said. “I have brought a few more of +your personal belongings.” +</p> + +<p> +He began to unstrap the suit-case he was carrying. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you have any trouble sneaking them away?” +</p> + +<p> +“It was not easy, sir. I had to watch my chance. Miss Rockmetteller is a +remarkably alert lady.” +</p> + +<p> +“You know, Jeeves, say what you like—this is a bit thick, +isn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“The situation is certainly one that has never before come under my +notice, sir. I have brought the heather-mixture suit, as the climatic +conditions are congenial. To-morrow, if not prevented, I will endeavour to add +the brown lounge with the faint green twill.” +</p> + +<p> +“It can’t go on—this sort of thing—Jeeves.” +</p> + +<p> +“We must hope for the best, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t you think of anything to do?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have been giving the matter considerable thought, sir, but so far +without success. I am placing three silk shirts—the dove-coloured, the +light blue, and the mauve—in the first long drawer, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t mean to say you can’t think of anything, +Jeeves?” +</p> + +<p> +“For the moment, sir, no. You will find a dozen handkerchiefs and the tan +socks in the upper drawer on the left.” He strapped the suit-case and put +it on a chair. “A curious lady, Miss Rockmetteller, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“You understate it, Jeeves.” +</p> + +<p> +He gazed meditatively out of the window. +</p> + +<p> +“In many ways, sir, Miss Rockmetteller reminds me of an aunt of mine who +resides in the south-east portion of London. Their temperaments are much alike. +My aunt has the same taste for the pleasures of the great city. It is a passion +with her to ride in hansom cabs, sir. Whenever the family take their eyes off +her she escapes from the house and spends the day riding about in cabs. On +several occasions she has broken into the children’s savings bank to +secure the means to enable her to gratify this desire.” +</p> + +<p> +“I love to have these little chats with you about your female relatives, +Jeeves,” I said coldly, for I felt that the man had let me down, and I +was fed up with him. “But I don’t see what all this has got to do +with my trouble.” +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon, sir. I am leaving a small assortment of neckties on +the mantelpiece, sir, for you to select according to your preference. I should +recommend the blue with the red domino pattern, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Then he streamed imperceptibly toward the door and flowed silently out. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +I’ve often heard that chappies, after some great shock or loss, have a +habit, after they’ve been on the floor for a while wondering what hit +them, of picking themselves up and piecing themselves together, and sort of +taking a whirl at beginning a new life. Time, the great healer, and Nature, +adjusting itself, and so on and so forth. There’s a lot in it. I know, +because in my own case, after a day or two of what you might call prostration, +I began to recover. The frightful loss of Jeeves made any thought of pleasure +more or less a mockery, but at least I found that I was able to have a dash at +enjoying life again. What I mean is, I was braced up to the extent of going +round the cabarets once more, so as to try to forget, if only for the moment. +</p> + +<p> +New York’s a small place when it comes to the part of it that wakes up +just as the rest is going to bed, and it wasn’t long before my tracks +began to cross old Rocky’s. I saw him once at Peale’s, and again at +Frolics on the roof. There wasn’t anybody with him either time except the +aunt, and, though he was trying to look as if he had struck the ideal life, it +wasn’t difficult for me, knowing the circumstances, to see that beneath +the mask the poor chap was suffering. My heart bled for the fellow. At least, +what there was of it that wasn’t bleeding for myself bled for him. He had +the air of one who was about to crack under the strain. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to me that the aunt was looking slightly upset also. I took it that +she was beginning to wonder when the celebrities were going to surge round, and +what had suddenly become of all those wild, careless spirits Rocky used to mix +with in his letters. I didn’t blame her. I had only read a couple of his +letters, but they certainly gave the impression that poor old Rocky was by way +of being the hub of New York night life, and that, if by any chance he failed +to show up at a cabaret, the management said: “What’s the +use?” and put up the shutters. +</p> + +<p> +The next two nights I didn’t come across them, but the night after that I +was sitting by myself at the Maison Pierre when somebody tapped me on the +shoulder-blade, and I found Rocky standing beside me, with a sort of mixed +expression of wistfulness and apoplexy on his face. How the chappie had +contrived to wear my evening clothes so many times without disaster was a +mystery to me. He confided later that early in the proceedings he had slit the +waistcoat up the back and that that had helped a bit. +</p> + +<p> +For a moment I had the idea that he had managed to get away from his aunt for +the evening; but, looking past him, I saw that she was in again. She was at a +table over by the wall, looking at me as if I were something the management +ought to be complained to about. +</p> + +<p> +“Bertie, old scout,” said Rocky, in a quiet, sort of crushed voice, +“we’ve always been pals, haven’t we? I mean, you know +I’d do you a good turn if you asked me?” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear old lad,” I said. The man had moved me. +</p> + +<p> +“Then, for Heaven’s sake, come over and sit at our table for the +rest of the evening.” +</p> + +<p> +Well, you know, there are limits to the sacred claims of friendship. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear chap,” I said, “you know I’d do anything in +reason; but——” +</p> + +<p> +“You must come, Bertie. You’ve got to. Something’s got to be +done to divert her mind. She’s brooding about something. She’s been +like that for the last two days. I think she’s beginning to suspect. She +can’t understand why we never seem to meet anyone I know at these joints. +A few nights ago I happened to run into two newspaper men I used to know fairly +well. That kept me going for a while. I introduced them to Aunt Isabel as David +Belasco and Jim Corbett, and it went well. But the effect has worn off now, and +she’s beginning to wonder again. Something’s got to be done, or she +will find out everything, and if she does I’d take a nickel for my chance +of getting a cent from her later on. So, for the love of Mike, come across to +our table and help things along.” +</p> + +<p> +I went along. One has to rally round a pal in distress. Aunt Isabel was sitting +bolt upright, as usual. It certainly did seem as if she had lost a bit of the +zest with which she had started out to explore Broadway. She looked as if she +had been thinking a good deal about rather unpleasant things. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve met Bertie Wooster, Aunt Isabel?” said Rocky. +</p> + +<p> +“I have.” +</p> + +<p> +There was something in her eye that seemed to say: +</p> + +<p> +“Out of a city of six million people, why did you pick on me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Take a seat, Bertie. What’ll you have?” said Rocky. +</p> + +<p> +And so the merry party began. It was one of those jolly, happy, bread-crumbling +parties where you cough twice before you speak, and then decide not to say it +after all. After we had had an hour of this wild dissipation, Aunt Isabel said +she wanted to go home. In the light of what Rocky had been telling me, this +struck me as sinister. I had gathered that at the beginning of her visit she +had had to be dragged home with ropes. +</p> + +<p> +It must have hit Rocky the same way, for he gave me a pleading look. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll come along, won’t you, Bertie, and have a drink at +the flat?” +</p> + +<p> +I had a feeling that this wasn’t in the contract, but there wasn’t +anything to be done. It seemed brutal to leave the poor chap alone with the +woman, so I went along. +</p> + +<p> +Right from the start, from the moment we stepped into the taxi, the feeling +began to grow that something was about to break loose. A massive silence +prevailed in the corner where the aunt sat, and, though Rocky, balancing +himself on the little seat in front, did his best to supply dialogue, we +weren’t a chatty party. +</p> + +<p> +I had a glimpse of Jeeves as we went into the flat, sitting in his lair, and I +wished I could have called to him to rally round. Something told me that I was +about to need him. +</p> + +<p> +The stuff was on the table in the sitting-room. Rocky took up the decanter. +</p> + +<p> +“Say when, Bertie.” +</p> + +<p> +“Stop!” barked the aunt, and he dropped it. +</p> + +<p> +I caught Rocky’s eye as he stooped to pick up the ruins. It was the eye +of one who sees it coming. +</p> + +<p> +“Leave it there, Rockmetteller!” said Aunt Isabel; and Rocky left +it there. +</p> + +<p> +“The time has come to speak,” she said. “I cannot stand idly +by and see a young man going to perdition!” +</p> + +<p> +Poor old Rocky gave a sort of gurgle, a kind of sound rather like the whisky +had made running out of the decanter on to my carpet. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh?” he said, blinking. +</p> + +<p> +The aunt proceeded. +</p> + +<p> +“The fault,” she said, “was mine. I had not then seen the +light. But now my eyes are open. I see the hideous mistake I have made. I +shudder at the thought of the wrong I did you, Rockmetteller, by urging you +into contact with this wicked city.” +</p> + +<p> +I saw Rocky grope feebly for the table. His fingers touched it, and a look of +relief came into the poor chappie’s face. I understood his feelings. +</p> + +<p> +“But when I wrote you that letter, Rockmetteller, instructing you to go +to the city and live its life, I had not had the privilege of hearing Mr. Mundy +speak on the subject of New York.” +</p> + +<p> +“Jimmy Mundy!” I cried. +</p> + +<p> +You know how it is sometimes when everything seems all mixed up and you +suddenly get a clue. When she mentioned Jimmy Mundy I began to understand more +or less what had happened. I’d seen it happen before. I remember, back in +England, the man I had before Jeeves sneaked off to a meeting on his evening +out and came back and denounced me in front of a crowd of chappies I was giving +a bit of supper to as a moral leper. +</p> + +<p> +The aunt gave me a withering up and down. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; Jimmy Mundy!” she said. “I am surprised at a man of +your stamp having heard of him. There is no music, there are no drunken, +dancing men, no shameless, flaunting women at his meetings; so for you they +would have no attraction. But for others, less dead in sin, he has his message. +He has come to save New York from itself; to force it—in his picturesque +phrase—to hit the trail. It was three days ago, Rockmetteller, that I +first heard him. It was an accident that took me to his meeting. How often in +this life a mere accident may shape our whole future! +</p> + +<p> +“You had been called away by that telephone message from Mr. Belasco; so +you could not take me to the Hippodrome, as we had arranged. I asked your +man-servant, Jeeves, to take me there. The man has very little intelligence. He +seems to have misunderstood me. I am thankful that he did. He took me to what I +subsequently learned was Madison Square Garden, where Mr. Mundy is holding his +meetings. He escorted me to a seat and then left me. And it was not till the +meeting had begun that I discovered the mistake which had been made. My seat +was in the middle of a row. I could not leave without inconveniencing a great +many people, so I remained.” +</p> + +<p> +She gulped. +</p> + +<p> +“Rockmetteller, I have never been so thankful for anything else. Mr. +Mundy was wonderful! He was like some prophet of old, scourging the sins of the +people. He leaped about in a frenzy of inspiration till I feared he would do +himself an injury. Sometimes he expressed himself in a somewhat odd manner, but +every word carried conviction. He showed me New York in its true colours. He +showed me the vanity and wickedness of sitting in gilded haunts of vice, eating +lobster when decent people should be in bed. +</p> + +<p> +“He said that the tango and the fox-trot were devices of the devil to +drag people down into the Bottomless Pit. He said that there was more sin in +ten minutes with a negro banjo orchestra than in all the ancient revels of +Nineveh and Babylon. And when he stood on one leg and pointed right at where I +was sitting and shouted, ‘This means you!’ I could have sunk +through the floor. I came away a changed woman. Surely you must have noticed +the change in me, Rockmetteller? You must have seen that I was no longer the +careless, thoughtless person who had urged you to dance in those places of +wickedness?” +</p> + +<p> +Rocky was holding on to the table as if it was his only friend. +</p> + +<p> +“Y-yes,” he stammered; “I—I thought something was +wrong.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wrong? Something was right! Everything was right! Rockmetteller, it is +not too late for you to be saved. You have only sipped of the evil cup. You +have not drained it. It will be hard at first, but you will find that you can +do it if you fight with a stout heart against the glamour and fascination of +this dreadful city. Won’t you, for my sake, try, Rockmetteller? +Won’t you go back to the country to-morrow and begin the struggle? Little +by little, if you use your will——” +</p> + +<p> +I can’t help thinking it must have been that word “will” that +roused dear old Rocky like a trumpet call. It must have brought home to him the +realisation that a miracle had come off and saved him from being cut out of +Aunt Isabel’s. At any rate, as she said it he perked up, let go of the +table, and faced her with gleaming eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you want me to go back to the country, Aunt Isabel?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not to live in the country?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Rockmetteller.” +</p> + +<p> +“Stay in the country all the time, do you mean? Never come to New +York?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Rockmetteller; I mean just that. It is the only way. Only there can +you be safe from temptation. Will you do it, Rockmetteller? Will you—for +my sake?” +</p> + +<p> +Rocky grabbed the table again. He seemed to draw a lot of encouragement from +that table. +</p> + +<p> +“I will!” he said. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +“Jeeves,” I said. It was next day, and I was back in the old flat, +lying in the old arm-chair, with my feet upon the good old table. I had just +come from seeing dear old Rocky off to his country cottage, and an hour before +he had seen his aunt off to whatever hamlet it was that she was the curse of; +so we were alone at last. “Jeeves, there’s no place like +home—what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very true, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“The jolly old roof-tree, and all that sort of thing—what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Precisely, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +I lit another cigarette. +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know, at one point in the business I really thought you were +baffled.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“When did you get the idea of taking Miss Rockmetteller to the meeting? +It was pure genius!” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, sir. It came to me a little suddenly, one morning when I was +thinking of my aunt, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your aunt? The hansom cab one?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir. I recollected that, whenever we observed one of her attacks +coming on, we used to send for the clergyman of the parish. We always found +that if he talked to her a while of higher things it diverted her mind from +hansom cabs. It occurred to me that the same treatment might prove efficacious +in the case of Miss Rockmetteller.” +</p> + +<p> +I was stunned by the man’s resource. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s brain,” I said; “pure brain! What do you do to +get like that, Jeeves? I believe you must eat a lot of fish, or something. Do +you eat a lot of fish, Jeeves?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, well, then, it’s just a gift, I take it; and if you +aren’t born that way there’s no use worrying.” +</p> + +<p> +“Precisely, sir,” said Jeeves. “If I might make the +suggestion, sir, I should not continue to wear your present tie. The green +shade gives you a slightly bilious air. I should strongly advocate the blue +with the red domino pattern instead, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right, Jeeves.” I said humbly. “You know!” +</p> + +<p class="center"> +THE END +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MY MAN JEEVES ***</div> + +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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G. Wodehouse</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: My Man Jeeves</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: P. G. Wodehouse</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: June 24, 2003 [eBook #8164]<br> +[Most recently updated: February 6, 2024]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Suzanne L. Shell, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MY MAN JEEVES ***</div> + +<div class="fig" style="width:55%;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" style="width:100%;" alt="[Illustration]"> +</div> + +<h1>My Man Jeeves</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">by P. G. Wodehouse</h2> + +<h3>1919</h3> + +<hr> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">LEAVE IT TO JEEVES</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">JEEVES AND THE UNBIDDEN GUEST</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">JEEVES AND THE HARD-BOILED EGG</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">ABSENT TREATMENT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">HELPING FREDDIE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">RALLYING ROUND OLD GEORGE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">DOING CLARENCE A BIT OF GOOD</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">THE AUNT AND THE SLUGGARD</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>LEAVE IT TO JEEVES</h2> + +<p> +Jeeves—my man, you know—is really a most extraordinary chap. So +capable. Honestly, I shouldn’t know what to do without him. On broader +lines he’s like those chappies who sit peering sadly over the marble +battlements at the Pennsylvania Station in the place marked +“Inquiries.” You know the Johnnies I mean. You go up to them and +say: “When’s the next train for Melonsquashville, Tennessee?” +and they reply, without stopping to think, “Two-forty-three, track ten, +change at San Francisco.” And they’re right every time. Well, +Jeeves gives you just the same impression of omniscience. +</p> + +<p> +As an instance of what I mean, I remember meeting Monty Byng in Bond Street one +morning, looking the last word in a grey check suit, and I felt I should never +be happy till I had one like it. I dug the address of the tailors out of him, +and had them working on the thing inside the hour. +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves,” I said that evening. “I’m getting a check +suit like that one of Mr. Byng’s.” +</p> + +<p> +“Injudicious, sir,” he said firmly. “It will not become +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“What absolute rot! It’s the soundest thing I’ve struck for +years.” +</p> + +<p> +“Unsuitable for you, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Well, the long and the short of it was that the confounded thing came home, and +I put it on, and when I caught sight of myself in the glass I nearly swooned. +Jeeves was perfectly right. I looked a cross between a music-hall comedian and +a cheap bookie. Yet Monty had looked fine in absolutely the same stuff. These +things are just Life’s mysteries, and that’s all there is to it. +</p> + +<p> +But it isn’t only that Jeeves’s judgment about clothes is +infallible, though, of course, that’s really the main thing. The man +knows everything. There was the matter of that tip on the +“Lincolnshire.” I forget now how I got it, but it had the aspect of +being the real, red-hot tabasco. +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves,” I said, for I’m fond of the man, and like to do him +a good turn when I can, “if you want to make a bit of money have +something on Wonderchild for the ‘Lincolnshire.’” +</p> + +<p> +He shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d rather not, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it’s the straight goods. I’m going to put my shirt on +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not recommend it, sir. The animal is not intended to win. Second +place is what the stable is after.” +</p> + +<p> +Perfect piffle, I thought, of course. How the deuce could Jeeves know anything +about it? Still, you know what happened. Wonderchild led till he was breathing +on the wire, and then Banana Fritter came along and nosed him out. I went +straight home and rang for Jeeves. +</p> + +<p> +“After this,” I said, “not another step for me without your +advice. From now on consider yourself the brains of the establishment.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir. I shall endeavour to give satisfaction.” +</p> + +<p> +And he has, by Jove! I’m a bit short on brain myself; the old bean would +appear to have been constructed more for ornament than for use, don’t you +know; but give me five minutes to talk the thing over with Jeeves, and +I’m game to advise any one about anything. And that’s why, when +Bruce Corcoran came to me with his troubles, my first act was to ring the bell +and put it up to the lad with the bulging forehead. +</p> + +<p> +“Leave it to Jeeves,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +I first got to know Corky when I came to New York. He was a pal of my cousin +Gussie, who was in with a lot of people down Washington Square way. I +don’t know if I ever told you about it, but the reason why I left England +was because I was sent over by my Aunt Agatha to try to stop young Gussie +marrying a girl on the vaudeville stage, and I got the whole thing so mixed up +that I decided that it would be a sound scheme for me to stop on in America for +a bit instead of going back and having long cosy chats about the thing with +aunt. So I sent Jeeves out to find a decent apartment, and settled down for a +bit of exile. I’m bound to say that New York’s a topping place to +be exiled in. Everybody was awfully good to me, and there seemed to be plenty +of things going on, and I’m a wealthy bird, so everything was fine. +Chappies introduced me to other chappies, and so on and so forth, and it +wasn’t long before I knew squads of the right sort, some who rolled in +dollars in houses up by the Park, and others who lived with the gas turned down +mostly around Washington Square—artists and writers and so forth. Brainy +coves. +</p> + +<p> +Corky was one of the artists. A portrait-painter, he called himself, but he +hadn’t painted any portraits. He was sitting on the side-lines with a +blanket over his shoulders, waiting for a chance to get into the game. You see, +the catch about portrait-painting—I’ve looked into the thing a +bit—is that you can’t start painting portraits till people come +along and ask you to, and they won’t come and ask you to until +you’ve painted a lot first. This makes it kind of difficult for a +chappie. Corky managed to get along by drawing an occasional picture for the +comic papers—he had rather a gift for funny stuff when he got a good +idea—and doing bedsteads and chairs and things for the advertisements. +His principal source of income, however, was derived from biting the ear of a +rich uncle—one Alexander Worple, who was in the jute business. I’m +a bit foggy as to what jute is, but it’s apparently something the +populace is pretty keen on, for Mr. Worple had made quite an indecently large +stack out of it. +</p> + +<p> +Now, a great many fellows think that having a rich uncle is a pretty soft snap: +but, according to Corky, such is not the case. Corky’s uncle was a robust +sort of cove, who looked like living for ever. He was fifty-one, and it seemed +as if he might go to par. It was not this, however, that distressed poor old +Corky, for he was not bigoted and had no objection to the man going on living. +What Corky kicked at was the way the above Worple used to harry him. +</p> + +<p> +Corky’s uncle, you see, didn’t want him to be an artist. He +didn’t think he had any talent in that direction. He was always urging +him to chuck Art and go into the jute business and start at the bottom and work +his way up. Jute had apparently become a sort of obsession with him. He seemed +to attach almost a spiritual importance to it. And what Corky said was that, +while he didn’t know what they did at the bottom of the jute business, +instinct told him that it was something too beastly for words. Corky, moreover, +believed in his future as an artist. Some day, he said, he was going to make a +hit. Meanwhile, by using the utmost tact and persuasiveness, he was inducing +his uncle to cough up very grudgingly a small quarterly allowance. +</p> + +<p> +He wouldn’t have got this if his uncle hadn’t had a hobby. Mr. +Worple was peculiar in this respect. As a rule, from what I’ve observed, +the American captain of industry doesn’t do anything out of business +hours. When he has put the cat out and locked up the office for the night, he +just relapses into a state of coma from which he emerges only to start being a +captain of industry again. But Mr. Worple in his spare time was what is known +as an ornithologist. He had written a book called <i>American Birds</i>, and +was writing another, to be called <i>More American Birds</i>. When he had +finished that, the presumption was that he would begin a third, and keep on +till the supply of American birds gave out. Corky used to go to him about once +every three months and let him talk about American birds. Apparently you could +do what you liked with old Worple if you gave him his head first on his pet +subject, so these little chats used to make Corky’s allowance all right +for the time being. But it was pretty rotten for the poor chap. There was the +frightful suspense, you see, and, apart from that, birds, except when broiled +and in the society of a cold bottle, bored him stiff. +</p> + +<p> +To complete the character-study of Mr. Worple, he was a man of extremely +uncertain temper, and his general tendency was to think that Corky was a poor +chump and that whatever step he took in any direction on his own account, was +just another proof of his innate idiocy. I should imagine Jeeves feels very +much the same about me. +</p> + +<p> +So when Corky trickled into my apartment one afternoon, shooing a girl in front +of him, and said, “Bertie, I want you to meet my fiancée, Miss +Singer,” the aspect of the matter which hit me first was precisely the +one which he had come to consult me about. The very first words I spoke were, +“Corky, how about your uncle?” +</p> + +<p> +The poor chap gave one of those mirthless laughs. He was looking anxious and +worried, like a man who has done the murder all right but can’t think +what the deuce to do with the body. +</p> + +<p> +“We’re so scared, Mr. Wooster,” said the girl. “We were +hoping that you might suggest a way of breaking it to him.” +</p> + +<p> +Muriel Singer was one of those very quiet, appealing girls who have a way of +looking at you with their big eyes as if they thought you were the greatest +thing on earth and wondered that you hadn’t got on to it yet yourself. +She sat there in a sort of shrinking way, looking at me as if she were saying +to herself, “Oh, I do hope this great strong man isn’t going to +hurt me.” She gave a fellow a protective kind of feeling, made him want +to stroke her hand and say, “There, there, little one!” or words to +that effect. She made me feel that there was nothing I wouldn’t do for +her. She was rather like one of those innocent-tasting American drinks which +creep imperceptibly into your system so that, before you know what you’re +doing, you’re starting out to reform the world by force if necessary and +pausing on your way to tell the large man in the corner that, if he looks at +you like that, you will knock his head off. What I mean is, she made me feel +alert and dashing, like a jolly old knight-errant or something of that kind. I +felt that I was with her in this thing to the limit. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see why your uncle shouldn’t be most awfully +bucked,” I said to Corky. “He will think Miss Singer the ideal wife +for you.” +</p> + +<p> +Corky declined to cheer up. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t know him. Even if he did like Muriel he wouldn’t +admit it. That’s the sort of pig-headed guy he is. It would be a matter +of principle with him to kick. All he would consider would be that I had gone +and taken an important step without asking his advice, and he would raise Cain +automatically. He’s always done it.” +</p> + +<p> +I strained the old bean to meet this emergency. +</p> + +<p> +“You want to work it so that he makes Miss Singer’s acquaintance +without knowing that you know her. Then you come along——” +</p> + +<p> +“But how can I work it that way?” +</p> + +<p> +I saw his point. That was the catch. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s only one thing to do,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Leave it to Jeeves.” +</p> + +<p> +And I rang the bell. +</p> + +<p> +“Sir?” said Jeeves, kind of manifesting himself. One of the rummy +things about Jeeves is that, unless you watch like a hawk, you very seldom see +him come into a room. He’s like one of those weird chappies in India who +dissolve themselves into thin air and nip through space in a sort of +disembodied way and assemble the parts again just where they want them. +I’ve got a cousin who’s what they call a Theosophist, and he says +he’s often nearly worked the thing himself, but couldn’t quite +bring it off, probably owing to having fed in his boyhood on the flesh of +animals slain in anger and pie. +</p> + +<p> +The moment I saw the man standing there, registering respectful attention, a +weight seemed to roll off my mind. I felt like a lost child who spots his +father in the offing. There was something about him that gave me confidence. +</p> + +<p> +Jeeves is a tallish man, with one of those dark, shrewd faces. His eye gleams +with the light of pure intelligence. +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves, we want your advice.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +I boiled down Corky’s painful case into a few well-chosen words. +</p> + +<p> +“So you see what it amount to, Jeeves. We want you to suggest some way by +which Mr. Worple can make Miss Singer’s acquaintance without getting on +to the fact that Mr. Corcoran already knows her. Understand?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perfectly, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, try to think of something.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have thought of something already, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have!” +</p> + +<p> +“The scheme I would suggest cannot fail of success, but it has what may +seem to you a drawback, sir, in that it requires a certain financial +outlay.” +</p> + +<p> +“He means,” I translated to Corky, “that he has got a pippin +of an idea, but it’s going to cost a bit.” +</p> + +<p> +Naturally the poor chap’s face dropped, for this seemed to dish the whole +thing. But I was still under the influence of the girl’s melting gaze, +and I saw that this was where I started in as a knight-errant. +</p> + +<p> +“You can count on me for all that sort of thing, Corky,” I said. +“Only too glad. Carry on, Jeeves.” +</p> + +<p> +“I would suggest, sir, that Mr. Corcoran take advantage of Mr. +Worple’s attachment to ornithology.” +</p> + +<p> +“How on earth did you know that he was fond of birds?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is the way these New York apartments are constructed, sir. Quite +unlike our London houses. The partitions between the rooms are of the flimsiest +nature. With no wish to overhear, I have sometimes heard Mr. Corcoran +expressing himself with a generous strength on the subject I have +mentioned.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why should not the young lady write a small volume, to be +entitled—let us say—<i>The Children’s Book of American +Birds</i>, and dedicate it to Mr. Worple! A limited edition could be published +at your expense, sir, and a great deal of the book would, of course, be given +over to eulogistic remarks concerning Mr. Worple’s own larger treatise on +the same subject. I should recommend the dispatching of a presentation copy to +Mr. Worple, immediately on publication, accompanied by a letter in which the +young lady asks to be allowed to make the acquaintance of one to whom she owes +so much. This would, I fancy, produce the desired result, but as I say, the +expense involved would be considerable.” +</p> + +<p> +I felt like the proprietor of a performing dog on the vaudeville stage when the +tyke has just pulled off his trick without a hitch. I had betted on Jeeves all +along, and I had known that he wouldn’t let me down. It beats me +sometimes why a man with his genius is satisfied to hang around pressing my +clothes and what-not. If I had half Jeeves’s brain, I should have a stab +at being Prime Minister or something. +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves,” I said, “that is absolutely ripping! One of your +very best efforts.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl made an objection. +</p> + +<p> +“But I’m sure I couldn’t write a book about anything. I +can’t even write good letters.” +</p> + +<p> +“Muriel’s talents,” said Corky, with a little cough +“lie more in the direction of the drama, Bertie. I didn’t mention +it before, but one of our reasons for being a trifle nervous as to how Uncle +Alexander will receive the news is that Muriel is in the chorus of that show +<i>Choose your Exit</i> at the Manhattan. It’s absurdly unreasonable, but +we both feel that that fact might increase Uncle Alexander’s natural +tendency to kick like a steer.” +</p> + +<p> +I saw what he meant. Goodness knows there was fuss enough in our family when I +tried to marry into musical comedy a few years ago. And the recollection of my +Aunt Agatha’s attitude in the matter of Gussie and the vaudeville girl +was still fresh in my mind. I don’t know why it is—one of these +psychology sharps could explain it, I suppose—but uncles and aunts, as a +class, are always dead against the drama, legitimate or otherwise. They +don’t seem able to stick it at any price. +</p> + +<p> +But Jeeves had a solution, of course. +</p> + +<p> +“I fancy it would be a simple matter, sir, to find some impecunious +author who would be glad to do the actual composition of the volume for a small +fee. It is only necessary that the young lady’s name should appear on the +title page.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s true,” said Corky. “Sam Patterson would do it +for a hundred dollars. He writes a novelette, three short stories, and ten +thousand words of a serial for one of the all-fiction magazines under different +names every month. A little thing like this would be nothing to him. I’ll +get after him right away.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fine!” +</p> + +<p> +“Will that be all, sir?” said Jeeves. “Very good, sir. Thank +you, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +I always used to think that publishers had to be devilish intelligent fellows, +loaded down with the grey matter; but I’ve got their number now. All a +publisher has to do is to write cheques at intervals, while a lot of deserving +and industrious chappies rally round and do the real work. I know, because +I’ve been one myself. I simply sat tight in the old apartment with a +fountain-pen, and in due season a topping, shiny book came along. +</p> + +<p> +I happened to be down at Corky’s place when the first copies of <i>The +Children’s Book of American Birds</i> bobbed up. Muriel Singer was there, +and we were talking of things in general when there was a bang at the door and +the parcel was delivered. +</p> + +<p> +It was certainly some book. It had a red cover with a fowl of some species on +it, and underneath the girl’s name in gold letters. I opened a copy at +random. +</p> + +<p> +“Often of a spring morning,” it said at the top of page twenty-one, +“as you wander through the fields, you will hear the sweet-toned, +carelessly flowing warble of the purple finch linnet. When you are older you +must read all about him in Mr. Alexander Worple’s wonderful +book—<i>American Birds</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +You see. A boost for the uncle right away. And only a few pages later there he +was in the limelight again in connection with the yellow-billed cuckoo. It was +great stuff. The more I read, the more I admired the chap who had written it +and Jeeves’s genius in putting us on to the wheeze. I didn’t see +how the uncle could fail to drop. You can’t call a chap the world’s +greatest authority on the yellow-billed cuckoo without rousing a certain +disposition towards chumminess in him. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a cert!” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“An absolute cinch!” said Corky. +</p> + +<p> +And a day or two later he meandered up the Avenue to my apartment to tell me +that all was well. The uncle had written Muriel a letter so dripping with the +milk of human kindness that if he hadn’t known Mr. Worple’s +handwriting Corky would have refused to believe him the author of it. Any time +it suited Miss Singer to call, said the uncle, he would be delighted to make +her acquaintance. +</p> + +<p> +Shortly after this I had to go out of town. Divers sound sportsmen had invited +me to pay visits to their country places, and it wasn’t for several +months that I settled down in the city again. I had been wondering a lot, of +course, about Corky, whether it all turned out right, and so forth, and my +first evening in New York, happening to pop into a quiet sort of little +restaurant which I go to when I don’t feel inclined for the bright +lights, I found Muriel Singer there, sitting by herself at a table near the +door. Corky, I took it, was out telephoning. I went up and passed the time of +day. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well, well, what?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Mr. Wooster! How do you do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Corky around?” +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re waiting for Corky, aren’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I didn’t understand. No, I’m not waiting for him.” +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to me that there was a sort of something in her voice, a kind of +thingummy, you know. +</p> + +<p> +“I say, you haven’t had a row with Corky, have you?” +</p> + +<p> +“A row?” +</p> + +<p> +“A spat, don’t you know—little misunderstanding—faults +on both sides—er—and all that sort of thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, whatever makes you think that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, well, as it were, what? What I mean is—I thought you usually +dined with him before you went to the theatre.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve left the stage now.” +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly the whole thing dawned on me. I had forgotten what a long time I had +been away. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, of course, I see now! You’re married!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“How perfectly topping! I wish you all kinds of happiness.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, so much. Oh Alexander,” she said, looking past me, +“this is a friend of mine—Mr. Wooster.” +</p> + +<p> +I spun round. A chappie with a lot of stiff grey hair and a red sort of healthy +face was standing there. Rather a formidable Johnnie, he looked, though quite +peaceful at the moment. +</p> + +<p> +“I want you to meet my husband, Mr. Wooster. Mr. Wooster is a friend of +Bruce’s, Alexander.” +</p> + +<p> +The old boy grasped my hand warmly, and that was all that kept me from hitting +the floor in a heap. The place was rocking. Absolutely. +</p> + +<p> +“So you know my nephew, Mr. Wooster,” I heard him say. “I +wish you would try to knock a little sense into him and make him quit this +playing at painting. But I have an idea that he is steadying down. I noticed it +first that night he came to dinner with us, my dear, to be introduced to you. +He seemed altogether quieter and more serious. Something seemed to have sobered +him. Perhaps you will give us the pleasure of your company at dinner to-night, +Mr. Wooster? Or have you dined?” +</p> + +<p> +I said I had. What I needed then was air, not dinner. I felt that I wanted to +get into the open and think this thing out. +</p> + +<p> +When I reached my apartment I heard Jeeves moving about in his lair. I called +him. +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves,” I said, “now is the time for all good men to come +to the aid of the party. A stiff b.-and-s. first of all, and then I’ve a +bit of news for you.” +</p> + +<p> +He came back with a tray and a long glass. +</p> + +<p> +“Better have one yourself, Jeeves. You’ll need it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Later on, perhaps, thank you, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right. Please yourself. But you’re going to get a shock. You +remember my friend, Mr. Corcoran?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the girl who was to slide gracefully into his uncle’s esteem +by writing the book on birds?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perfectly, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, she’s slid. She’s married the uncle.” +</p> + +<p> +He took it without blinking. You can’t rattle Jeeves. +</p> + +<p> +“That was always a development to be feared, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t mean to tell me that you were expecting it?” +</p> + +<p> +“It crossed my mind as a possibility.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did it, by Jove! Well, I think, you might have warned us!” +</p> + +<p> +“I hardly liked to take the liberty, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Of course, as I saw after I had had a bite to eat and was in a calmer frame of +mind, what had happened wasn’t my fault, if you come down to it. I +couldn’t be expected to foresee that the scheme, in itself a +cracker-jack, would skid into the ditch as it had done; but all the same +I’m bound to admit that I didn’t relish the idea of meeting Corky +again until time, the great healer, had been able to get in a bit of soothing +work. I cut Washington Square out absolutely for the next few months. I gave it +the complete miss-in-baulk. And then, just when I was beginning to think I +might safely pop down in that direction and gather up the dropped threads, so +to speak, time, instead of working the healing wheeze, went and pulled the most +awful bone and put the lid on it. Opening the paper one morning, I read that +Mrs. Alexander Worple had presented her husband with a son and heir. +</p> + +<p> +I was so darned sorry for poor old Corky that I hadn’t the heart to touch +my breakfast. I told Jeeves to drink it himself. I was bowled over. Absolutely. +It was the limit. +</p> + +<p> +I hardly knew what to do. I wanted, of course, to rush down to Washington +Square and grip the poor blighter silently by the hand; and then, thinking it +over, I hadn’t the nerve. Absent treatment seemed the touch. I gave it +him in waves. +</p> + +<p> +But after a month or so I began to hesitate again. It struck me that it was +playing it a bit low-down on the poor chap, avoiding him like this just when he +probably wanted his pals to surge round him most. I pictured him sitting in his +lonely studio with no company but his bitter thoughts, and the pathos of it got +me to such an extent that I bounded straight into a taxi and told the driver to +go all out for the studio. +</p> + +<p> +I rushed in, and there was Corky, hunched up at the easel, painting away, while +on the model throne sat a severe-looking female of middle age, holding a baby. +</p> + +<p> +A fellow has to be ready for that sort of thing. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, ah!” I said, and started to back out. +</p> + +<p> +Corky looked over his shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Halloa, Bertie. Don’t go. We’re just finishing for the day. +That will be all this afternoon,” he said to the nurse, who got up with +the baby and decanted it into a perambulator which was standing in the fairway. +</p> + +<p> +“At the same hour to-morrow, Mr. Corcoran?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, please.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good afternoon.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good afternoon.” +</p> + +<p> +Corky stood there, looking at the door, and then he turned to me and began to +get it off his chest. Fortunately, he seemed to take it for granted that I knew +all about what had happened, so it wasn’t as awkward as it might have +been. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s my uncle’s idea,” he said. “Muriel +doesn’t know about it yet. The portrait’s to be a surprise for her +on her birthday. The nurse takes the kid out ostensibly to get a breather, and +they beat it down here. If you want an instance of the irony of fate, Bertie, +get acquainted with this. Here’s the first commission I have ever had to +paint a portrait, and the sitter is that human poached egg that has butted in +and bounced me out of my inheritance. Can you beat it! I call it rubbing the +thing in to expect me to spend my afternoons gazing into the ugly face of a +little brat who to all intents and purposes has hit me behind the ear with a +blackjack and swiped all I possess. I can’t refuse to paint the portrait +because if I did my uncle would stop my allowance; yet every time I look up and +catch that kid’s vacant eye, I suffer agonies. I tell you, Bertie, +sometimes when he gives me a patronizing glance and then turns away and is +sick, as if it revolted him to look at me, I come within an ace of occupying +the entire front page of the evening papers as the latest murder sensation. +There are moments when I can almost see the headlines: ‘Promising Young +Artist Beans Baby With Axe.’” +</p> + +<p> +I patted his shoulder silently. My sympathy for the poor old scout was too deep +for words. +</p> + +<p> +I kept away from the studio for some time after that, because it didn’t +seem right to me to intrude on the poor chappie’s sorrow. Besides, +I’m bound to say that nurse intimidated me. She reminded me so infernally +of Aunt Agatha. She was the same gimlet-eyed type. +</p> + +<p> +But one afternoon Corky called me on the ’phone. +</p> + +<p> +“Bertie.” +</p> + +<p> +“Halloa?” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you doing anything this afternoon?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing special.” +</p> + +<p> +“You couldn’t come down here, could you?” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the trouble? Anything up?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve finished the portrait.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good boy! Stout work!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” His voice sounded rather doubtful. “The fact is, +Bertie, it doesn’t look quite right to me. There’s something about +it—My uncle’s coming in half an hour to inspect it, and—I +don’t know why it is, but I kind of feel I’d like your moral +support!” +</p> + +<p> +I began to see that I was letting myself in for something. The sympathetic +co-operation of Jeeves seemed to me to be indicated. +</p> + +<p> +“You think he’ll cut up rough?” +</p> + +<p> +“He may.” +</p> + +<p> +I threw my mind back to the red-faced chappie I had met at the restaurant, and +tried to picture him cutting up rough. It was only too easy. I spoke to Corky +firmly on the telephone. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll come,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Good!” +</p> + +<p> +“But only if I may bring Jeeves!” +</p> + +<p> +“Why Jeeves? What’s Jeeves got to do with it? Who wants Jeeves? +Jeeves is the fool who suggested the scheme that has led——” +</p> + +<p> +“Listen, Corky, old top! If you think I am going to face that uncle of +yours without Jeeves’s support, you’re mistaken. I’d sooner +go into a den of wild beasts and bite a lion on the back of the neck.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, all right,” said Corky. Not cordially, but he said it; so I +rang for Jeeves, and explained the situation. +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir,” said Jeeves. +</p> + +<p> +That’s the sort of chap he is. You can’t rattle him. +</p> + +<p> +We found Corky near the door, looking at the picture, with one hand up in a +defensive sort of way, as if he thought it might swing on him. +</p> + +<p> +“Stand right where you are, Bertie,” he said, without moving. +“Now, tell me honestly, how does it strike you?” +</p> + +<p> +The light from the big window fell right on the picture. I took a good look at +it. Then I shifted a bit nearer and took another look. Then I went back to +where I had been at first, because it hadn’t seemed quite so bad from +there. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” said Corky, anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +I hesitated a bit. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, old man, I only saw the kid once, and then only for a moment, +but—but it <i>was</i> an ugly sort of kid, wasn’t it, if I remember +rightly?” +</p> + +<p> +“As ugly as that?” +</p> + +<p> +I looked again, and honesty compelled me to be frank. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see how it could have been, old chap.” +</p> + +<p> +Poor old Corky ran his fingers through his hair in a temperamental sort of way. +He groaned. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re right quite, Bertie. Something’s gone wrong with the +darned thing. My private impression is that, without knowing it, I’ve +worked that stunt that Sargent and those fellows pull—painting the soul +of the sitter. I’ve got through the mere outward appearance, and have put +the child’s soul on canvas.” +</p> + +<p> +“But could a child of that age have a soul like that? I don’t see +how he could have managed it in the time. What do you think, Jeeves?” +</p> + +<p> +“I doubt it, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“It—it sorts of leers at you, doesn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve noticed that, too?” said Corky. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see how one could help noticing.” +</p> + +<p> +“All I tried to do was to give the little brute a cheerful expression. +But, as it worked out, he looks positively dissipated.” +</p> + +<p> +“Just what I was going to suggest, old man. He looks as if he were in the +middle of a colossal spree, and enjoying every minute of it. Don’t you +think so, Jeeves?” +</p> + +<p> +“He has a decidedly inebriated air, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Corky was starting to say something when the door opened, and the uncle came +in. +</p> + +<p> +For about three seconds all was joy, jollity, and goodwill. The old boy shook +hands with me, slapped Corky on the back, said that he didn’t think he +had ever seen such a fine day, and whacked his leg with his stick. Jeeves had +projected himself into the background, and he didn’t notice him. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Bruce, my boy; so the portrait is really finished, is +it—really finished? Well, bring it out. Let’s have a look at it. +This will be a wonderful surprise for your aunt. Where is it? +Let’s——” +</p> + +<p> +And then he got it—suddenly, when he wasn’t set for the punch; and +he rocked back on his heels. +</p> + +<p> +“Oosh!” he exclaimed. And for perhaps a minute there was one of the +scaliest silences I’ve ever run up against. +</p> + +<p> +“Is this a practical joke?” he said at last, in a way that set +about sixteen draughts cutting through the room at once. +</p> + +<p> +I thought it was up to me to rally round old Corky. +</p> + +<p> +“You want to stand a bit farther away from it,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re perfectly right!” he snorted. “I do! I want to +stand so far away from it that I can’t see the thing with a +telescope!” He turned on Corky like an untamed tiger of the jungle who +has just located a chunk of meat. “And this—this—is what you +have been wasting your time and my money for all these years! A painter! I +wouldn’t let you paint a house of mine! I gave you this commission, +thinking that you were a competent worker, and this—this—this +extract from a comic coloured supplement is the result!” He swung towards +the door, lashing his tail and growling to himself. “This ends it! If you +wish to continue this foolery of pretending to be an artist because you want an +excuse for idleness, please yourself. But let me tell you this. Unless you +report at my office on Monday morning, prepared to abandon all this idiocy and +start in at the bottom of the business to work your way up, as you should have +done half a dozen years ago, not another cent—not another cent—not +another—Boosh!” +</p> + +<p> +Then the door closed, and he was no longer with us. And I crawled out of the +bombproof shelter. +</p> + +<p> +“Corky, old top!” I whispered faintly. +</p> + +<p> +Corky was standing staring at the picture. His face was set. There was a hunted +look in his eye. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that finishes it!” he muttered brokenly. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you going to do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do? What can I do? I can’t stick on here if he cuts off supplies. +You heard what he said. I shall have to go to the office on Monday.” +</p> + +<p> +I couldn’t think of a thing to say. I knew exactly how he felt about the +office. I don’t know when I’ve been so infernally uncomfortable. It +was like hanging round trying to make conversation to a pal who’s just +been sentenced to twenty years in quod. +</p> + +<p> +And then a soothing voice broke the silence. +</p> + +<p> +“If I might make a suggestion, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +It was Jeeves. He had slid from the shadows and was gazing gravely at the +picture. Upon my word, I can’t give you a better idea of the shattering +effect of Corky’s uncle Alexander when in action than by saying that he +had absolutely made me forget for the moment that Jeeves was there. +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder if I have ever happened to mention to you, sir, a Mr. Digby +Thistleton, with whom I was once in service? Perhaps you have met him? He was a +financier. He is now Lord Bridgnorth. It was a favourite saying of his that +there is always a way. The first time I heard him use the expression was after +the failure of a patent depilatory which he promoted.” +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves,” I said, “what on earth are you talking +about?” +</p> + +<p> +“I mentioned Mr. Thistleton, sir, because his was in some respects a +parallel case to the present one. His depilatory failed, but he did not +despair. He put it on the market again under the name of Hair-o, guaranteed to +produce a full crop of hair in a few months. It was advertised, if you +remember, sir, by a humorous picture of a billiard-ball, before and after +taking, and made such a substantial fortune that Mr. Thistleton was soon +afterwards elevated to the peerage for services to his Party. It seems to me +that, if Mr. Corcoran looks into the matter, he will find, like Mr. Thistleton, +that there is always a way. Mr. Worple himself suggested the solution of the +difficulty. In the heat of the moment he compared the portrait to an extract +from a coloured comic supplement. I consider the suggestion a very valuable +one, sir. Mr. Corcoran’s portrait may not have pleased Mr. Worple as a +likeness of his only child, but I have no doubt that editors would gladly +consider it as a foundation for a series of humorous drawings. If Mr. Corcoran +will allow me to make the suggestion, his talent has always been for the +humorous. There is something about this picture—something bold and +vigorous, which arrests the attention. I feel sure it would be highly +popular.” +</p> + +<p> +Corky was glaring at the picture, and making a sort of dry, sucking noise with +his mouth. He seemed completely overwrought. +</p> + +<p> +And then suddenly he began to laugh in a wild way. +</p> + +<p> +“Corky, old man!” I said, massaging him tenderly. I feared the poor +blighter was hysterical. +</p> + +<p> +He began to stagger about all over the floor. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s right! The man’s absolutely right! Jeeves, you’re +a life-saver! You’ve hit on the greatest idea of the age! Report at the +office on Monday! Start at the bottom of the business! I’ll buy the +business if I feel like it. I know the man who runs the comic section of the +<i>Sunday Star</i>. He’ll eat this thing. He was telling me only the +other day how hard it was to get a good new series. He’ll give me +anything I ask for a real winner like this. I’ve got a gold-mine. +Where’s my hat? I’ve got an income for life! Where’s that +confounded hat? Lend me a fiver, Bertie. I want to take a taxi down to Park +Row!” +</p> + +<p> +Jeeves smiled paternally. Or, rather, he had a kind of paternal muscular spasm +about the mouth, which is the nearest he ever gets to smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“If I might make the suggestion, Mr. Corcoran—for a title of the +series which you have in mind—‘The Adventures of Baby +Blobbs.’” +</p> + +<p> +Corky and I looked at the picture, then at each other in an awed way. Jeeves +was right. There could be no other title. +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves,” I said. It was a few weeks later, and I had just finished +looking at the comic section of the <i>Sunday Star</i>. “I’m an +optimist. I always have been. The older I get, the more I agree with +Shakespeare and those poet Johnnies about it always being darkest before the +dawn and there’s a silver lining and what you lose on the swings you make +up on the roundabouts. Look at Mr. Corcoran, for instance. There was a fellow, +one would have said, clear up to the eyebrows in the soup. To all appearances +he had got it right in the neck. Yet look at him now. Have you seen these +pictures?” +</p> + +<p> +“I took the liberty of glancing at them before bringing them to you, sir. +Extremely diverting.” +</p> + +<p> +“They have made a big hit, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“I anticipated it, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +I leaned back against the pillows. +</p> + +<p> +“You know, Jeeves, you’re a genius. You ought to be drawing a +commission on these things.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have nothing to complain of in that respect, sir. Mr. Corcoran has +been most generous. I am putting out the brown suit, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I think I’ll wear the blue with the faint red stripe.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not the blue with the faint red stripe, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I rather fancy myself in it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not the blue with the faint red stripe, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, all right, have it your own way.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir. Thank you, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Of course, I know it’s as bad as being henpecked; but then Jeeves is +always right. You’ve got to consider that, you know. What? +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>JEEVES AND THE UNBIDDEN GUEST</h2> + +<p> +I’m not absolutely certain of my facts, but I rather fancy it’s +Shakespeare—or, if not, it’s some equally brainy lad—who says +that it’s always just when a chappie is feeling particularly top-hole, +and more than usually braced with things in general that Fate sneaks up behind +him with a bit of lead piping. There’s no doubt the man’s right. +It’s absolutely that way with me. Take, for instance, the fairly rummy +matter of Lady Malvern and her son Wilmot. A moment before they turned up, I +was just thinking how thoroughly all right everything was. +</p> + +<p> +It was one of those topping mornings, and I had just climbed out from under the +cold shower, feeling like a two-year-old. As a matter of fact, I was especially +bucked just then because the day before I had asserted myself with +Jeeves—absolutely asserted myself, don’t you know. You see, the way +things had been going on I was rapidly becoming a dashed serf. The man had +jolly well oppressed me. I didn’t so much mind when he made me give up +one of my new suits, because Jeeves’s judgment about suits is sound. But +I as near as a toucher rebelled when he wouldn’t let me wear a pair of +cloth-topped boots which I loved like a couple of brothers. And when he tried +to tread on me like a worm in the matter of a hat, I jolly well put my foot +down and showed him who was who. It’s a long story, and I haven’t +time to tell you now, but the point is that he wanted me to wear the +Longacre—as worn by John Drew—when I had set my heart on the +Country Gentleman—as worn by another famous actor chappie—and the +end of the matter was that, after a rather painful scene, I bought the Country +Gentleman. So that’s how things stood on this particular morning, and I +was feeling kind of manly and independent. +</p> + +<p> +Well, I was in the bathroom, wondering what there was going to be for breakfast +while I massaged the good old spine with a rough towel and sang slightly, when +there was a tap at the door. I stopped singing and opened the door an inch. +</p> + +<p> +“What ho without there!” +</p> + +<p> +“Lady Malvern wishes to see you, sir,” said Jeeves. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Lady Malvern, sir. She is waiting in the sitting-room.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pull yourself together, Jeeves, my man,” I said, rather severely, +for I bar practical jokes before breakfast. “You know perfectly well +there’s no one waiting for me in the sitting-room. How could there be +when it’s barely ten o’clock yet?” +</p> + +<p> +“I gathered from her ladyship, sir, that she had landed from an ocean +liner at an early hour this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +This made the thing a bit more plausible. I remembered that when I had arrived +in America about a year before, the proceedings had begun at some ghastly hour +like six, and that I had been shot out on to a foreign shore considerably +before eight. +</p> + +<p> +“Who the deuce is Lady Malvern, Jeeves?” +</p> + +<p> +“Her ladyship did not confide in me, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is she alone?” +</p> + +<p> +“Her ladyship is accompanied by a Lord Pershore, sir. I fancy that his +lordship would be her ladyship’s son.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, well, put out rich raiment of sorts, and I’ll be +dressing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Our heather-mixture lounge is in readiness, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then lead me to it.” +</p> + +<p> +While I was dressing I kept trying to think who on earth Lady Malvern could be. +It wasn’t till I had climbed through the top of my shirt and was reaching +out for the studs that I remembered. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve placed her, Jeeves. She’s a pal of my Aunt +Agatha.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I met her at lunch one Sunday before I left London. A very vicious +specimen. Writes books. She wrote a book on social conditions in India when she +came back from the Durbar.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir? Pardon me, sir, but not that tie!” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not that tie with the heather-mixture lounge, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +It was a shock to me. I thought I had quelled the fellow. It was rather a +solemn moment. What I mean is, if I weakened now, all my good work the night +before would be thrown away. I braced myself. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s wrong with this tie? I’ve seen you give it a nasty +look before. Speak out like a man! What’s the matter with it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Too ornate, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense! A cheerful pink. Nothing more.” +</p> + +<p> +“Unsuitable, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves, this is the tie I wear!” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Dashed unpleasant. I could see that the man was wounded. But I was firm. I tied +the tie, got into the coat and waistcoat, and went into the sitting-room. +</p> + +<p> +“Halloa! Halloa! Halloa!” I said. “What?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! How do you do, Mr. Wooster? You have never met my son, Wilmot, I +think? Motty, darling, this is Mr. Wooster.” +</p> + +<p> +Lady Malvern was a hearty, happy, healthy, overpowering sort of dashed female, +not so very tall but making up for it by measuring about six feet from the O.P. +to the Prompt Side. She fitted into my biggest arm-chair as if it had been +built round her by someone who knew they were wearing arm-chairs tight about +the hips that season. She had bright, bulging eyes and a lot of yellow hair, +and when she spoke she showed about fifty-seven front teeth. She was one of +those women who kind of numb a fellow’s faculties. She made me feel as if +I were ten years old and had been brought into the drawing-room in my Sunday +clothes to say how-d’you-do. Altogether by no means the sort of thing a +chappie would wish to find in his sitting-room before breakfast. +</p> + +<p> +Motty, the son, was about twenty-three, tall and thin and meek-looking. He had +the same yellow hair as his mother, but he wore it plastered down and parted in +the middle. His eyes bulged, too, but they weren’t bright. They were a +dull grey with pink rims. His chin gave up the struggle about half-way down, +and he didn’t appear to have any eyelashes. A mild, furtive, sheepish +sort of blighter, in short. +</p> + +<p> +“Awfully glad to see you,” I said. “So you’ve popped +over, eh? Making a long stay in America?” +</p> + +<p> +“About a month. Your aunt gave me your address and told me to be sure and +call on you.” +</p> + +<p> +I was glad to hear this, as it showed that Aunt Agatha was beginning to come +round a bit. There had been some unpleasantness a year before, when she had +sent me over to New York to disentangle my Cousin Gussie from the clutches of a +girl on the music-hall stage. When I tell you that by the time I had finished +my operations, Gussie had not only married the girl but had gone on the stage +himself, and was doing well, you’ll understand that Aunt Agatha was upset +to no small extent. I simply hadn’t dared go back and face her, and it +was a relief to find that time had healed the wound and all that sort of thing +enough to make her tell her pals to look me up. What I mean is, much as I liked +America, I didn’t want to have England barred to me for the rest of my +natural; and, believe me, England is a jolly sight too small for anyone to live +in with Aunt Agatha, if she’s really on the warpath. So I braced on +hearing these kind words and smiled genially on the assemblage. +</p> + +<p> +“Your aunt said that you would do anything that was in your power to be +of assistance to us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rather? Oh, rather! Absolutely!” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you so much. I want you to put dear Motty up for a little +while.” +</p> + +<p> +I didn’t get this for a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“Put him up? For my clubs?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no! Darling Motty is essentially a home bird. Aren’t you, +Motty darling?” +</p> + +<p> +Motty, who was sucking the knob of his stick, uncorked himself. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, mother,” he said, and corked himself up again. +</p> + +<p> +“I should not like him to belong to clubs. I mean put him up here. Have +him to live with you while I am away.” +</p> + +<p> +These frightful words trickled out of her like honey. The woman simply +didn’t seem to understand the ghastly nature of her proposal. I gave +Motty the swift east-to-west. He was sitting with his mouth nuzzling the stick, +blinking at the wall. The thought of having this planted on me for an +indefinite period appalled me. Absolutely appalled me, don’t you know. I +was just starting to say that the shot wasn’t on the board at any price, +and that the first sign Motty gave of trying to nestle into my little home I +would yell for the police, when she went on, rolling placidly over me, as it +were. +</p> + +<p> +There was something about this woman that sapped a chappie’s will-power. +</p> + +<p> +“I am leaving New York by the midday train, as I have to pay a visit to +Sing-Sing prison. I am extremely interested in prison conditions in America. +After that I work my way gradually across to the coast, visiting the points of +interest on the journey. You see, Mr. Wooster, I am in America principally on +business. No doubt you read my book, <i>India and the Indians</i>? My +publishers are anxious for me to write a companion volume on the United States. +I shall not be able to spend more than a month in the country, as I have to get +back for the season, but a month should be ample. I was less than a month in +India, and my dear friend Sir Roger Cremorne wrote his <i>America from +Within</i> after a stay of only two weeks. I should love to take dear Motty +with me, but the poor boy gets so sick when he travels by train. I shall have +to pick him up on my return.” +</p> + +<p> +From where I sat I could see Jeeves in the dining-room, laying the +breakfast-table. I wished I could have had a minute with him alone. I felt +certain that he would have been able to think of some way of putting a stop to +this woman. +</p> + +<p> +“It will be such a relief to know that Motty is safe with you, Mr. +Wooster. I know what the temptations of a great city are. Hitherto dear Motty +has been sheltered from them. He has lived quietly with me in the country. I +know that you will look after him carefully, Mr. Wooster. He will give very +little trouble.” She talked about the poor blighter as if he wasn’t +there. Not that Motty seemed to mind. He had stopped chewing his walking-stick +and was sitting there with his mouth open. “He is a vegetarian and a +teetotaller and is devoted to reading. Give him a nice book and he will be +quite contented.” She got up. “Thank you so much, Mr. Wooster! I +don’t know what I should have done without your help. Come, Motty! We +have just time to see a few of the sights before my train goes. But I shall +have to rely on you for most of my information about New York, darling. Be sure +to keep your eyes open and take notes of your impressions! It will be such a +help. Good-bye, Mr. Wooster. I will send Motty back early in the +afternoon.” +</p> + +<p> +They went out, and I howled for Jeeves. +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves! What about it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s to be done? You heard it all, didn’t you? You were in +the dining-room most of the time. That pill is coming to stay here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pill, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“The excrescence.” +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +I looked at Jeeves sharply. This sort of thing wasn’t like him. It was as +if he were deliberately trying to give me the pip. Then I understood. The man +was really upset about that tie. He was trying to get his own back. +</p> + +<p> +“Lord Pershore will be staying here from to-night, Jeeves,” I said +coldly. +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir. Breakfast is ready, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +I could have sobbed into the bacon and eggs. That there wasn’t any +sympathy to be got out of Jeeves was what put the lid on it. For a moment I +almost weakened and told him to destroy the hat and tie if he didn’t like +them, but I pulled myself together again. I was dashed if I was going to let +Jeeves treat me like a bally one-man chain-gang! +</p> + +<p> +But, what with brooding on Jeeves and brooding on Motty, I was in a pretty +reduced sort of state. The more I examined the situation, the more blighted it +became. There was nothing I could do. If I slung Motty out, he would report to +his mother, and she would pass it on to Aunt Agatha, and I didn’t like to +think what would happen then. Sooner or later, I should be wanting to go back +to England, and I didn’t want to get there and find Aunt Agatha waiting +on the quay for me with a stuffed eelskin. There was absolutely nothing for it +but to put the fellow up and make the best of it. +</p> + +<p> +About midday Motty’s luggage arrived, and soon afterward a large parcel +of what I took to be nice books. I brightened up a little when I saw it. It was +one of those massive parcels and looked as if it had enough in it to keep the +chappie busy for a year. I felt a trifle more cheerful, and I got my Country +Gentleman hat and stuck it on my head, and gave the pink tie a twist, and +reeled out to take a bite of lunch with one or two of the lads at a +neighbouring hostelry; and what with excellent browsing and sluicing and cheery +conversation and what-not, the afternoon passed quite happily. By dinner-time I +had almost forgotten blighted Motty’s existence. +</p> + +<p> +I dined at the club and looked in at a show afterward, and it wasn’t till +fairly late that I got back to the flat. There were no signs of Motty, and I +took it that he had gone to bed. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed rummy to me, though, that the parcel of nice books was still there +with the string and paper on it. It looked as if Motty, after seeing mother off +at the station, had decided to call it a day. +</p> + +<p> +Jeeves came in with the nightly whisky-and-soda. I could tell by the +chappie’s manner that he was still upset. +</p> + +<p> +“Lord Pershore gone to bed, Jeeves?” I asked, with reserved hauteur +and what-not. +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir. His lordship has not yet returned.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not returned? What do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“His lordship came in shortly after six-thirty, and, having dressed, went +out again.” +</p> + +<p> +At this moment there was a noise outside the front door, a sort of scrabbling +noise, as if somebody were trying to paw his way through the woodwork. Then a +sort of thud. +</p> + +<p> +“Better go and see what that is, Jeeves.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +He went out and came back again. +</p> + +<p> +“If you would not mind stepping this way, sir, I think we might be able +to carry him in.” +</p> + +<p> +“Carry him in?” +</p> + +<p> +“His lordship is lying on the mat, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +I went to the front door. The man was right. There was Motty huddled up outside +on the floor. He was moaning a bit. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s had some sort of dashed fit,” I said. I took another +look. “Jeeves! Someone’s been feeding him meat!” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s a vegetarian, you know. He must have been digging into a +steak or something. Call up a doctor!” +</p> + +<p> +“I hardly think it will be necessary, sir. If you would take his +lordship’s legs, while I——” +</p> + +<p> +“Great Scot, Jeeves! You don’t think—he can’t +be——” +</p> + +<p> +“I am inclined to think so, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +And, by Jove, he was right! Once on the right track, you couldn’t mistake +it. Motty was under the surface. +</p> + +<p> +It was the deuce of a shock. +</p> + +<p> +“You never can tell, Jeeves!” +</p> + +<p> +“Very seldom, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Remove the eye of authority and where are you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Precisely, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is my wandering boy to-night and all that sort of thing, +what?” +</p> + +<p> +“It would seem so, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, we had better bring him in, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +So we lugged him in, and Jeeves put him to bed, and I lit a cigarette and sat +down to think the thing over. I had a kind of foreboding. It seemed to me that +I had let myself in for something pretty rocky. +</p> + +<p> +Next morning, after I had sucked down a thoughtful cup of tea, I went into +Motty’s room to investigate. I expected to find the fellow a wreck, but +there he was, sitting up in bed, quite chirpy, reading Gingery stories. +</p> + +<p> +“What ho!” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“What ho!” said Motty. +</p> + +<p> +“What ho! What ho!” +</p> + +<p> +“What ho! What ho! What ho!” +</p> + +<p> +After that it seemed rather difficult to go on with the conversation. +</p> + +<p> +“How are you feeling this morning?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Topping!” replied Motty, blithely and with abandon. “I say, +you know, that fellow of yours—Jeeves, you know—is a corker. I had +a most frightful headache when I woke up, and he brought me a sort of rummy +dark drink, and it put me right again at once. Said it was his own invention. I +must see more of that lad. He seems to me distinctly one of the ones!” +</p> + +<p> +I couldn’t believe that this was the same blighter who had sat and sucked +his stick the day before. +</p> + +<p> +“You ate something that disagreed with you last night, didn’t +you?” I said, by way of giving him a chance to slide out of it if he +wanted to. But he wouldn’t have it, at any price. +</p> + +<p> +“No!” he replied firmly. “I didn’t do anything of the +kind. I drank too much! Much too much. Lots and lots too much! And, +what’s more, I’m going to do it again! I’m going to do it +every night. If ever you see me sober, old top,” he said, with a kind of +holy exaltation, “tap me on the shoulder and say, ‘Tut! Tut!’ +and I’ll apologize and remedy the defect.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I say, you know, what about me?” +</p> + +<p> +“What about you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’m, so to speak, as it were, kind of responsible for you. +What I mean to say is, if you go doing this sort of thing I’m apt to get +in the soup somewhat.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t help your troubles,” said Motty firmly. +“Listen to me, old thing: this is the first time in my life that +I’ve had a real chance to yield to the temptations of a great city. +What’s the use of a great city having temptations if fellows don’t +yield to them? Makes it so bally discouraging for a great city. Besides, mother +told me to keep my eyes open and collect impressions.” +</p> + +<p> +I sat on the edge of the bed. I felt dizzy. +</p> + +<p> +“I know just how you feel, old dear,” said Motty consolingly. +“And, if my principles would permit it, I would simmer down for your +sake. But duty first! This is the first time I’ve been let out alone, and +I mean to make the most of it. We’re only young once. Why interfere with +life’s morning? Young man, rejoice in thy youth! Tra-la! What ho!” +</p> + +<p> +Put like that, it did seem reasonable. +</p> + +<p> +“All my bally life, dear boy,” Motty went on, “I’ve +been cooped up in the ancestral home at Much Middlefold, in Shropshire, and +till you’ve been cooped up in Much Middlefold you don’t know what +cooping is! The only time we get any excitement is when one of the choir-boys +is caught sucking chocolate during the sermon. When that happens, we talk about +it for days. I’ve got about a month of New York, and I mean to store up a +few happy memories for the long winter evenings. This is my only chance to +collect a past, and I’m going to do it. Now tell me, old sport, as man to +man, how does one get in touch with that very decent chappie Jeeves? Does one +ring a bell or shout a bit? I should like to discuss the subject of a good +stiff b.-and-s. with him!” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +I had had a sort of vague idea, don’t you know, that if I stuck close to +Motty and went about the place with him, I might act as a bit of a damper on +the gaiety. What I mean is, I thought that if, when he was being the life and +soul of the party, he were to catch my reproving eye he might ease up a trifle +on the revelry. So the next night I took him along to supper with me. It was +the last time. I’m a quiet, peaceful sort of chappie who has lived all +his life in London, and I can’t stand the pace these swift sportsmen from +the rural districts set. What I mean to say is this, I’m all for rational +enjoyment and so forth, but I think a chappie makes himself conspicuous when he +throws soft-boiled eggs at the electric fan. And decent mirth and all that sort +of thing are all right, but I do bar dancing on tables and having to dash all +over the place dodging waiters, managers, and chuckers-out, just when you want +to sit still and digest. +</p> + +<p> +Directly I managed to tear myself away that night and get home, I made up my +mind that this was jolly well the last time that I went about with Motty. The +only time I met him late at night after that was once when I passed the door of +a fairly low-down sort of restaurant and had to step aside to dodge him as he +sailed through the air <i>en route</i> for the opposite pavement, with a +muscular sort of looking chappie peering out after him with a kind of gloomy +satisfaction. +</p> + +<p> +In a way, I couldn’t help sympathizing with the fellow. He had about four +weeks to have the good time that ought to have been spread over about ten +years, and I didn’t wonder at his wanting to be pretty busy. I should +have been just the same in his place. Still, there was no denying that it was a +bit thick. If it hadn’t been for the thought of Lady Malvern and Aunt +Agatha in the background, I should have regarded Motty’s rapid work with +an indulgent smile. But I couldn’t get rid of the feeling that, sooner or +later, I was the lad who was scheduled to get it behind the ear. And what with +brooding on this prospect, and sitting up in the old flat waiting for the +familiar footstep, and putting it to bed when it got there, and stealing into +the sick-chamber next morning to contemplate the wreckage, I was beginning to +lose weight. Absolutely becoming the good old shadow, I give you my honest +word. Starting at sudden noises and what-not. +</p> + +<p> +And no sympathy from Jeeves. That was what cut me to the quick. The man was +still thoroughly pipped about the hat and tie, and simply wouldn’t rally +round. One morning I wanted comforting so much that I sank the pride of the +Woosters and appealed to the fellow direct. +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves,” I said, “this is getting a bit thick!” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir?” Business and cold respectfulness. +</p> + +<p> +“You know what I mean. This lad seems to have chucked all the principles +of a well-spent boyhood. He has got it up his nose!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I shall get blamed, don’t you know. You know what my Aunt +Agatha is!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, then.” +</p> + +<p> +I waited a moment, but he wouldn’t unbend. +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves,” I said, “haven’t you any scheme up your +sleeve for coping with this blighter?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +And he shimmered off to his lair. Obstinate devil! So dashed absurd, +don’t you know. It wasn’t as if there was anything wrong with that +Country Gentleman hat. It was a remarkably priceless effort, and much admired +by the lads. But, just because he preferred the Longacre, he left me flat. +</p> + +<p> +It was shortly after this that young Motty got the idea of bringing pals back +in the small hours to continue the gay revels in the home. This was where I +began to crack under the strain. You see, the part of town where I was living +wasn’t the right place for that sort of thing. I knew lots of chappies +down Washington Square way who started the evening at about 2 +a.m.—artists and writers and what-not, who frolicked considerably till +checked by the arrival of the morning milk. That was all right. They like that +sort of thing down there. The neighbours can’t get to sleep unless +there’s someone dancing Hawaiian dances over their heads. But on +Fifty-seventh Street the atmosphere wasn’t right, and when Motty turned +up at three in the morning with a collection of hearty lads, who only stopped +singing their college song when they started singing “The Old Oaken +Bucket,” there was a marked peevishness among the old settlers in the +flats. The management was extremely terse over the telephone at breakfast-time, +and took a lot of soothing. +</p> + +<p> +The next night I came home early, after a lonely dinner at a place which +I’d chosen because there didn’t seem any chance of meeting Motty +there. The sitting-room was quite dark, and I was just moving to switch on the +light, when there was a sort of explosion and something collared hold of my +trouser-leg. Living with Motty had reduced me to such an extent that I was +simply unable to cope with this thing. I jumped backward with a loud yell of +anguish, and tumbled out into the hall just as Jeeves came out of his den to +see what the matter was. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you call, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves! There’s something in there that grabs you by the +leg!” +</p> + +<p> +“That would be Rollo, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“I would have warned you of his presence, but I did not hear you come in. +His temper is a little uncertain at present, as he has not yet settled +down.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who the deuce is Rollo?” +</p> + +<p> +“His lordship’s bull-terrier, sir. His lordship won him in a +raffle, and tied him to the leg of the table. If you will allow me, sir, I will +go in and switch on the light.” +</p> + +<p> +There really is nobody like Jeeves. He walked straight into the sitting-room, +the biggest feat since Daniel and the lions’ den, without a quiver. +What’s more, his magnetism or whatever they call it was such that the +dashed animal, instead of pinning him by the leg, calmed down as if he had had +a bromide, and rolled over on his back with all his paws in the air. If Jeeves +had been his rich uncle he couldn’t have been more chummy. Yet directly +he caught sight of me again, he got all worked up and seemed to have only one +idea in life—to start chewing me where he had left off. +</p> + +<p> +“Rollo is not used to you yet, sir,” said Jeeves, regarding the +bally quadruped in an admiring sort of way. “He is an excellent +watchdog.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want a watchdog to keep me out of my rooms.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what am I to do?” +</p> + +<p> +“No doubt in time the animal will learn to discriminate, sir. He will +learn to distinguish your peculiar scent.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean—my peculiar scent? Correct the impression that I +intend to hang about in the hall while life slips by, in the hope that one of +these days that dashed animal will decide that I smell all right.” I +thought for a bit. “Jeeves!” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going away—to-morrow morning by the first train. I shall +go and stop with Mr. Todd in the country.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you wish me to accompany you, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know when I shall be back. Forward my letters.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +As a matter of fact, I was back within the week. Rocky Todd, the pal I went to +stay with, is a rummy sort of a chap who lives all alone in the wilds of Long +Island, and likes it; but a little of that sort of thing goes a long way with +me. Dear old Rocky is one of the best, but after a few days in his cottage in +the woods, miles away from anywhere, New York, even with Motty on the premises, +began to look pretty good to me. The days down on Long Island have forty-eight +hours in them; you can’t get to sleep at night because of the bellowing +of the crickets; and you have to walk two miles for a drink and six for an +evening paper. I thanked Rocky for his kind hospitality, and caught the only +train they have down in those parts. It landed me in New York about +dinner-time. I went straight to the old flat. Jeeves came out of his lair. I +looked round cautiously for Rollo. +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s that dog, Jeeves? Have you got him tied up?” +</p> + +<p> +“The animal is no longer here, sir. His lordship gave him to the porter, +who sold him. His lordship took a prejudice against the animal on account of +being bitten by him in the calf of the leg.” +</p> + +<p> +I don’t think I’ve ever been so bucked by a bit of news. I felt I +had misjudged Rollo. Evidently, when you got to know him better, he had a lot +of intelligence in him. +</p> + +<p> +“Ripping!” I said. “Is Lord Pershore in, Jeeves?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you expect him back to dinner?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is he?” +</p> + +<p> +“In prison, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Have you ever trodden on a rake and had the handle jump up and hit you? +That’s how I felt then. +</p> + +<p> +“In prison!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t mean—in prison?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +I lowered myself into a chair. +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“He assaulted a constable, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lord Pershore assaulted a constable!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +I digested this. +</p> + +<p> +“But, Jeeves, I say! This is frightful!” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“What will Lady Malvern say when she finds out?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not fancy that her ladyship will find out, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“But she’ll come back and want to know where he is.” +</p> + +<p> +“I rather fancy, sir, that his lordship’s bit of time will have run +out by then.” +</p> + +<p> +“But supposing it hasn’t?” +</p> + +<p> +“In that event, sir, it may be judicious to prevaricate a little.” +</p> + +<p> +“How?” +</p> + +<p> +“If I might make the suggestion, sir, I should inform her ladyship that +his lordship has left for a short visit to Boston.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why Boston?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very interesting and respectable centre, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves, I believe you’ve hit it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I fancy so, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, this is really the best thing that could have happened. If this +hadn’t turned up to prevent him, young Motty would have been in a +sanatorium by the time Lady Malvern got back.” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +The more I looked at it in that way, the sounder this prison wheeze seemed to +me. There was no doubt in the world that prison was just what the doctor +ordered for Motty. It was the only thing that could have pulled him up. I was +sorry for the poor blighter, but, after all, I reflected, a chappie who had +lived all his life with Lady Malvern, in a small village in the interior of +Shropshire, wouldn’t have much to kick at in a prison. Altogether, I +began to feel absolutely braced again. Life became like what the poet Johnnie +says—one grand, sweet song. Things went on so comfortably and peacefully +for a couple of weeks that I give you my word that I’d almost forgotten +such a person as Motty existed. The only flaw in the scheme of things was that +Jeeves was still pained and distant. It wasn’t anything he said or did, +mind you, but there was a rummy something about him all the time. Once when I +was tying the pink tie I caught sight of him in the looking-glass. There was a +kind of grieved look in his eye. +</p> + +<p> +And then Lady Malvern came back, a good bit ahead of schedule. I hadn’t +been expecting her for days. I’d forgotten how time had been slipping +along. She turned up one morning while I was still in bed sipping tea and +thinking of this and that. Jeeves flowed in with the announcement that he had +just loosed her into the sitting-room. I draped a few garments round me and +went in. +</p> + +<p> +There she was, sitting in the same arm-chair, looking as massive as ever. The +only difference was that she didn’t uncover the teeth, as she had done +the first time. +</p> + +<p> +“Good morning,” I said. “So you’ve got back, +what?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have got back.” +</p> + +<p> +There was something sort of bleak about her tone, rather as if she had +swallowed an east wind. This I took to be due to the fact that she probably +hadn’t breakfasted. It’s only after a bit of breakfast that +I’m able to regard the world with that sunny cheeriness which makes a +fellow the universal favourite. I’m never much of a lad till I’ve +engulfed an egg or two and a beaker of coffee. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you haven’t breakfasted?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have not yet breakfasted.” +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t you have an egg or something? Or a sausage or something? Or +something?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, thank you.” +</p> + +<p> +She spoke as if she belonged to an anti-sausage society or a league for the +suppression of eggs. There was a bit of a silence. +</p> + +<p> +“I called on you last night,” she said, “but you were +out.” +</p> + +<p> +“Awfully sorry! Had a pleasant trip?” +</p> + +<p> +“Extremely, thank you.” +</p> + +<p> +“See everything? Niag’ra Falls, Yellowstone Park, and the jolly old +Grand Canyon, and what-not?” +</p> + +<p> +“I saw a great deal.” +</p> + +<p> +There was another slightly <i>frappé</i> silence. Jeeves floated silently into +the dining-room and began to lay the breakfast-table. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope Wilmot was not in your way, Mr. Wooster?” +</p> + +<p> +I had been wondering when she was going to mention Motty. +</p> + +<p> +“Rather not! Great pals! Hit it off splendidly.” +</p> + +<p> +“You were his constant companion, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely! We were always together. Saw all the sights, don’t you +know. We’d take in the Museum of Art in the morning, and have a bit of +lunch at some good vegetarian place, and then toddle along to a sacred concert +in the afternoon, and home to an early dinner. We usually played dominoes after +dinner. And then the early bed and the refreshing sleep. We had a great time. I +was awfully sorry when he went away to Boston.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Wilmot is in Boston?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I ought to have let you know, but of course we didn’t know +where you were. You were dodging all over the place like a snipe—I mean, +don’t you know, dodging all over the place, and we couldn’t get at +you. Yes, Motty went off to Boston.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re sure he went to Boston?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, absolutely.” I called out to Jeeves, who was now messing about +in the next room with forks and so forth: “Jeeves, Lord Pershore +didn’t change his mind about going to Boston, did he?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought I was right. Yes, Motty went to Boston.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then how do you account, Mr. Wooster, for the fact that when I went +yesterday afternoon to Blackwell’s Island prison, to secure material for +my book, I saw poor, dear Wilmot there, dressed in a striped suit, seated +beside a pile of stones with a hammer in his hands?” +</p> + +<p> +I tried to think of something to say, but nothing came. A chappie has to be a +lot broader about the forehead than I am to handle a jolt like this. I strained +the old bean till it creaked, but between the collar and the hair parting +nothing stirred. I was dumb. Which was lucky, because I wouldn’t have had +a chance to get any persiflage out of my system. Lady Malvern collared the +conversation. She had been bottling it up, and now it came out with a rush: +</p> + +<p> +“So this is how you have looked after my poor, dear boy, Mr. Wooster! So +this is how you have abused my trust! I left him in your charge, thinking that +I could rely on you to shield him from evil. He came to you innocent, unversed +in the ways of the world, confiding, unused to the temptations of a large city, +and you led him astray!” +</p> + +<p> +I hadn’t any remarks to make. All I could think of was the picture of +Aunt Agatha drinking all this in and reaching out to sharpen the hatchet +against my return. +</p> + +<p> +“You deliberately——” +</p> + +<p> +Far away in the misty distance a soft voice spoke: +</p> + +<p> +“If I might explain, your ladyship.” +</p> + +<p> +Jeeves had projected himself in from the dining-room and materialized on the +rug. Lady Malvern tried to freeze him with a look, but you can’t do that +sort of thing to Jeeves. He is look-proof. +</p> + +<p> +“I fancy, your ladyship, that you have misunderstood Mr. Wooster, and +that he may have given you the impression that he was in New York when his +lordship—was removed. When Mr. Wooster informed your ladyship that his +lordship had gone to Boston, he was relying on the version I had given him of +his lordship’s movements. Mr. Wooster was away, visiting a friend in the +country, at the time, and knew nothing of the matter till your ladyship +informed him.” +</p> + +<p> +Lady Malvern gave a kind of grunt. It didn’t rattle Jeeves. +</p> + +<p> +“I feared Mr. Wooster might be disturbed if he knew the truth, as he is +so attached to his lordship and has taken such pains to look after him, so I +took the liberty of telling him that his lordship had gone away for a visit. It +might have been hard for Mr. Wooster to believe that his lordship had gone to +prison voluntarily and from the best motives, but your ladyship, knowing him +better, will readily understand.” +</p> + +<p> +“What!” Lady Malvern goggled at him. “Did you say that Lord +Pershore went to prison voluntarily?” +</p> + +<p> +“If I might explain, your ladyship. I think that your ladyship’s +parting words made a deep impression on his lordship. I have frequently heard +him speak to Mr. Wooster of his desire to do something to follow your +ladyship’s instructions and collect material for your ladyship’s +book on America. Mr. Wooster will bear me out when I say that his lordship was +frequently extremely depressed at the thought that he was doing so little to +help.” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely, by Jove! Quite pipped about it!” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“The idea of making a personal examination into the prison system of the +country—from within—occurred to his lordship very suddenly one +night. He embraced it eagerly. There was no restraining him.” +</p> + +<p> +Lady Malvern looked at Jeeves, then at me, then at Jeeves again. I could see +her struggling with the thing. +</p> + +<p> +“Surely, your ladyship,” said Jeeves, “it is more reasonable +to suppose that a gentleman of his lordship’s character went to prison of +his own volition than that he committed some breach of the law which +necessitated his arrest?” +</p> + +<p> +Lady Malvern blinked. Then she got up. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Wooster,” she said, “I apologize. I have done you an +injustice. I should have known Wilmot better. I should have had more faith in +his pure, fine spirit.” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely!” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Your breakfast is ready, sir,” said Jeeves. +</p> + +<p> +I sat down and dallied in a dazed sort of way with a poached egg. +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves,” I said, “you are certainly a life-saver!” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing would have convinced my Aunt Agatha that I hadn’t lured +that blighter into riotous living.” +</p> + +<p> +“I fancy you are right, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +I champed my egg for a bit. I was most awfully moved, don’t you know, by +the way Jeeves had rallied round. Something seemed to tell me that this was an +occasion that called for rich rewards. For a moment I hesitated. Then I made up +my mind. +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves!” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“That pink tie!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“Burn it!” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“And, Jeeves!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“Take a taxi and get me that Longacre hat, as worn by John Drew!” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you very much, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +I felt most awfully braced. I felt as if the clouds had rolled away and all was +as it used to be. I felt like one of those chappies in the novels who calls off +the fight with his wife in the last chapter and decides to forget and forgive. +I felt I wanted to do all sorts of other things to show Jeeves that I +appreciated him. +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves,” I said, “it isn’t enough. Is there anything +else you would like?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir. If I may make the suggestion—fifty dollars.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fifty dollars?” +</p> + +<p> +“It will enable me to pay a debt of honour, sir. I owe it to his +lordship.” +</p> + +<p> +“You owe Lord Pershore fifty dollars?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir. I happened to meet him in the street the night his lordship +was arrested. I had been thinking a good deal about the most suitable method of +inducing him to abandon his mode of living, sir. His lordship was a little +over-excited at the time and I fancy that he mistook me for a friend of his. At +any rate when I took the liberty of wagering him fifty dollars that he would +not punch a passing policeman in the eye, he accepted the bet very cordially +and won it.” +</p> + +<p> +I produced my pocket-book and counted out a hundred. +</p> + +<p> +“Take this, Jeeves,” I said; “fifty isn’t enough. Do +you know, Jeeves, you’re—well, you absolutely stand alone!” +</p> + +<p> +“I endeavour to give satisfaction, sir,” said Jeeves. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>JEEVES AND THE HARD-BOILED EGG</h2> + +<p> +Sometimes of a morning, as I’ve sat in bed sucking down the early cup of +tea and watched my man Jeeves flitting about the room and putting out the +raiment for the day, I’ve wondered what the deuce I should do if the +fellow ever took it into his head to leave me. It’s not so bad now +I’m in New York, but in London the anxiety was frightful. There used to +be all sorts of attempts on the part of low blighters to sneak him away from +me. Young Reggie Foljambe to my certain knowledge offered him double what I was +giving him, and Alistair Bingham-Reeves, who’s got a valet who had been +known to press his trousers sideways, used to look at him, when he came to see +me, with a kind of glittering hungry eye which disturbed me deucedly. Bally +pirates! +</p> + +<p> +The thing, you see, is that Jeeves is so dashed competent. You can spot it even +in the way he shoves studs into a shirt. +</p> + +<p> +I rely on him absolutely in every crisis, and he never lets me down. And, +what’s more, he can always be counted on to extend himself on behalf of +any pal of mine who happens to be to all appearances knee-deep in the bouillon. +Take the rather rummy case, for instance, of dear old Bicky and his uncle, the +hard-boiled egg. +</p> + +<p> +It happened after I had been in America for a few months. I got back to the +flat latish one night, and when Jeeves brought me the final drink he said: +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Bickersteth called to see you this evening, sir, while you were +out.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Twice, sir. He appeared a trifle agitated.” +</p> + +<p> +“What, pipped?” +</p> + +<p> +“He gave that impression, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +I sipped the whisky. I was sorry if Bicky was in trouble, but, as a matter of +fact, I was rather glad to have something I could discuss freely with Jeeves +just then, because things had been a bit strained between us for some time, and +it had been rather difficult to hit on anything to talk about that wasn’t +apt to take a personal turn. You see, I had decided—rightly or +wrongly—to grow a moustache and this had cut Jeeves to the quick. He +couldn’t stick the thing at any price, and I had been living ever since +in an atmosphere of bally disapproval till I was getting jolly well fed up with +it. What I mean is, while there’s no doubt that in certain matters of +dress Jeeves’s judgment is absolutely sound and should be followed, it +seemed to me that it was getting a bit too thick if he was going to edit my +face as well as my costume. No one can call me an unreasonable chappie, and +many’s the time I’ve given in like a lamb when Jeeves has voted +against one of my pet suits or ties; but when it comes to a valet’s +staking out a claim on your upper lip you’ve simply got to have a bit of +the good old bulldog pluck and defy the blighter. +</p> + +<p> +“He said that he would call again later, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Something must be up, Jeeves.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +I gave the moustache a thoughtful twirl. It seemed to hurt Jeeves a good deal, +so I chucked it. +</p> + +<p> +“I see by the paper, sir, that Mr. Bickersteth’s uncle is arriving +on the <i>Carmantic</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” +</p> + +<p> +“His Grace the Duke of Chiswick, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +This was news to me, that Bicky’s uncle was a duke. Rum, how little one +knows about one’s pals! I had met Bicky for the first time at a species +of beano or jamboree down in Washington Square, not long after my arrival in +New York. I suppose I was a bit homesick at the time, and I rather took to +Bicky when I found that he was an Englishman and had, in fact, been up at +Oxford with me. Besides, he was a frightful chump, so we naturally drifted +together; and while we were taking a quiet snort in a corner that wasn’t +all cluttered up with artists and sculptors and what-not, he furthermore +endeared himself to me by a most extraordinarily gifted imitation of a +bull-terrier chasing a cat up a tree. But, though we had subsequently become +extremely pally, all I really knew about him was that he was generally hard up, +and had an uncle who relieved the strain a bit from time to time by sending him +monthly remittances. +</p> + +<p> +“If the Duke of Chiswick is his uncle,” I said, “why +hasn’t he a title? Why isn’t he Lord What-Not?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Bickersteth is the son of his grace’s late sister, sir, who +married Captain Rollo Bickersteth of the Coldstream Guards.” +</p> + +<p> +Jeeves knows everything. +</p> + +<p> +“Is Mr. Bickersteth’s father dead, too?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Leave any money?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +I began to understand why poor old Bicky was always more or less on the rocks. +To the casual and irreflective observer, if you know what I mean, it may sound +a pretty good wheeze having a duke for an uncle, but the trouble about old +Chiswick was that, though an extremely wealthy old buster, owning half London +and about five counties up north, he was notoriously the most prudent spender +in England. He was what American chappies would call a hard-boiled egg. If +Bicky’s people hadn’t left him anything and he depended on what he +could prise out of the old duke, he was in a pretty bad way. Not that that +explained why he was hunting me like this, because he was a chap who never +borrowed money. He said he wanted to keep his pals, so never bit any +one’s ear on principle. +</p> + +<p> +At this juncture the door bell rang. Jeeves floated out to answer it. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir. Mr. Wooster has just returned,” I heard him say. And +Bicky came trickling in, looking pretty sorry for himself. +</p> + +<p> +“Halloa, Bicky!” I said. “Jeeves told me you had been trying +to get me. Jeeves, bring another glass, and let the revels commence. +What’s the trouble, Bicky?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m in a hole, Bertie. I want your advice.” +</p> + +<p> +“Say on, old lad!” +</p> + +<p> +“My uncle’s turning up to-morrow, Bertie.” +</p> + +<p> +“So Jeeves told me.” +</p> + +<p> +“The Duke of Chiswick, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“So Jeeves told me.” +</p> + +<p> +Bicky seemed a bit surprised. +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves seems to know everything.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rather rummily, that’s exactly what I was thinking just now +myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I wish,” said Bicky gloomily, “that he knew a way to +get me out of the hole I’m in.” +</p> + +<p> +Jeeves shimmered in with the glass, and stuck it competently on the table. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Bickersteth is in a bit of a hole, Jeeves,” I said, “and +wants you to rally round.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Bicky looked a bit doubtful. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, of course, you know, Bertie, this thing is by way of being a bit +private and all that.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shouldn’t worry about that, old top. I bet Jeeves knows all +about it already. Don’t you, Jeeves?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh!” said Bicky, rattled. +</p> + +<p> +“I am open to correction, sir, but is not your dilemma due to the fact +that you are at a loss to explain to his grace why you are in New York instead +of in Colorado?” +</p> + +<p> +Bicky rocked like a jelly in a high wind. +</p> + +<p> +“How the deuce do you know anything about it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I chanced to meet his grace’s butler before we left England. He +informed me that he happened to overhear his grace speaking to you on the +matter, sir, as he passed the library door.” +</p> + +<p> +Bicky gave a hollow sort of laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, as everybody seems to know all about it, there’s no need to +try to keep it dark. The old boy turfed me out, Bertie, because he said I was a +brainless nincompoop. The idea was that he would give me a remittance on +condition that I dashed out to some blighted locality of the name of Colorado +and learned farming or ranching, or whatever they call it, at some bally ranch +or farm or whatever it’s called. I didn’t fancy the idea a bit. I +should have had to ride horses and pursue cows, and so forth. I hate horses. +They bite at you. I was all against the scheme. At the same time, don’t +you know, I had to have that remittance.” +</p> + +<p> +“I get you absolutely, dear boy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, when I got to New York it looked a decent sort of place to me, so +I thought it would be a pretty sound notion to stop here. So I cabled to my +uncle telling him that I had dropped into a good business wheeze in the city +and wanted to chuck the ranch idea. He wrote back that it was all right, and +here I’ve been ever since. He thinks I’m doing well at something or +other over here. I never dreamed, don’t you know, that he would ever come +out here. What on earth am I to do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves,” I said, “what on earth is Mr. Bickersteth to +do?” +</p> + +<p> +“You see,” said Bicky, “I had a wireless from him to say that +he was coming to stay with me—to save hotel bills, I suppose. I’ve +always given him the impression that I was living in pretty good style. I +can’t have him to stay at my boarding-house.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thought of anything, Jeeves?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“To what extent, sir, if the question is not a delicate one, are you +prepared to assist Mr. Bickersteth?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll do anything I can for you, of course, Bicky, old man.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, if I might make the suggestion, sir, you might lend Mr. +Bickersteth——” +</p> + +<p> +“No, by Jove!” said Bicky firmly. “I never have touched you, +Bertie, and I’m not going to start now. I may be a chump, but it’s +my boast that I don’t owe a penny to a single soul—not counting +tradesmen, of course.” +</p> + +<p> +“I was about to suggest, sir, that you might lend Mr. Bickersteth this +flat. Mr. Bickersteth could give his grace the impression that he was the owner +of it. With your permission I could convey the notion that I was in Mr. +Bickersteth’s employment, and not in yours. You would be residing here +temporarily as Mr. Bickersteth’s guest. His grace would occupy the second +spare bedroom. I fancy that you would find this answer satisfactorily, +sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Bicky had stopped rocking himself and was staring at Jeeves in an awed sort of +way. +</p> + +<p> +“I would advocate the dispatching of a wireless message to his grace on +board the vessel, notifying him of the change of address. Mr. Bickersteth could +meet his grace at the dock and proceed directly here. Will that meet the +situation, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Bicky followed him with his eye till the door closed. +</p> + +<p> +“How does he do it, Bertie?” he said. “I’ll tell you +what I think it is. I believe it’s something to do with the shape of his +head. Have you ever noticed his head, Bertie, old man? It sort of sticks out at +the back!” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +I hopped out of bed early next morning, so as to be among those present when +the old boy should arrive. I knew from experience that these ocean liners fetch +up at the dock at a deucedly ungodly hour. It wasn’t much after nine by +the time I’d dressed and had my morning tea and was leaning out of the +window, watching the street for Bicky and his uncle. It was one of those jolly, +peaceful mornings that make a chappie wish he’d got a soul or something, +and I was just brooding on life in general when I became aware of the dickens +of a spate in progress down below. A taxi had driven up, and an old boy in a +top hat had got out and was kicking up a frightful row about the fare. As far +as I could make out, he was trying to get the cab chappie to switch from New +York to London prices, and the cab chappie had apparently never heard of London +before, and didn’t seem to think a lot of it now. The old boy said that +in London the trip would have set him back eightpence; and the cabby said he +should worry. I called to Jeeves. +</p> + +<p> +“The duke has arrived, Jeeves.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’ll be him at the door now.” +</p> + +<p> +Jeeves made a long arm and opened the front door, and the old boy crawled in, +looking licked to a splinter. +</p> + +<p> +“How do you do, sir?” I said, bustling up and being the ray of +sunshine. “Your nephew went down to the dock to meet you, but you must +have missed him. My name’s Wooster, don’t you know. Great pal of +Bicky’s, and all that sort of thing. I’m staying with him, you +know. Would you like a cup of tea? Jeeves, bring a cup of tea.” +</p> + +<p> +Old Chiswick had sunk into an arm-chair and was looking about the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Does this luxurious flat belong to my nephew Francis?” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely.” +</p> + +<p> +“It must be terribly expensive.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pretty well, of course. Everything costs a lot over here, you +know.” +</p> + +<p> +He moaned. Jeeves filtered in with the tea. Old Chiswick took a stab at it to +restore his tissues, and nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“A terrible country, Mr. Wooster! A terrible country! Nearly eight +shillings for a short cab-drive! Iniquitous!” He took another look round +the room. It seemed to fascinate him. “Have you any idea how much my +nephew pays for this flat, Mr. Wooster?” +</p> + +<p> +“About two hundred dollars a month, I believe.” +</p> + +<p> +“What! Forty pounds a month!” +</p> + +<p> +I began to see that, unless I made the thing a bit more plausible, the scheme +might turn out a frost. I could guess what the old boy was thinking. He was +trying to square all this prosperity with what he knew of poor old Bicky. And +one had to admit that it took a lot of squaring, for dear old Bicky, though a +stout fellow and absolutely unrivalled as an imitator of bull-terriers and +cats, was in many ways one of the most pronounced fatheads that ever pulled on +a suit of gent’s underwear. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose it seems rummy to you,” I said, “but the fact is +New York often bucks chappies up and makes them show a flash of speed that you +wouldn’t have imagined them capable of. It sort of develops them. +Something in the air, don’t you know. I imagine that Bicky in the past, +when you knew him, may have been something of a chump, but it’s quite +different now. Devilish efficient sort of chappie, and looked on in commercial +circles as quite the nib!” +</p> + +<p> +“I am amazed! What is the nature of my nephew’s business, Mr. +Wooster?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, just business, don’t you know. The same sort of thing Carnegie +and Rockefeller and all these coves do, you know.” I slid for the door. +“Awfully sorry to leave you, but I’ve got to meet some of the lads +elsewhere.” +</p> + +<p> +Coming out of the lift I met Bicky bustling in from the street. +</p> + +<p> +“Halloa, Bertie! I missed him. Has he turned up?” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s upstairs now, having some tea.” +</p> + +<p> +“What does he think of it all?” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s absolutely rattled.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ripping! I’ll be toddling up, then. Toodle-oo, Bertie, old man. +See you later.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pip-pip, Bicky, dear boy.” +</p> + +<p> +He trotted off, full of merriment and good cheer, and I went off to the club to +sit in the window and watch the traffic coming up one way and going down the +other. +</p> + +<p> +It was latish in the evening when I looked in at the flat to dress for dinner. +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s everybody, Jeeves?” I said, finding no little feet +pattering about the place. “Gone out?” +</p> + +<p> +“His grace desired to see some of the sights of the city, sir. Mr. +Bickersteth is acting as his escort. I fancy their immediate objective was +Grant’s Tomb.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose Mr. Bickersteth is a bit braced at the way things are +going—what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“I say, I take it that Mr. Bickersteth is tolerably full of beans.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not altogether, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s his trouble now?” +</p> + +<p> +“The scheme which I took the liberty of suggesting to Mr. Bickersteth and +yourself has, unfortunately, not answered entirely satisfactorily, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Surely the duke believes that Mr. Bickersteth is doing well in business, +and all that sort of thing?” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly, sir. With the result that he has decided to cancel Mr. +Bickersteth’s monthly allowance, on the ground that, as Mr. Bickersteth +is doing so well on his own account, he no longer requires pecuniary +assistance.” +</p> + +<p> +“Great Scot, Jeeves! This is awful.” +</p> + +<p> +“Somewhat disturbing, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never expected anything like this!” +</p> + +<p> +“I confess I scarcely anticipated the contingency myself, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose it bowled the poor blighter over absolutely?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Bickersteth appeared somewhat taken aback, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +My heart bled for Bicky. +</p> + +<p> +“We must do something, Jeeves.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can you think of anything?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at the moment, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“There must be something we can do.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was a maxim of one of my former employers, sir—as I believe I +mentioned to you once before—the present Lord Bridgnorth, that there is +always a way. I remember his lordship using the expression on the +occasion—he was then a business gentleman and had not yet received his +title—when a patent hair-restorer which he chanced to be promoting failed +to attract the public. He put it on the market under another name as a +depilatory, and amassed a substantial fortune. I have generally found his +lordship’s aphorism based on sound foundations. No doubt we shall be able +to discover some solution of Mr. Bickersteth’s difficulty, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, have a stab at it, Jeeves!” +</p> + +<p> +“I will spare no pains, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +I went and dressed sadly. It will show you pretty well how pipped I was when I +tell you that I near as a toucher put on a white tie with a dinner-jacket. I +sallied out for a bit of food more to pass the time than because I wanted it. +It seemed brutal to be wading into the bill of fare with poor old Bicky headed +for the breadline. +</p> + +<p> +When I got back old Chiswick had gone to bed, but Bicky was there, hunched up +in an arm-chair, brooding pretty tensely, with a cigarette hanging out of the +corner of his mouth and a more or less glassy stare in his eyes. He had the +aspect of one who had been soaked with what the newspaper chappies call +“some blunt instrument.” +</p> + +<p> +“This is a bit thick, old thing—what!” I said. +</p> + +<p> +He picked up his glass and drained it feverishly, overlooking the fact that it +hadn’t anything in it. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m done, Bertie!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +He had another go at the glass. It didn’t seem to do him any good. +</p> + +<p> +“If only this had happened a week later, Bertie! My next month’s +money was due to roll in on Saturday. I could have worked a wheeze I’ve +been reading about in the magazine advertisements. It seems that you can make a +dashed amount of money if you can only collect a few dollars and start a +chicken-farm. Jolly sound scheme, Bertie! Say you buy a hen—call it one +hen for the sake of argument. It lays an egg every day of the week. You sell +the eggs seven for twenty-five cents. Keep of hen costs nothing. Profit +practically twenty-five cents on every seven eggs. Or look at it another way: +Suppose you have a dozen hens. Each of the hens has a dozen chickens. The +chickens grow up and have more chickens. Why, in no time you’d have the +place covered knee-deep in hens, all laying eggs, at twenty-five cents for +every seven. You’d make a fortune. Jolly life, too, keeping hens!” +He had begun to get quite worked up at the thought of it, but he slopped back +in his chair at this juncture with a good deal of gloom. “But, of course, +it’s no good,” he said, “because I haven’t the +cash.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve only to say the word, you know, Bicky, old top.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks awfully, Bertie, but I’m not going to sponge on you.” +</p> + +<p> +That’s always the way in this world. The chappies you’d like to +lend money to won’t let you, whereas the chappies you don’t want to +lend it to will do everything except actually stand you on your head and lift +the specie out of your pockets. As a lad who has always rolled tolerably free +in the right stuff, I’ve had lots of experience of the second class. +Many’s the time, back in London, I’ve hurried along Piccadilly and +felt the hot breath of the toucher on the back of my neck and heard his sharp, +excited yapping as he closed in on me. I’ve simply spent my life +scattering largesse to blighters I didn’t care a hang for; yet here was I +now, dripping doubloons and pieces of eight and longing to hand them over, and +Bicky, poor fish, absolutely on his uppers, not taking any at any price. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, there’s only one hope, then.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir?” +</p> + +<p> +There was Jeeves, standing behind me, full of zeal. In this matter of +shimmering into rooms the chappie is rummy to a degree. You’re sitting in +the old arm-chair, thinking of this and that, and then suddenly you look up, +and there he is. He moves from point to point with as little uproar as a jelly +fish. The thing startled poor old Bicky considerably. He rose from his seat +like a rocketing pheasant. I’m used to Jeeves now, but often in the days +when he first came to me I’ve bitten my tongue freely on finding him +unexpectedly in my midst. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you call, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, there you are, Jeeves!” +</p> + +<p> +“Precisely, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves, Mr. Bickersteth is still up the pole. Any ideas?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, yes, sir. Since we had our recent conversation I fancy I have found +what may prove a solution. I do not wish to appear to be taking a liberty, sir, +but I think that we have overlooked his grace’s potentialities as a +source of revenue.” +</p> + +<p> +Bicky laughed, what I have sometimes seen described as a hollow, mocking laugh, +a sort of bitter cackle from the back of the throat, rather like a gargle. +</p> + +<p> +“I do not allude, sir,” explained Jeeves, “to the possibility +of inducing his grace to part with money. I am taking the liberty of regarding +his grace in the light of an at present—if I may say so—useless +property, which is capable of being developed.” +</p> + +<p> +Bicky looked at me in a helpless kind of way. I’m bound to say I +didn’t get it myself. +</p> + +<p> +“Couldn’t you make it a bit easier, Jeeves!” +</p> + +<p> +“In a nutshell, sir, what I mean is this: His grace is, in a sense, a +prominent personage. The inhabitants of this country, as no doubt you are +aware, sir, are peculiarly addicted to shaking hands with prominent personages. +It occurred to me that Mr. Bickersteth or yourself might know of persons who +would be willing to pay a small fee—let us say two dollars or +three—for the privilege of an introduction, including handshake, to his +grace.” +</p> + +<p> +Bicky didn’t seem to think much of it. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean to say that anyone would be mug enough to part with solid +cash just to shake hands with my uncle?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have an aunt, sir, who paid five shillings to a young fellow for +bringing a moving-picture actor to tea at her house one Sunday. It gave her +social standing among the neighbours.” +</p> + +<p> +Bicky wavered. +</p> + +<p> +“If you think it could be done——” +</p> + +<p> +“I feel convinced of it, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you think, Bertie?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m for it, old boy, absolutely. A very brainy wheeze.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, sir. Will there be anything further? Good night, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +And he floated out, leaving us to discuss details. +</p> + +<p> +Until we started this business of floating old Chiswick as a money-making +proposition I had never realized what a perfectly foul time those Stock +Exchange chappies must have when the public isn’t biting freely. Nowadays +I read that bit they put in the financial reports about “The market +opened quietly” with a sympathetic eye, for, by Jove, it certainly opened +quietly for us! You’d hardly believe how difficult it was to interest the +public and make them take a flutter on the old boy. By the end of the week the +only name we had on our list was a delicatessen-store keeper down in +Bicky’s part of the town, and as he wanted us to take it out in sliced +ham instead of cash that didn’t help much. There was a gleam of light +when the brother of Bicky’s pawnbroker offered ten dollars, money down, +for an introduction to old Chiswick, but the deal fell through, owing to its +turning out that the chap was an anarchist and intended to kick the old boy +instead of shaking hands with him. At that, it took me the deuce of a time to +persuade Bicky not to grab the cash and let things take their course. He seemed +to regard the pawnbroker’s brother rather as a sportsman and benefactor +of his species than otherwise. +</p> + +<p> +The whole thing, I’m inclined to think, would have been off if it +hadn’t been for Jeeves. There is no doubt that Jeeves is in a class of +his own. In the matter of brain and resource I don’t think I have ever +met a chappie so supremely like mother made. He trickled into my room one +morning with a good old cup of tea, and intimated that there was something +doing. +</p> + +<p> +“Might I speak to you with regard to that matter of his grace, +sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all off. We’ve decided to chuck it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“It won’t work. We can’t get anybody to come.” +</p> + +<p> +“I fancy I can arrange that aspect of the matter, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean to say you’ve managed to get anybody?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir. Eighty-seven gentlemen from Birdsburg, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +I sat up in bed and spilt the tea. +</p> + +<p> +“Birdsburg?” +</p> + +<p> +“Birdsburg, Missouri, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“How did you get them?” +</p> + +<p> +“I happened last night, sir, as you had intimated that you would be +absent from home, to attend a theatrical performance, and entered into +conversation between the acts with the occupant of the adjoining seat. I had +observed that he was wearing a somewhat ornate decoration in his buttonhole, +sir—a large blue button with the words ‘Boost for Birdsburg’ +upon it in red letters, scarcely a judicious addition to a gentleman’s +evening costume. To my surprise I noticed that the auditorium was full of +persons similarly decorated. I ventured to inquire the explanation, and was +informed that these gentlemen, forming a party of eighty-seven, are a +convention from a town of the name of Birdsburg, in the State of Missouri. +Their visit, I gathered, was purely of a social and pleasurable nature, and my +informant spoke at some length of the entertainments arranged for their stay in +the city. It was when he related with a considerable amount of satisfaction and +pride, that a deputation of their number had been introduced to and had shaken +hands with a well-known prizefighter, that it occurred to me to broach the +subject of his grace. To make a long story short, sir, I have arranged, subject +to your approval, that the entire convention shall be presented to his grace +to-morrow afternoon.” +</p> + +<p> +I was amazed. This chappie was a Napoleon. +</p> + +<p> +“Eighty-seven, Jeeves. At how much a head?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was obliged to agree to a reduction for quantity, sir. The terms +finally arrived at were one hundred and fifty dollars for the party.” +</p> + +<p> +I thought a bit. +</p> + +<p> +“Payable in advance?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir. I endeavoured to obtain payment in advance, but was not +successful.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, any way, when we get it I’ll make it up to five hundred. +Bicky’ll never know. Do you suspect Mr. Bickersteth would suspect +anything, Jeeves, if I made it up to five hundred?” +</p> + +<p> +“I fancy not, sir. Mr. Bickersteth is an agreeable gentleman, but not +bright.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right, then. After breakfast run down to the bank and get me some +money.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“You know, you’re a bit of a marvel, Jeeves.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Right-o!” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +When I took dear old Bicky aside in the course of the morning and told him what +had happened he nearly broke down. He tottered into the sitting-room and +buttonholed old Chiswick, who was reading the comic section of the morning +paper with a kind of grim resolution. +</p> + +<p> +“Uncle,” he said, “are you doing anything special to-morrow +afternoon? I mean to say, I’ve asked a few of my pals in to meet you, +don’t you know.” +</p> + +<p> +The old boy cocked a speculative eye at him. +</p> + +<p> +“There will be no reporters among them?” +</p> + +<p> +“Reporters? Rather not! Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“I refuse to be badgered by reporters. There were a number of adhesive +young men who endeavoured to elicit from me my views on America while the boat +was approaching the dock. I will not be subjected to this persecution +again.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’ll be absolutely all right, uncle. There won’t be a +newspaper-man in the place.” +</p> + +<p> +“In that case I shall be glad to make the acquaintance of your +friends.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll shake hands with them and so forth?” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall naturally order my behaviour according to the accepted rules of +civilized intercourse.” +</p> + +<p> +Bicky thanked him heartily and came off to lunch with me at the club, where he +babbled freely of hens, incubators, and other rotten things. +</p> + +<p> +After mature consideration we had decided to unleash the Birdsburg contingent +on the old boy ten at a time. Jeeves brought his theatre pal round to see us, +and we arranged the whole thing with him. A very decent chappie, but rather +inclined to collar the conversation and turn it in the direction of his +home-town’s new water-supply system. We settled that, as an hour was +about all he would be likely to stand, each gang should consider itself +entitled to seven minutes of the duke’s society by Jeeves’s +stop-watch, and that when their time was up Jeeves should slide into the room +and cough meaningly. Then we parted with what I believe are called mutual +expressions of goodwill, the Birdsburg chappie extending a cordial invitation +to us all to pop out some day and take a look at the new water-supply system, +for which we thanked him. +</p> + +<p> +Next day the deputation rolled in. The first shift consisted of the cove we had +met and nine others almost exactly like him in every respect. They all looked +deuced keen and businesslike, as if from youth up they had been working in the +office and catching the boss’s eye and what-not. They shook hands with +the old boy with a good deal of apparent satisfaction—all except one +chappie, who seemed to be brooding about something—and then they stood +off and became chatty. +</p> + +<p> +“What message have you for Birdsburg, Duke?” asked our pal. +</p> + +<p> +The old boy seemed a bit rattled. +</p> + +<p> +“I have never been to Birdsburg.” +</p> + +<p> +The chappie seemed pained. +</p> + +<p> +“You should pay it a visit,” he said. “The most +rapidly-growing city in the country. Boost for Birdsburg!” +</p> + +<p> +“Boost for Birdsburg!” said the other chappies reverently. +</p> + +<p> +The chappie who had been brooding suddenly gave tongue. +</p> + +<p> +“Say!” +</p> + +<p> +He was a stout sort of well-fed cove with one of those determined chins and a +cold eye. +</p> + +<p> +The assemblage looked at him. +</p> + +<p> +“As a matter of business,” said the chappie—“mind you, +I’m not questioning anybody’s good faith, but, as a matter of +strict business—I think this gentleman here ought to put himself on +record before witnesses as stating that he really is a duke.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean, sir?” cried the old boy, getting purple. +</p> + +<p> +“No offence, simply business. I’m not saying anything, mind you, +but there’s one thing that seems kind of funny to me. This gentleman here +says his name’s Mr. Bickersteth, as I understand it. Well, if +you’re the Duke of Chiswick, why isn’t he Lord Percy Something? +I’ve read English novels, and I know all about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“This is monstrous!” +</p> + +<p> +“Now don’t get hot under the collar. I’m only asking. +I’ve a right to know. You’re going to take our money, so it’s +only fair that we should see that we get our money’s worth.” +</p> + +<p> +The water-supply cove chipped in: +</p> + +<p> +“You’re quite right, Simms. I overlooked that when making the +agreement. You see, gentlemen, as business men we’ve a right to +reasonable guarantees of good faith. We are paying Mr. Bickersteth here a +hundred and fifty dollars for this reception, and we naturally want to +know——” +</p> + +<p> +Old Chiswick gave Bicky a searching look; then he turned to the water-supply +chappie. He was frightfully calm. +</p> + +<p> +“I can assure you that I know nothing of this,” he said, quite +politely. “I should be grateful if you would explain.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, we arranged with Mr. Bickersteth that eighty-seven citizens of +Birdsburg should have the privilege of meeting and shaking hands with you for a +financial consideration mutually arranged, and what my friend Simms here +means—and I’m with him—is that we have only Mr. +Bickersteth’s word for it—and he is a stranger to us—that you +are the Duke of Chiswick at all.” +</p> + +<p> +Old Chiswick gulped. +</p> + +<p> +“Allow me to assure you, sir,” he said, in a rummy kind of voice, +“that I am the Duke of Chiswick.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then that’s all right,” said the chappie heartily. +“That was all we wanted to know. Let the thing go on.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am sorry to say,” said old Chiswick, “that it cannot go +on. I am feeling a little tired. I fear I must ask to be excused.” +</p> + +<p> +“But there are seventy-seven of the boys waiting round the corner at this +moment, Duke, to be introduced to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I fear I must disappoint them.” +</p> + +<p> +“But in that case the deal would have to be off.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is a matter for you and my nephew to discuss.” +</p> + +<p> +The chappie seemed troubled. +</p> + +<p> +“You really won’t meet the rest of them?” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, I guess we’ll be going.” +</p> + +<p> +They went out, and there was a pretty solid silence. Then old Chiswick turned +to Bicky: +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +Bicky didn’t seem to have anything to say. +</p> + +<p> +“Was it true what that man said?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, uncle.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean by playing this trick?” +</p> + +<p> +Bicky seemed pretty well knocked out, so I put in a word. +</p> + +<p> +“I think you’d better explain the whole thing, Bicky, old +top.” +</p> + +<p> +Bicky’s Adam’s-apple jumped about a bit; then he started: +</p> + +<p> +“You see, you had cut off my allowance, uncle, and I wanted a bit of +money to start a chicken farm. I mean to say it’s an absolute cert if you +once get a bit of capital. You buy a hen, and it lays an egg every day of the +week, and you sell the eggs, say, seven for twenty-five cents. +</p> + +<p> +“Keep of hens cost nothing. Profit practically——” +</p> + +<p> +“What is all this nonsense about hens? You led me to suppose you were a +substantial business man.” +</p> + +<p> +“Old Bicky rather exaggerated, sir,” I said, helping the chappie +out. “The fact is, the poor old lad is absolutely dependent on that +remittance of yours, and when you cut it off, don’t you know, he was +pretty solidly in the soup, and had to think of some way of closing in on a bit +of the ready pretty quick. That’s why we thought of this handshaking +scheme.” +</p> + +<p> +Old Chiswick foamed at the mouth. +</p> + +<p> +“So you have lied to me! You have deliberately deceived me as to your +financial status!” +</p> + +<p> +“Poor old Bicky didn’t want to go to that ranch,” I +explained. “He doesn’t like cows and horses, but he rather thinks +he would be hot stuff among the hens. All he wants is a bit of capital. +Don’t you think it would be rather a wheeze if you were +to——” +</p> + +<p> +“After what has happened? After this—this deceit and foolery? Not a +penny!” +</p> + +<p> +“But——” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a penny!” +</p> + +<p> +There was a respectful cough in the background. +</p> + +<p> +“If I might make a suggestion, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +Jeeves was standing on the horizon, looking devilish brainy. +</p> + +<p> +“Go ahead, Jeeves!” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“I would merely suggest, sir, that if Mr. Bickersteth is in need of a +little ready money, and is at a loss to obtain it elsewhere, he might secure +the sum he requires by describing the occurrences of this afternoon for the +Sunday issue of one of the more spirited and enterprising newspapers.” +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove!” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“By George!” said Bicky. +</p> + +<p> +“Great heavens!” said old Chiswick. +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir,” said Jeeves. +</p> + +<p> +Bicky turned to old Chiswick with a gleaming eye. +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves is right. I’ll do it! The <i>Chronicle</i> would jump at +it. They eat that sort of stuff.” +</p> + +<p> +Old Chiswick gave a kind of moaning howl. +</p> + +<p> +“I absolutely forbid you, Francis, to do this thing!” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all very well,” said Bicky, wonderfully braced, +“but if I can’t get the money any other way——” +</p> + +<p> +“Wait! Er—wait, my boy! You are so impetuous! We might arrange +something.” +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t go to that bally ranch.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no! No, no, my boy! I would not suggest it. I would not for a moment +suggest it. I—I think——” +</p> + +<p> +He seemed to have a bit of a struggle with himself. “I—I think +that, on the whole, it would be best if you returned with me to England. +I—I might—in fact, I think I see my way to doing—to—I +might be able to utilize your services in some secretarial position.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shouldn’t mind that.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should not be able to offer you a salary, but, as you know, in English +political life the unpaid secretary is a recognized figure——” +</p> + +<p> +“The only figure I’ll recognize,” said Bicky firmly, +“is five hundred quid a year, paid quarterly.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear boy!” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely!” +</p> + +<p> +“But your recompense, my dear Francis, would consist in the unrivalled +opportunities you would have, as my secretary, to gain experience, to accustom +yourself to the intricacies of political life, to—in fact, you would be +in an exceedingly advantageous position.” +</p> + +<p> +“Five hundred a year!” said Bicky, rolling it round his tongue. +“Why, that would be nothing to what I could make if I started a chicken +farm. It stands to reason. Suppose you have a dozen hens. Each of the hens has +a dozen chickens. After a bit the chickens grow up and have a dozen chickens +each themselves, and then they all start laying eggs! There’s a fortune +in it. You can get anything you like for eggs in America. Chappies keep them on +ice for years and years, and don’t sell them till they fetch about a +dollar a whirl. You don’t think I’m going to chuck a future like +this for anything under five hundred o’ goblins a year—what?” +</p> + +<p> +A look of anguish passed over old Chiswick’s face, then he seemed to be +resigned to it. “Very well, my boy,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“What-o!” said Bicky. “All right, then.” +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves,” I said. Bicky had taken the old boy off to dinner to +celebrate, and we were alone. “Jeeves, this has been one of your best +efforts.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“It beats me how you do it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“The only trouble is you haven’t got much out of +it—what!” +</p> + +<p> +“I fancy Mr. Bickersteth intends—I judge from his remarks—to +signify his appreciation of anything I have been fortunate enough to do to +assist him, at some later date when he is in a more favourable position to do +so.” +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t enough, Jeeves!” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir?” +</p> + +<p> +It was a wrench, but I felt it was the only possible thing to be done. +</p> + +<p> +“Bring my shaving things.” +</p> + +<p> +A gleam of hope shone in the chappie’s eye, mixed with doubt. +</p> + +<p> +“You mean, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“And shave off my moustache.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a moment’s silence. I could see the fellow was deeply moved. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you very much indeed, sir,” he said, in a low voice, and +popped off. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a>ABSENT TREATMENT</h2> + +<p> +I want to tell you all about dear old Bobbie Cardew. It’s a most +interesting story. I can’t put in any literary style and all that; but I +don’t have to, don’t you know, because it goes on its Moral Lesson. +If you’re a man you mustn’t miss it, because it’ll be a +warning to you; and if you’re a woman you won’t want to, because +it’s all about how a girl made a man feel pretty well fed up with things. +</p> + +<p> +If you’re a recent acquaintance of Bobbie’s, you’ll probably +be surprised to hear that there was a time when he was more remarkable for the +weakness of his memory than anything else. Dozens of fellows, who have only met +Bobbie since the change took place, have been surprised when I told them that. +Yet it’s true. Believe <i>me</i>. +</p> + +<p> +In the days when I first knew him Bobbie Cardew was about the most pronounced +young rotter inside the four-mile radius. People have called me a silly ass, +but I was never in the same class with Bobbie. When it came to being a silly +ass, he was a plus-four man, while my handicap was about six. Why, if I wanted +him to dine with me, I used to post him a letter at the beginning of the week, +and then the day before send him a telegram and a phone-call on the day itself, +and—half an hour before the time we’d fixed—a messenger in a +taxi, whose business it was to see that he got in and that the chauffeur had +the address all correct. By doing this I generally managed to get him, unless +he had left town before my messenger arrived. +</p> + +<p> +The funny thing was that he wasn’t altogether a fool in other ways. Deep +down in him there was a kind of stratum of sense. I had known him, once or +twice, show an almost human intelligence. But to reach that stratum, mind you, +you needed dynamite. +</p> + +<p> +At least, that’s what I thought. But there was another way which +hadn’t occurred to me. Marriage, I mean. Marriage, the dynamite of the +soul; that was what hit Bobbie. He married. Have you ever seen a bull-pup +chasing a bee? The pup sees the bee. It looks good to him. But he still +doesn’t know what’s at the end of it till he gets there. It was +like that with Bobbie. He fell in love, got married—with a sort of whoop, +as if it were the greatest fun in the world—and then began to find out +things. +</p> + +<p> +She wasn’t the sort of girl you would have expected Bobbie to rave about. +And yet, I don’t know. What I mean is, she worked for her living; and to +a fellow who has never done a hand’s turn in his life there’s +undoubtedly a sort of fascination, a kind of romance, about a girl who works +for her living. +</p> + +<p> +Her name was Anthony. Mary Anthony. She was about five feet six; she had a ton +and a half of red-gold hair, grey eyes, and one of those determined chins. She +was a hospital nurse. When Bobbie smashed himself up at polo, she was told off +by the authorities to smooth his brow and rally round with cooling unguents and +all that; and the old boy hadn’t been up and about again for more than a +week before they popped off to the registrar’s and fixed it up. Quite the +romance. +</p> + +<p> +Bobbie broke the news to me at the club one evening, and next day he introduced +me to her. I admired her. I’ve never worked myself—my name’s +Pepper, by the way. Almost forgot to mention it. Reggie Pepper. My uncle Edward +was Pepper, Wells, and Co., the Colliery people. He left me a sizable chunk of +bullion—I say I’ve never worked myself, but I admire any one who +earns a living under difficulties, especially a girl. And this girl had had a +rather unusually tough time of it, being an orphan and all that, and having had +to do everything off her own bat for years. +</p> + +<p> +Mary and I got along together splendidly. We don’t now, but we’ll +come to that later. I’m speaking of the past. She seemed to think Bobbie +the greatest thing on earth, judging by the way she looked at him when she +thought I wasn’t noticing. And Bobbie seemed to think the same about her. +So that I came to the conclusion that, if only dear old Bobbie didn’t +forget to go to the wedding, they had a sporting chance of being quite happy. +</p> + +<p> +Well, let’s brisk up a bit here, and jump a year. The story doesn’t +really start till then. +</p> + +<p> +They took a flat and settled down. I was in and out of the place quite a good +deal. I kept my eyes open, and everything seemed to me to be running along as +smoothly as you could want. If this was marriage, I thought, I couldn’t +see why fellows were so frightened of it. There were a lot of worse things that +could happen to a man. +</p> + +<p> +But we now come to the incident of the quiet Dinner, and it’s just here +that love’s young dream hits a snag, and things begin to occur. +</p> + +<p> +I happened to meet Bobbie in Piccadilly, and he asked me to come back to dinner +at the flat. And, like a fool, instead of bolting and putting myself under +police protection, I went. +</p> + +<p> +When we got to the flat, there was Mrs. Bobbie looking—well, I tell you, +it staggered me. Her gold hair was all piled up in waves and crinkles and +things, with a what-d’-you-call-it of diamonds in it. And she was wearing +the most perfectly ripping dress. I couldn’t begin to describe it. I can +only say it was the limit. It struck me that if this was how she was in the +habit of looking every night when they were dining quietly at home together, it +was no wonder that Bobbie liked domesticity. +</p> + +<p> +“Here’s old Reggie, dear,” said Bobbie. “I’ve +brought him home to have a bit of dinner. I’ll phone down to the kitchen +and ask them to send it up now—what?” +</p> + +<p> +She stared at him as if she had never seen him before. Then she turned scarlet. +Then she turned as white as a sheet. Then she gave a little laugh. It was most +interesting to watch. Made me wish I was up a tree about eight hundred miles +away. Then she recovered herself. +</p> + +<p> +“I am so glad you were able to come, Mr. Pepper,” she said, smiling +at me. +</p> + +<p> +And after that she was all right. At least, you would have said so. She talked +a lot at dinner, and chaffed Bobbie, and played us ragtime on the piano +afterwards, as if she hadn’t a care in the world. Quite a jolly little +party it was—not. I’m no lynx-eyed sleuth, and all that sort of +thing, but I had seen her face at the beginning, and I knew that she was +working the whole time and working hard, to keep herself in hand, and that she +would have given that diamond what’s-its-name in her hair and everything +else she possessed to have one good scream—just one. I’ve sat +through some pretty thick evenings in my time, but that one had the rest beaten +in a canter. At the very earliest moment I grabbed my hat and got away. +</p> + +<p> +Having seen what I did, I wasn’t particularly surprised to meet Bobbie at +the club next day looking about as merry and bright as a lonely gum-drop at an +Eskimo tea-party. +</p> + +<p> +He started in straightway. He seemed glad to have someone to talk to about it. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know how long I’ve been married?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +I didn’t exactly. +</p> + +<p> +“About a year, isn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not <i>about</i> a year,” he said sadly. “Exactly a +year—yesterday!” +</p> + +<p> +Then I understood. I saw light—a regular flash of light. +</p> + +<p> +“Yesterday was——?” +</p> + +<p> +“The anniversary of the wedding. I’d arranged to take Mary to the +Savoy, and on to Covent Garden. She particularly wanted to hear Caruso. I had +the ticket for the box in my pocket. Do you know, all through dinner I had a +kind of rummy idea that there was something I’d forgotten, but I +couldn’t think what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Till your wife mentioned it?” +</p> + +<p> +He nodded—— +</p> + +<p> +“She—mentioned it,” he said thoughtfully. +</p> + +<p> +I didn’t ask for details. Women with hair and chins like Mary’s may +be angels most of the time, but, when they take off their wings for a bit, they +aren’t half-hearted about it. +</p> + +<p> +“To be absolutely frank, old top,” said poor old Bobbie, in a +broken sort of way, “my stock’s pretty low at home.” +</p> + +<p> +There didn’t seem much to be done. I just lit a cigarette and sat there. +He didn’t want to talk. Presently he went out. I stood at the window of +our upper smoking-room, which looks out on to Piccadilly, and watched him. He +walked slowly along for a few yards, stopped, then walked on again, and finally +turned into a jeweller’s. Which was an instance of what I meant when I +said that deep down in him there was a certain stratum of sense. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +It was from now on that I began to be really interested in this problem of +Bobbie’s married life. Of course, one’s always mildly interested in +one’s friends’ marriages, hoping they’ll turn out well and +all that; but this was different. The average man isn’t like Bobbie, and +the average girl isn’t like Mary. It was that old business of the +immovable mass and the irresistible force. There was Bobbie, ambling gently +through life, a dear old chap in a hundred ways, but undoubtedly a chump of the +first water. +</p> + +<p> +And there was Mary, determined that he shouldn’t be a chump. And Nature, +mind you, on Bobbie’s side. When Nature makes a chump like dear old +Bobbie, she’s proud of him, and doesn’t want her handiwork +disturbed. She gives him a sort of natural armour to protect him against +outside interference. And that armour is shortness of memory. Shortness of +memory keeps a man a chump, when, but for it, he might cease to be one. Take my +case, for instance. I’m a chump. Well, if I had remembered half the +things people have tried to teach me during my life, my size in hats would be +about number nine. But I didn’t. I forgot them. And it was just the same +with Bobbie. +</p> + +<p> +For about a week, perhaps a bit more, the recollection of that quiet little +domestic evening bucked him up like a tonic. Elephants, I read somewhere, are +champions at the memory business, but they were fools to Bobbie during that +week. But, bless you, the shock wasn’t nearly big enough. It had dinted +the armour, but it hadn’t made a hole in it. Pretty soon he was back at +the old game. +</p> + +<p> +It was pathetic, don’t you know. The poor girl loved him, and she was +frightened. It was the thin edge of the wedge, you see, and she knew it. A man +who forgets what day he was married, when he’s been married one year, +will forget, at about the end of the fourth, that he’s married at all. If +she meant to get him in hand at all, she had got to do it now, before he began +to drift away. +</p> + +<p> +I saw that clearly enough, and I tried to make Bobbie see it, when he was by +way of pouring out his troubles to me one afternoon. I can’t remember +what it was that he had forgotten the day before, but it was something she had +asked him to bring home for her—it may have been a book. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s such a little thing to make a fuss about,” said Bobbie. +“And she knows that it’s simply because I’ve got such an +infernal memory about everything. I can’t remember anything. Never +could.” +</p> + +<p> +He talked on for a while, and, just as he was going, he pulled out a couple of +sovereigns. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, by the way,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s this for?” I asked, though I knew. +</p> + +<p> +“I owe it you.” +</p> + +<p> +“How’s that?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, that bet on Tuesday. In the billiard-room. Murray and Brown were +playing a hundred up, and I gave you two to one that Brown would win, and +Murray beat him by twenty odd.” +</p> + +<p> +“So you do remember some things?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +He got quite excited. Said that if I thought he was the sort of rotter who +forgot to pay when he lost a bet, it was pretty rotten of me after knowing him +all these years, and a lot more like that. +</p> + +<p> +“Subside, laddie,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +Then I spoke to him like a father. +</p> + +<p> +“What you’ve got to do, my old college chum,” I said, +“is to pull yourself together, and jolly quick, too. As things are +shaping, you’re due for a nasty knock before you know what’s hit +you. You’ve got to make an effort. Don’t say you can’t. This +two quid business shows that, even if your memory is rocky, you can remember +some things. What you’ve got to do is to see that wedding anniversaries +and so on are included in the list. It may be a brainstrain, but you +can’t get out of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you’re right,” said Bobbie. “But it beats me +why she thinks such a lot of these rotten little dates. What’s it matter +if I forgot what day we were married on or what day she was born on or what day +the cat had the measles? She knows I love her just as much as if I were a +memorizing freak at the halls.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s not enough for a woman,” I said. “They want to +be shown. Bear that in mind, and you’re all right. Forget it, and +there’ll be trouble.” +</p> + +<p> +He chewed the knob of his stick. +</p> + +<p> +“Women are frightfully rummy,” he said gloomily. +</p> + +<p> +“You should have thought of that before you married one,” I said. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +I don’t see that I could have done any more. I had put the whole thing in +a nutshell for him. You would have thought he’d have seen the point, and +that it would have made him brace up and get a hold on himself. But no. Off he +went again in the same old way. I gave up arguing with him. I had a good deal +of time on my hands, but not enough to amount to anything when it was a +question of reforming dear old Bobbie by argument. If you see a man asking for +trouble, and insisting on getting it, the only thing to do is to stand by and +wait till it comes to him. After that you may get a chance. But till then +there’s nothing to be done. But I thought a lot about him. +</p> + +<p> +Bobbie didn’t get into the soup all at once. Weeks went by, and months, +and still nothing happened. Now and then he’d come into the club with a +kind of cloud on his shining morning face, and I’d know that there had +been doings in the home; but it wasn’t till well on in the spring that he +got the thunderbolt just where he had been asking for it—in the thorax. +</p> + +<p> +I was smoking a quiet cigarette one morning in the window looking out over +Piccadilly, and watching the buses and motors going up one way and down the +other—most interesting it is; I often do it—when in rushed Bobbie, +with his eyes bulging and his face the colour of an oyster, waving a piece of +paper in his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Reggie,” he said. “Reggie, old top, she’s gone!” +</p> + +<p> +“Gone!” I said. “Who?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mary, of course! Gone! Left me! Gone!” +</p> + +<p> +“Where?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +Silly question? Perhaps you’re right. Anyhow, dear old Bobbie nearly +foamed at the mouth. +</p> + +<p> +“Where? How should I know where? Here, read this.” +</p> + +<p> +He pushed the paper into my hand. It was a letter. +</p> + +<p> +“Go on,” said Bobbie. “Read it.” +</p> + +<p> +So I did. It certainly was quite a letter. There was not much of it, but it was +all to the point. This is what it said: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“M<small>Y DEAR</small> B<small>OBBIE,</small>—I am going away. +When you care enough about me to remember to wish me many happy returns on my +birthday, I will come back. My address will be Box 341, <i>London Morning +News</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +I read it twice, then I said, “Well, why don’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why don’t I what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why don’t you wish her many happy returns? It doesn’t seem +much to ask.” +</p> + +<p> +“But she says on her birthday.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, when is her birthday?” +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t you understand?” said Bobbie. “I’ve +forgotten.” +</p> + +<p> +“Forgotten!” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Bobbie. “Forgotten.” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you mean, forgotten?” I said. “Forgotten whether +it’s the twentieth or the twenty-first, or what? How near do you get to +it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I know it came somewhere between the first of January and the +thirty-first of December. That’s how near I get to it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Think.” +</p> + +<p> +“Think? What’s the use of saying ‘Think’? Think I +haven’t thought? I’ve been knocking sparks out of my brain ever +since I opened that letter.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you can’t remember?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +I rang the bell and ordered restoratives. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Bobbie,” I said, “it’s a pretty hard case to +spring on an untrained amateur like me. Suppose someone had come to Sherlock +Holmes and said, ‘Mr. Holmes, here’s a case for you. When is my +wife’s birthday?’ Wouldn’t that have given Sherlock a jolt? +However, I know enough about the game to understand that a fellow can’t +shoot off his deductive theories unless you start him with a clue, so rouse +yourself out of that pop-eyed trance and come across with two or three. For +instance, can’t you remember the last time she had a birthday? What sort +of weather was it? That might fix the month.” +</p> + +<p> +Bobbie shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“It was just ordinary weather, as near as I can recollect.” +</p> + +<p> +“Warm?” +</p> + +<p> +“Warmish.” +</p> + +<p> +“Or cold?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, fairly cold, perhaps. I can’t remember.” +</p> + +<p> +I ordered two more of the same. They seemed indicated in the Young +Detective’s Manual. “You’re a great help, Bobbie,” I +said. “An invaluable assistant. One of those indispensable adjuncts +without which no home is complete.” +</p> + +<p> +Bobbie seemed to be thinking. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got it,” he said suddenly. “Look here. I gave her +a present on her last birthday. All we have to do is to go to the shop, hunt up +the date when it was bought, and the thing’s done.” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely. What did you give her?” +</p> + +<p> +He sagged. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t remember,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Getting ideas is like golf. Some days you’re right off, others it’s +as easy as falling off a log. I don’t suppose dear old Bobbie had ever +had two ideas in the same morning before in his life; but now he did it without +an effort. He just loosed another dry Martini into the undergrowth, and before +you could turn round it had flushed quite a brain-wave. +</p> + +<p> +Do you know those little books called <i>When were you Born</i>? There’s +one for each month. They tell you your character, your talents, your strong +points, and your weak points at fourpence halfpenny a go. Bobbie’s idea +was to buy the whole twelve, and go through them till we found out which month +hit off Mary’s character. That would give us the month, and narrow it +down a whole lot. +</p> + +<p> +A pretty hot idea for a non-thinker like dear old Bobbie. We sallied out at +once. He took half and I took half, and we settled down to work. As I say, it +sounded good. But when we came to go into the thing, we saw that there was a +flaw. There was plenty of information all right, but there wasn’t a +single month that didn’t have something that exactly hit off Mary. For +instance, in the December book it said, “December people are apt to keep +their own secrets. They are extensive travellers.” Well, Mary had +certainly kept her secret, and she had travelled quite extensively enough for +Bobbie’s needs. Then, October people were “born with original +ideas” and “loved moving.” You couldn’t have summed up +Mary’s little jaunt more neatly. February people had “wonderful +memories”—Mary’s speciality. +</p> + +<p> +We took a bit of a rest, then had another go at the thing. +</p> + +<p> +Bobbie was all for May, because the book said that women born in that month +were “inclined to be capricious, which is always a barrier to a happy +married life”; but I plumped for February, because February women +“are unusually determined to have their own way, are very earnest, and +expect a full return in their companion or mates.” Which he owned was +about as like Mary as anything could be. +</p> + +<p> +In the end he tore the books up, stamped on them, burnt them, and went home. +</p> + +<p> +It was wonderful what a change the next few days made in dear old Bobbie. Have +you ever seen that picture, “The Soul’s Awakening”? It +represents a flapper of sorts gazing in a startled sort of way into the middle +distance with a look in her eyes that seems to say, “Surely that is +George’s step I hear on the mat! Can this be love?” Well, Bobbie +had a soul’s awakening too. I don’t suppose he had ever troubled to +think in his life before—not really <i>think</i>. But now he was wearing +his brain to the bone. It was painful in a way, of course, to see a fellow +human being so thoroughly in the soup, but I felt strongly that it was all for +the best. I could see as plainly as possible that all these brainstorms were +improving Bobbie out of knowledge. When it was all over he might possibly +become a rotter again of a sort, but it would only be a pale reflection of the +rotter he had been. It bore out the idea I had always had that what he needed +was a real good jolt. +</p> + +<p> +I saw a great deal of him these days. I was his best friend, and he came to me +for sympathy. I gave it him, too, with both hands, but I never failed to hand +him the Moral Lesson when I had him weak. +</p> + +<p> +One day he came to me as I was sitting in the club, and I could see that he had +had an idea. He looked happier than he had done in weeks. +</p> + +<p> +“Reggie,” he said, “I’m on the trail. This time +I’m convinced that I shall pull it off. I’ve remembered something +of vital importance.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“I remember distinctly,” he said, “that on Mary’s last +birthday we went together to the Coliseum. How does that hit you?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a fine bit of memorizing,” I said; “but how does +it help?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, they change the programme every week there.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” I said. “Now you are talking.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the week we went one of the turns was Professor Some One’s +Terpsichorean Cats. I recollect them distinctly. Now, are we narrowing it down, +or aren’t we? Reggie, I’m going round to the Coliseum this minute, +and I’m going to dig the date of those Terpsichorean Cats out of them, if +I have to use a crowbar.” +</p> + +<p> +So that got him within six days; for the management treated us like brothers; +brought out the archives, and ran agile fingers over the pages till they treed +the cats in the middle of May. +</p> + +<p> +“I told you it was May,” said Bobbie. “Maybe you’ll +listen to me another time.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you’ve any sense,” I said, “there won’t be +another time.” +</p> + +<p> +And Bobbie said that there wouldn’t. +</p> + +<p> +Once you get your memory on the run, it parts as if it enjoyed doing it. I had +just got off to sleep that night when my telephone-bell rang. It was Bobbie, of +course. He didn’t apologize. +</p> + +<p> +“Reggie,” he said, “I’ve got it now for certain. +It’s just come to me. We saw those Terpsichorean Cats at a matinee, old +man.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, don’t you see that that brings it down to two days? It must +have been either Wednesday the seventh or Saturday the tenth.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” I said, “if they didn’t have daily matinees at +the Coliseum.” +</p> + +<p> +I heard him give a sort of howl. +</p> + +<p> +“Bobbie,” I said. My feet were freezing, but I was fond of him. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve remembered something too. It’s this. The day you went +to the Coliseum I lunched with you both at the Ritz. You had forgotten to bring +any money with you, so you wrote a cheque.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I’m always writing cheques.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are. But this was for a tenner, and made out to the hotel. Hunt up +your cheque-book and see how many cheques for ten pounds payable to the Ritz +Hotel you wrote out between May the fifth and May the tenth.” +</p> + +<p> +He gave a kind of gulp. +</p> + +<p> +“Reggie,” he said, “you’re a genius. I’ve always +said so. I believe you’ve got it. Hold the line.” +</p> + +<p> +Presently he came back again. +</p> + +<p> +“Halloa!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m here,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“It was the eighth. Reggie, old man, I——” +</p> + +<p> +“Topping,” I said. “Good night.” +</p> + +<p> +It was working along into the small hours now, but I thought I might as well +make a night of it and finish the thing up, so I rang up an hotel near the +Strand. +</p> + +<p> +“Put me through to Mrs. Cardew,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s late,” said the man at the other end. +</p> + +<p> +“And getting later every minute,” I said. “Buck along, +laddie.” +</p> + +<p> +I waited patiently. I had missed my beauty-sleep, and my feet had frozen hard, +but I was past regrets. +</p> + +<p> +“What is the matter?” said Mary’s voice. +</p> + +<p> +“My feet are cold,” I said. “But I didn’t call you up +to tell you that particularly. I’ve just been chatting with Bobbie, Mrs. +Cardew.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! is that Mr. Pepper?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. He’s remembered it, Mrs. Cardew.” +</p> + +<p> +She gave a sort of scream. I’ve often thought how interesting it must be +to be one of those Exchange girls. The things they must hear, don’t you +know. Bobbie’s howl and gulp and Mrs. Bobbie’s scream and all about +my feet and all that. Most interesting it must be. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s remembered it!” she gasped. “Did you tell +him?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +Well, I hadn’t. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Pepper.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” +</p> + +<p> +“Was he—has he been—was he very worried?” +</p> + +<p> +I chuckled. This was where I was billed to be the life and soul of the party. +</p> + +<p> +“Worried! He was about the most worried man between here and Edinburgh. +He has been worrying as if he was paid to do it by the nation. He has started +out to worry after breakfast, and——” +</p> + +<p> +Oh, well, you can never tell with women. My idea was that we should pass the +rest of the night slapping each other on the back across the wire, and telling +each other what bally brainy conspirators we were, don’t you know, and +all that. But I’d got just as far as this, when she bit at me. +Absolutely! I heard the snap. And then she said “Oh!” in that +choked kind of way. And when a woman says “Oh!” like that, it means +all the bad words she’d love to say if she only knew them. +</p> + +<p> +And then she began. +</p> + +<p> +“What brutes men are! What horrid brutes! How you could stand by and see +poor dear Bobbie worrying himself into a fever, when a word from you would have +put everything right, I can’t——” +</p> + +<p> +“But——” +</p> + +<p> +“And you call yourself his friend! His friend!” (Metallic laugh, +most unpleasant.) “It shows how one can be deceived. I used to think you +a kind-hearted man.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, I say, when I suggested the thing, you thought it +perfectly——” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought it hateful, abominable.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you said it was absolutely top——” +</p> + +<p> +“I said nothing of the kind. And if I did, I didn’t mean it. I +don’t wish to be unjust, Mr. Pepper, but I must say that to me there +seems to be something positively fiendish in a man who can go out of his way to +separate a husband from his wife, simply in order to amuse himself by gloating +over his agony——” +</p> + +<p> +“But——!” +</p> + +<p> +“When one single word would have——” +</p> + +<p> +“But you made me promise not to——” I bleated. +</p> + +<p> +“And if I did, do you suppose I didn’t expect you to have the sense +to break your promise?” +</p> + +<p> +I had finished. I had no further observations to make. I hung up the receiver, +and crawled into bed. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +I still see Bobbie when he comes to the club, but I do not visit the old +homestead. He is friendly, but he stops short of issuing invitations. I ran +across Mary at the Academy last week, and her eyes went through me like a +couple of bullets through a pat of butter. And as they came out the other side, +and I limped off to piece myself together again, there occurred to me the +simple epitaph which, when I am no more, I intend to have inscribed on my +tombstone. It was this: “He was a man who acted from the best motives. +There is one born every minute.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a>HELPING FREDDIE</h2> + +<p> +I don’t want to bore you, don’t you know, and all that sort of rot, +but I must tell you about dear old Freddie Meadowes. I’m not a flier at +literary style, and all that, but I’ll get some writer chappie to give +the thing a wash and brush up when I’ve finished, so that’ll be all +right. +</p> + +<p> +Dear old Freddie, don’t you know, has been a dear old pal of mine for +years and years; so when I went into the club one morning and found him sitting +alone in a dark corner, staring glassily at nothing, and generally looking like +the last rose of summer, you can understand I was quite disturbed about it. As +a rule, the old rotter is the life and soul of our set. Quite the little lump +of fun, and all that sort of thing. +</p> + +<p> +Jimmy Pinkerton was with me at the time. Jimmy’s a fellow who writes +plays—a deuced brainy sort of fellow—and between us we set to work +to question the poor pop-eyed chappie, until finally we got at what the matter +was. +</p> + +<p> +As we might have guessed, it was a girl. He had had a quarrel with Angela West, +the girl he was engaged to, and she had broken off the engagement. What the row +had been about he didn’t say, but apparently she was pretty well fed up. +She wouldn’t let him come near her, refused to talk on the phone, and +sent back his letters unopened. +</p> + +<p> +I was sorry for poor old Freddie. I knew what it felt like. I was once in love +myself with a girl called Elizabeth Shoolbred, and the fact that she +couldn’t stand me at any price will be recorded in my autobiography. I +knew the thing for Freddie. +</p> + +<p> +“Change of scene is what you want, old scout,” I said. “Come +with me to Marvis Bay. I’ve taken a cottage there. Jimmy’s coming +down on the twenty-fourth. We’ll be a cosy party.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s absolutely right,” said Jimmy. “Change of +scene’s the thing. I knew a man. Girl refused him. Man went abroad. Two +months later girl wired him, ‘Come back. Muriel.’ Man started to +write out a reply; suddenly found that he couldn’t remember girl’s +surname; so never answered at all.” +</p> + +<p> +But Freddie wouldn’t be comforted. He just went on looking as if he had +swallowed his last sixpence. However, I got him to promise to come to Marvis +Bay with me. He said he might as well be there as anywhere. +</p> + +<p> +Do you know Marvis Bay? It’s in Dorsetshire. It isn’t what +you’d call a fiercely exciting spot, but it has its good points. You +spend the day there bathing and sitting on the sands, and in the evening you +stroll out on the shore with the gnats. At nine o’clock you rub ointment +on the wounds and go to bed. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to suit poor old Freddie. Once the moon was up and the breeze sighing +in the trees, you couldn’t drag him from that beach with a rope. He +became quite a popular pet with the gnats. They’d hang round waiting for +him to come out, and would give perfectly good strollers the miss-in-baulk just +so as to be in good condition for him. +</p> + +<p> +Yes, it was a peaceful sort of life, but by the end of the first week I began +to wish that Jimmy Pinkerton had arranged to come down earlier: for as a +companion Freddie, poor old chap, wasn’t anything to write home to mother +about. When he wasn’t chewing a pipe and scowling at the carpet, he was +sitting at the piano, playing “The Rosary” with one finger. He +couldn’t play anything except “The Rosary,” and he +couldn’t play much of that. Somewhere round about the third bar a fuse +would blow out, and he’d have to start all over again. +</p> + +<p> +He was playing it as usual one morning when I came in from bathing. +</p> + +<p> +“Reggie,” he said, in a hollow voice, looking up, “I’ve +seen her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Seen her?” I said. “What, Miss West?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was down at the post office, getting the letters, and we met in the +doorway. She cut me!” +</p> + +<p> +He started “The Rosary” again, and side-slipped in the second bar. +</p> + +<p> +“Reggie,” he said, “you ought never to have brought me here. +I must go away.” +</p> + +<p> +“Go away?” I said. “Don’t talk such rot. This is the +best thing that could have happened. This is where you come out strong.” +</p> + +<p> +“She cut me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind. Be a sportsman. Have another dash at her.” +</p> + +<p> +“She looked clean through me!” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course she did. But don’t mind that. Put this thing in my +hands. I’ll see you through. Now, what you want,” I said, “is +to place her under some obligation to you. What you want is to get her timidly +thanking you. What you want——” +</p> + +<p> +“But what’s she going to thank me timidly for?” +</p> + +<p> +I thought for a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“Look out for a chance and save her from drowning,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t swim,” said Freddie. +</p> + +<p> +That was Freddie all over, don’t you know. A dear old chap in a thousand +ways, but no help to a fellow, if you know what I mean. +</p> + +<p> +He cranked up the piano once more and I sprinted for the open. +</p> + +<p> +I strolled out on to the sands and began to think this thing over. There was no +doubt that the brain-work had got to be done by me. Dear old Freddie had his +strong qualities. He was top-hole at polo, and in happier days I’ve heard +him give an imitation of cats fighting in a backyard that would have surprised +you. But apart from that he wasn’t a man of enterprise. +</p> + +<p> +Well, don’t you know, I was rounding some rocks, with my brain whirring +like a dynamo, when I caught sight of a blue dress, and, by Jove, it was the +girl. I had never met her, but Freddie had sixteen photographs of her sprinkled +round his bedroom, and I knew I couldn’t be mistaken. She was sitting on +the sand, helping a small, fat child build a castle. On a chair close by was an +elderly lady reading a novel. I heard the girl call her “aunt.” So, +doing the Sherlock Holmes business, I deduced that the fat child was her +cousin. It struck me that if Freddie had been there he would probably have +tried to work up some sentiment about the kid on the strength of it. Personally +I couldn’t manage it. I don’t think I ever saw a child who made me +feel less sentimental. He was one of those round, bulging kids. +</p> + +<p> +After he had finished the castle he seemed to get bored with life, and began to +whimper. The girl took him off to where a fellow was selling sweets at a stall. +And I walked on. +</p> + +<p> +Now, fellows, if you ask them, will tell you that I’m a chump. Well, I +don’t mind. I admit it. I <i>am</i> a chump. All the Peppers have been +chumps. But what I do say is that every now and then, when you’d least +expect it, I get a pretty hot brain-wave; and that’s what happened now. I +doubt if the idea that came to me then would have occurred to a single one of +any dozen of the brainiest chappies you care to name. +</p> + +<p> +It came to me on my return journey. I was walking back along the shore, when I +saw the fat kid meditatively smacking a jelly-fish with a spade. The girl +wasn’t with him. In fact, there didn’t seem to be any one in sight. +I was just going to pass on when I got the brain-wave. I thought the whole +thing out in a flash, don’t you know. From what I had seen of the two, +the girl was evidently fond of this kid, and, anyhow, he was her cousin, so +what I said to myself was this: If I kidnap this young heavy-weight for the +moment, and if, when the girl has got frightfully anxious about where he can +have got to, dear old Freddie suddenly appears leading the infant by the hand +and telling a story to the effect that he has found him wandering at large +about the country and practically saved his life, why, the girl’s +gratitude is bound to make her chuck hostilities and be friends again. So I +gathered in the kid and made off with him. All the way home I pictured that +scene of reconciliation. I could see it so vividly, don’t you know, that, +by George, it gave me quite a choky feeling in my throat. +</p> + +<p> +Freddie, dear old chap, was rather slow at getting on to the fine points of the +idea. When I appeared, carrying the kid, and dumped him down in our +sitting-room, he didn’t absolutely effervesce with joy, if you know what +I mean. The kid had started to bellow by this time, and poor old Freddie seemed +to find it rather trying. +</p> + +<p> +“Stop it!” he said. “Do you think nobody’s got any +troubles except you? What the deuce is all this, Reggie?” +</p> + +<p> +The kid came back at him with a yell that made the window rattle. I raced to +the kitchen and fetched a jar of honey. It was the right stuff. The kid stopped +bellowing and began to smear his face with the stuff. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” said Freddie, when silence had set in. I explained the +idea. After a while it began to strike him. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re not such a fool as you look, sometimes, Reggie,” he +said handsomely. “I’m bound to say this seems pretty good.” +</p> + +<p> +And he disentangled the kid from the honey-jar and took him out, to scour the +beach for Angela. +</p> + +<p> +I don’t know when I’ve felt so happy. I was so fond of dear old +Freddie that to know that he was soon going to be his old bright self again +made me feel as if somebody had left me about a million pounds. I was leaning +back in a chair on the veranda, smoking peacefully, when down the road I saw +the old boy returning, and, by George, the kid was still with him. And Freddie +looked as if he hadn’t a friend in the world. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello!” I said. “Couldn’t you find her?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I found her,” he replied, with one of those bitter, hollow +laughs. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then——?” +</p> + +<p> +Freddie sank into a chair and groaned. +</p> + +<p> +“This isn’t her cousin, you idiot!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s no relation at all. He’s just a kid she happened to +meet on the beach. She had never seen him before in her life.” +</p> + +<p> +“What! Who is he, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know. Oh, Lord, I’ve had a time! Thank goodness +you’ll probably spend the next few years of your life in Dartmoor for +kidnapping. That’s my only consolation. I’ll come and jeer at you +through the bars.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me all, old boy,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +It took him a good long time to tell the story, for he broke off in the middle +of nearly every sentence to call me names, but I gathered gradually what had +happened. She had listened like an iceberg while he told the story he had +prepared, and then—well, she didn’t actually call him a liar, but +she gave him to understand in a general sort of way that if he and Dr. Cook +ever happened to meet, and started swapping stories, it would be about the +biggest duel on record. And then he had crawled away with the kid, licked to a +splinter. +</p> + +<p> +“And mind, this is your affair,” he concluded. “I’m not +mixed up in it at all. If you want to escape your sentence, you’d better +go and find the kid’s parents and return him before the police come for +you.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +By Jove, you know, till I started to tramp the place with this infernal kid, I +never had a notion it would have been so deuced difficult to restore a child to +its anxious parents. It’s a mystery to me how kidnappers ever get caught. +I searched Marvis Bay like a bloodhound, but nobody came forward to claim the +infant. You’d have thought, from the lack of interest in him, that he was +stopping there all by himself in a cottage of his own. It wasn’t till, by +an inspiration, I thought to ask the sweet-stall man that I found out that his +name was Medwin, and that his parents lived at a place called Ocean Rest, in +Beach Road. +</p> + +<p> +I shot off there like an arrow and knocked at the door. Nobody answered. I +knocked again. I could hear movements inside, but nobody came. I was just going +to get to work on that knocker in such a way that the idea would filter through +into these people’s heads that I wasn’t standing there just for the +fun of the thing, when a voice from somewhere above shouted, “Hi!” +</p> + +<p> +I looked up and saw a round, pink face, with grey whiskers east and west of it, +staring down from an upper window. +</p> + +<p> +“Hi!” it shouted again. +</p> + +<p> +“What the deuce do you mean by ‘Hi’?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t come in,” said the face. “Hello, is that +Tootles?” +</p> + +<p> +“My name is not Tootles, and I don’t want to come in,” I +said. “Are you Mr. Medwin? I’ve brought back your son.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see him. Peep-bo, Tootles! Dadda can see ’oo!” +</p> + +<p> +The face disappeared with a jerk. I could hear voices. The face reappeared. +</p> + +<p> +“Hi!” +</p> + +<p> +I churned the gravel madly. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you live here?” said the face. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m staying here for a few weeks.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s your name?” +</p> + +<p> +“Pepper. But——” +</p> + +<p> +“Pepper? Any relation to Edward Pepper, the colliery owner?” +</p> + +<p> +“My uncle. But——” +</p> + +<p> +“I used to know him well. Dear old Edward Pepper! I wish I was with him +now.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you were,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +He beamed down at me. +</p> + +<p> +“This is most fortunate,” he said. “We were wondering what we +were to do with Tootles. You see, we have the mumps here. My daughter Bootles +has just developed mumps. Tootles must not be exposed to the risk of infection. +We could not think what we were to do with him. It was most fortunate your +finding him. He strayed from his nurse. I would hesitate to trust him to the +care of a stranger, but you are different. Any nephew of Edward Pepper’s +has my implicit confidence. You must take Tootles to your house. It will be an +ideal arrangement. I have written to my brother in London to come and fetch +him. He may be here in a few days.” +</p> + +<p> +“May!” +</p> + +<p> +“He is a busy man, of course; but he should certainly be here within a +week. Till then Tootles can stop with you. It is an excellent plan. Very much +obliged to you. Your wife will like Tootles.” +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t got a wife,” I yelled; but the window had closed +with a bang, as if the man with the whiskers had found a germ trying to escape, +don’t you know, and had headed it off just in time. +</p> + +<p> +I breathed a deep breath and wiped my forehead. +</p> + +<p> +The window flew up again. +</p> + +<p> +“Hi!” +</p> + +<p> +A package weighing about a ton hit me on the head and burst like a bomb. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you catch it?” said the face, reappearing. “Dear me, you +missed it! Never mind. You can get it at the grocer’s. Ask for +Bailey’s Granulated Breakfast Chips. Tootles takes them for breakfast +with a little milk. Be certain to get Bailey’s.” +</p> + +<p> +My spirit was broken, if you know what I mean. I accepted the situation. Taking +Tootles by the hand, I walked slowly away. Napoleon’s retreat from Moscow +was a picnic by the side of it. +</p> + +<p> +As we turned up the road we met Freddie’s Angela. +</p> + +<p> +The sight of her had a marked effect on the kid Tootles. He pointed at her and +said, “Wah!” +</p> + +<p> +The girl stopped and smiled. I loosed the kid, and he ran to her. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, baby?” she said, bending down to him. “So father found +you again, did he? Your little son and I made friends on the beach this +morning,” she said to me. +</p> + +<p> +This was the limit. Coming on top of that interview with the whiskered lunatic +it so utterly unnerved me, don’t you know, that she had nodded good-bye +and was half-way down the road before I caught up with my breath enough to deny +the charge of being the infant’s father. +</p> + +<p> +I hadn’t expected dear old Freddie to sing with joy when he found out +what had happened, but I did think he might have shown a little more manly +fortitude. He leaped up, glared at the kid, and clutched his head. He +didn’t speak for a long time, but, on the other hand, when he began he +did not leave off for a long time. He was quite emotional, dear old boy. It +beat me where he could have picked up such expressions. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” he said, when he had finished, “say something! +Heavens! man, why don’t you say something?” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t give me a chance, old top,” I said soothingly. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you going to do about it?” +</p> + +<p> +“What can we do about it?” +</p> + +<p> +“We can’t spend our time acting as nurses to this—this +exhibit.” +</p> + +<p> +He got up. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going back to London,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Freddie!” I cried. “Freddie, old man!” My voice shook. +“Would you desert a pal at a time like this?” +</p> + +<p> +“I would. This is your business, and you’ve got to manage +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Freddie,” I said, “you’ve got to stand by me. You +must. Do you realize that this child has to be undressed, and bathed, and +dressed again? You wouldn’t leave me to do all that single-handed? +Freddie, old scout, we were at school together. Your mother likes me. You owe +me a tenner.” +</p> + +<p> +He sat down again. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, well,” he said resignedly. +</p> + +<p> +“Besides, old top,” I said, “I did it all for your sake, +don’t you know?” +</p> + +<p> +He looked at me in a curious way. +</p> + +<p> +“Reggie,” he said, in a strained voice, “one moment. +I’ll stand a good deal, but I won’t stand for being expected to be +grateful.” +</p> + +<p> +Looking back at it, I see that what saved me from Colney Hatch in that crisis +was my bright idea of buying up most of the contents of the local sweet-shop. +By serving out sweets to the kid practically incessantly we managed to get +through the rest of that day pretty satisfactorily. At eight o’clock he +fell asleep in a chair, and, having undressed him by unbuttoning every button +in sight and, where there were no buttons, pulling till something gave, we +carried him up to bed. +</p> + +<p> +Freddie stood looking at the pile of clothes on the floor and I knew what he +was thinking. To get the kid undressed had been simple—a mere matter of +muscle. But how were we to get him into his clothes again? I stirred the pile +with my foot. There was a long linen arrangement which might have been +anything. Also a strip of pink flannel which was like nothing on earth. We +looked at each other and smiled wanly. +</p> + +<p> +But in the morning I remembered that there were children at the next bungalow +but one. We went there before breakfast and borrowed their nurse. Women are +wonderful, by George they are! She had that kid dressed and looking fit for +anything in about eight minutes. I showered wealth on her, and she promised to +come in morning and evening. I sat down to breakfast almost cheerful again. It +was the first bit of silver lining there had been to the cloud up to date. +</p> + +<p> +“And after all,” I said, “there’s lots to be said for +having a child about the house, if you know what I mean. Kind of cosy and +domestic—what!” +</p> + +<p> +Just then the kid upset the milk over Freddie’s trousers, and when he had +come back after changing his clothes he began to talk about what a +much-maligned man King Herod was. The more he saw of Tootles, he said, the less +he wondered at those impulsive views of his on infanticide. +</p> + +<p> +Two days later Jimmy Pinkerton came down. Jimmy took one look at the kid, who +happened to be howling at the moment, and picked up his portmanteau. +</p> + +<p> +“For me,” he said, “the hotel. I can’t write dialogue +with that sort of thing going on. Whose work is this? Which of you adopted this +little treasure?” +</p> + +<p> +I told him about Mr. Medwin and the mumps. Jimmy seemed interested. +</p> + +<p> +“I might work this up for the stage,” he said. “It +wouldn’t make a bad situation for act two of a farce.” +</p> + +<p> +“Farce!” snarled poor old Freddie. +</p> + +<p> +“Rather. Curtain of act one on hero, a well-meaning, half-baked sort of +idiot just like—that is to say, a well-meaning, half-baked sort of idiot, +kidnapping the child. Second act, his adventures with it. I’ll rough it +out to-night. Come along and show me the hotel, Reggie.” +</p> + +<p> +As we went I told him the rest of the story—the Angela part. He laid down +his portmanteau and looked at me like an owl through his glasses. +</p> + +<p> +“What!” he said. “Why, hang it, this is a play, ready-made. +It’s the old ‘Tiny Hand’ business. Always safe stuff. Parted +lovers. Lisping child. Reconciliation over the little cradle. It’s big. +Child, centre. Girl L.C.; Freddie, up stage, by the piano. Can Freddie play the +piano?” +</p> + +<p> +“He can play a little of ‘The Rosary’ with one finger.” +</p> + +<p> +Jimmy shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“No; we shall have to cut out the soft music. But the rest’s all +right. Look here.” He squatted in the sand. “This stone is the +girl. This bit of seaweed’s the child. This nutshell is Freddie. Dialogue +leading up to child’s line. Child speaks like, ‘Boofer lady, does +i’oo love dadda?’ Business of outstretched hands. Hold picture for +a moment. Freddie crosses L., takes girl’s hand. Business of swallowing +lump in throat. Then big speech. ‘Ah, Marie,’ or whatever her name +is—Jane—Agnes—Angela? Very well. ‘Ah, Angela, has not +this gone on too long? A little child rebukes us! Angela!’ And so on. +Freddie must work up his own part. I’m just giving you the general +outline. And we must get a good line for the child. ‘Boofer lady, does +’oo love dadda?’ isn’t definite enough. We want something +more—ah! ‘Kiss Freddie,’ that’s it. Short, crisp, and +has the punch.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Jimmy, old top,” I said, “the only objection is, +don’t you know, that there’s no way of getting the girl to the +cottage. She cuts Freddie. She wouldn’t come within a mile of him.” +</p> + +<p> +Jimmy frowned. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s awkward,” he said. “Well, we shall have to make +it an exterior set instead of an interior. We can easily corner her on the +beach somewhere, when we’re ready. Meanwhile, we must get the kid +letter-perfect. First rehearsal for lines and business eleven sharp +to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +Poor old Freddie was in such a gloomy state of mind that we decided not to tell +him the idea till we had finished coaching the kid. He wasn’t in the mood +to have a thing like that hanging over him. So we concentrated on Tootles. And +pretty early in the proceedings we saw that the only way to get Tootles worked +up to the spirit of the thing was to introduce sweets of some sort as a +sub-motive, so to speak. +</p> + +<p> +“The chief difficulty,” said Jimmy Pinkerton at the end of the +first rehearsal, “is to establish a connection in the kid’s mind +between his line and the sweets. Once he has grasped the basic fact that those +two words, clearly spoken, result automatically in acid-drops, we have got a +success.” +</p> + +<p> +I’ve often thought, don’t you know, how interesting it must be to +be one of those animal-trainer Johnnies: to stimulate the dawning intelligence, +and that sort of thing. Well, this was every bit as exciting. Some days success +seemed to be staring us in the eye, and the kid got the line out as if +he’d been an old professional. And then he’d go all to pieces +again. And time was flying. +</p> + +<p> +“We must hurry up, Jimmy,” I said. “The kid’s uncle may +arrive any day now and take him away.” +</p> + +<p> +“And we haven’t an understudy,” said Jimmy. +“There’s something in that. We must work! My goodness, that +kid’s a bad study. I’ve known deaf-mutes who would have learned the +part quicker.” +</p> + +<p> +I will say this for the kid, though: he was a trier. Failure didn’t +discourage him. Whenever there was any kind of sweet near he had a dash at his +line, and kept on saying something till he got what he was after. His only +fault was his uncertainty. Personally, I would have been prepared to risk it, +and start the performance at the first opportunity, but Jimmy said no. +</p> + +<p> +“We’re not nearly ready,” said Jimmy. “To-day, for +instance, he said ‘Kick Freddie.’ That’s not going to win any +girl’s heart. And she might do it, too. No; we must postpone production +awhile yet.” +</p> + +<p> +But, by George, we didn’t. The curtain went up the very next afternoon. +</p> + +<p> +It was nobody’s fault—certainly not mine. It was just Fate. Freddie +had settled down at the piano, and I was leading the kid out of the house to +exercise it, when, just as we’d got out to the veranda, along came the +girl Angela on her way to the beach. The kid set up his usual yell at the sight +of her, and she stopped at the foot of the steps. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello, baby!” she said. “Good morning,” she said to +me. “May I come up?” +</p> + +<p> +She didn’t wait for an answer. She just came. She seemed to be that sort +of girl. She came up on the veranda and started fussing over the kid. And six +feet away, mind you, Freddie smiting the piano in the sitting-room. It was a +dash disturbing situation, don’t you know. At any minute Freddie might +take it into his head to come out on to the veranda, and we hadn’t even +begun to rehearse him in his part. +</p> + +<p> +I tried to break up the scene. +</p> + +<p> +“We were just going down to the beach,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” said the girl. She listened for a moment. “So +you’re having your piano tuned?” she said. “My aunt has been +trying to find a tuner for ours. Do you mind if I go in and tell this man to +come on to us when he’s finished here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Er—not yet!” I said. “Not yet, if you don’t +mind. He can’t bear to be disturbed when he’s working. It’s +the artistic temperament. I’ll tell him later.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” she said, getting up to go. “Ask him to call at +Pine Bungalow. West is the name. Oh, he seems to have stopped. I suppose he +will be out in a minute now. I’ll wait.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you think—shouldn’t we be going on to the +beach?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +She had started talking to the kid and didn’t hear. She was feeling in +her pocket for something. +</p> + +<p> +“The beach,” I babbled. +</p> + +<p> +“See what I’ve brought for you, baby,” she said. And, by +George, don’t you know, she held up in front of the kid’s bulging +eyes a chunk of toffee about the size of the Automobile Club. +</p> + +<p> +That finished it. We had just been having a long rehearsal, and the kid was all +worked up in his part. He got it right first time. +</p> + +<p> +“Kiss Fweddie!” he shouted. +</p> + +<p> +And the front door opened, and Freddie came out on to the veranda, for all the +world as if he had been taking a cue. +</p> + +<p> +He looked at the girl, and the girl looked at him. I looked at the ground, and +the kid looked at the toffee. +</p> + +<p> +“Kiss Fweddie!” he yelled. “Kiss Fweddie!” +</p> + +<p> +The girl was still holding up the toffee, and the kid did what Jimmy Pinkerton +would have called “business of outstretched hands” towards it. +</p> + +<p> +“Kiss Fweddie!” he shrieked. +</p> + +<p> +“What does this mean?” said the girl, turning to me. +</p> + +<p> +“You’d better give it to him, don’t you know,” I said. +“He’ll go on till you do.” +</p> + +<p> +She gave the kid his toffee, and he subsided. Poor old Freddie still stood +there gaping, without a word. +</p> + +<p> +“What does it mean?” said the girl again. Her face was pink, and +her eyes were sparkling in the sort of way, don’t you know, that makes a +fellow feel as if he hadn’t any bones in him, if you know what I mean. +Did you ever tread on your partner’s dress at a dance and tear it, and +see her smile at you like an angel and say: “<i>Please</i> don’t +apologize. It’s nothing,” and then suddenly meet her clear blue +eyes and feel as if you had stepped on the teeth of a rake and had the handle +jump up and hit you in the face? Well, that’s how Freddie’s Angela +looked. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Well?</i>” she said, and her teeth gave a little click. +</p> + +<p> +I gulped. Then I said it was nothing. Then I said it was nothing much. Then I +said, “Oh, well, it was this way.” And, after a few brief remarks +about Jimmy Pinkerton, I told her all about it. And all the while Idiot Freddie +stood there gaping, without a word. +</p> + +<p> +And the girl didn’t speak, either. She just stood listening. +</p> + +<p> +And then she began to laugh. I never heard a girl laugh so much. She leaned +against the side of the veranda and shrieked. And all the while Freddie, the +World’s Champion Chump, stood there, saying nothing. +</p> + +<p> +Well I sidled towards the steps. I had said all I had to say, and it seemed to +me that about here the stage-direction “exit” was written in my +part. I gave poor old Freddie up in despair. If only he had said a word, it +might have been all right. But there he stood, speechless. What can a fellow do +with a fellow like that? +</p> + +<p> +Just out of sight of the house I met Jimmy Pinkerton. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello, Reggie!” he said. “I was just coming to you. +Where’s the kid? We must have a big rehearsal to-day.” +</p> + +<p> +“No good,” I said sadly. “It’s all over. The +thing’s finished. Poor dear old Freddie has made an ass of himself and +killed the whole show.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me,” said Jimmy. +</p> + +<p> +I told him. +</p> + +<p> +“Fluffed in his lines, did he?” said Jimmy, nodding thoughtfully. +“It’s always the way with these amateurs. We must go back at once. +Things look bad, but it may not be too late,” he said as we started. +“Even now a few well-chosen words from a man of the world, +and——” +</p> + +<p> +“Great Scot!” I cried. “Look!” +</p> + +<p> +In front of the cottage stood six children, a nurse, and the fellow from the +grocer’s staring. From the windows of the houses opposite projected about +four hundred heads of both sexes, staring. Down the road came galloping five +more children, a dog, three men, and a boy, about to stare. And on our porch, +as unconscious of the spectators as if they had been alone in the Sahara, stood +Freddie and Angela, clasped in each other’s arms. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Dear old Freddie may have been fluffy in his lines, but, by George, his +business had certainly gone with a bang! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a>RALLYING ROUND OLD GEORGE</h2> + +<p> +I think one of the rummiest affairs I was ever mixed up with, in the course of +a lifetime devoted to butting into other people’s business, was that +affair of George Lattaker at Monte Carlo. I wouldn’t bore you, +don’t you know, for the world, but I think you ought to hear about it. +</p> + +<p> +We had come to Monte Carlo on the yacht <i>Circe</i>, belonging to an old +sportsman of the name of Marshall. Among those present were myself, my man +Voules, a Mrs. Vanderley, her daughter Stella, Mrs. Vanderley’s maid +Pilbeam and George. +</p> + +<p> +George was a dear old pal of mine. In fact, it was I who had worked him into +the party. You see, George was due to meet his Uncle Augustus, who was +scheduled, George having just reached his twenty-fifth birthday, to hand over +to him a legacy left by one of George’s aunts, for which he had been +trustee. The aunt had died when George was quite a kid. It was a date that +George had been looking forward to; for, though he had a sort of +income—an income, after-all, is only an income, whereas a chunk of +o’ goblins is a pile. George’s uncle was in Monte Carlo, and had +written George that he would come to London and unbelt; but it struck me that a +far better plan was for George to go to his uncle at Monte Carlo instead. Kill +two birds with one stone, don’t you know. Fix up his affairs and have a +pleasant holiday simultaneously. So George had tagged along, and at the time +when the trouble started we were anchored in Monaco Harbour, and Uncle Augustus +was due next day. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Looking back, I may say that, so far as I was mixed up in it, the thing began +at seven o’clock in the morning, when I was aroused from a dreamless +sleep by the dickens of a scrap in progress outside my state-room door. The +chief ingredients were a female voice that sobbed and said: “Oh, +Harold!” and a male voice “raised in anger,” as they say, +which after considerable difficulty, I identified as Voules’s. I hardly +recognized it. In his official capacity Voules talks exactly like you’d +expect a statue to talk, if it could. In private, however, he evidently relaxed +to some extent, and to have that sort of thing going on in my midst at that +hour was too much for me. +</p> + +<p> +“Voules!” I yelled. +</p> + +<p> +Spion Kop ceased with a jerk. There was silence, then sobs diminishing in the +distance, and finally a tap at the door. Voules entered with that impressive, +my-lord-the-carriage-waits look which is what I pay him for. You wouldn’t +have believed he had a drop of any sort of emotion in him. +</p> + +<p> +“Voules,” I said, “are you under the delusion that I’m +going to be Queen of the May? You’ve called me early all right. +It’s only just seven.” +</p> + +<p> +“I understood you to summon me, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“I summoned you to find out why you were making that infernal noise +outside.” +</p> + +<p> +“I owe you an apology, sir. I am afraid that in the heat of the moment I +raised my voice.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a wonder you didn’t raise the roof. Who was that with +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Pilbeam, sir; Mrs. Vanderley’s maid.” +</p> + +<p> +“What was all the trouble about?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was breaking our engagement, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +I couldn’t help gaping. Somehow one didn’t associate Voules with +engagements. Then it struck me that I’d no right to butt in on his secret +sorrows, so I switched the conversation. +</p> + +<p> +“I think I’ll get up,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t wait to breakfast with the rest. Can you get me some right +away?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +So I had a solitary breakfast and went up on deck to smoke. It was a lovely +morning. Blue sea, gleaming Casino, cloudless sky, and all the rest of the +hippodrome. Presently the others began to trickle up. Stella Vanderley was one +of the first. I thought she looked a bit pale and tired. She said she +hadn’t slept well. That accounted for it. Unless you get your eight +hours, where are you? +</p> + +<p> +“Seen George?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +I couldn’t help thinking the name seemed to freeze her a bit. Which was +queer, because all the voyage she and George had been particularly close pals. +In fact, at any moment I expected George to come to me and slip his little hand +in mine, and whisper: “I’ve done it, old scout; she loves +muh!” +</p> + +<p> +“I have not seen Mr. Lattaker,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +I didn’t pursue the subject. George’s stock was apparently low that +a.m. +</p> + +<p> +The next item in the day’s programme occurred a few minutes later when +the morning papers arrived. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Vanderley opened hers and gave a scream. +</p> + +<p> +“The poor, dear Prince!” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“What a shocking thing!” said old Marshall. +</p> + +<p> +“I knew him in Vienna,” said Mrs. Vanderley. “He waltzed +divinely.” +</p> + +<p> +Then I got at mine and saw what they were talking about. The paper was full of +it. It seemed that late the night before His Serene Highness the Prince of +Saxburg-Leignitz (I always wonder why they call these chaps +“Serene”) had been murderously assaulted in a dark street on his +way back from the Casino to his yacht. Apparently he had developed the habit of +going about without an escort, and some rough-neck, taking advantage of this, +had laid for him and slugged him with considerable vim. The Prince had been +found lying pretty well beaten up and insensible in the street by a passing +pedestrian, and had been taken back to his yacht, where he still lay +unconscious. +</p> + +<p> +“This is going to do somebody no good,” I said. “What do you +get for slugging a Serene Highness? I wonder if they’ll catch the +fellow?” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Later,’” read old Marshall, “‘the +pedestrian who discovered His Serene Highness proves to have been Mr. Denman +Sturgis, the eminent private investigator. Mr. Sturgis has offered his services +to the police, and is understood to be in possession of a most important +clue.’ That’s the fellow who had charge of that kidnapping case in +Chicago. If anyone can catch the man, he can.” +</p> + +<p> +About five minutes later, just as the rest of them were going to move off to +breakfast, a boat hailed us and came alongside. A tall, thin man came up the +gangway. He looked round the group, and fixed on old Marshall as the probable +owner of the yacht. +</p> + +<p> +“Good morning,” he said. “I believe you have a Mr. Lattaker +on board—Mr. George Lattaker?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Marshall. “He’s down below. Want to see +him? Whom shall I say?” +</p> + +<p> +“He would not know my name. I should like to see him for a moment on +somewhat urgent business.” +</p> + +<p> +“Take a seat. He’ll be up in a moment. Reggie, my boy, go and hurry +him up.” +</p> + +<p> +I went down to George’s state-room. +</p> + +<p> +“George, old man!” I shouted. +</p> + +<p> +No answer. I opened the door and went in. The room was empty. What’s +more, the bunk hadn’t been slept in. I don’t know when I’ve +been more surprised. I went on deck. +</p> + +<p> +“He isn’t there,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Not there!” said old Marshall. “Where is he, then? Perhaps +he’s gone for a stroll ashore. But he’ll be back soon for +breakfast. You’d better wait for him. Have you breakfasted? No? Then will +you join us?” +</p> + +<p> +The man said he would, and just then the gong went and they trooped down, +leaving me alone on deck. +</p> + +<p> +I sat smoking and thinking, and then smoking a bit more, when I thought I heard +somebody call my name in a sort of hoarse whisper. I looked over my shoulder, +and, by Jove, there at the top of the gangway in evening dress, dusty to the +eyebrows and without a hat, was dear old George. +</p> + +<p> +“Great Scot!” I cried. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Sh!” he whispered. “Anyone about?” +</p> + +<p> +“They’re all down at breakfast.” +</p> + +<p> +He gave a sigh of relief, sank into my chair, and closed his eyes. I regarded +him with pity. The poor old boy looked a wreck. +</p> + +<p> +“I say!” I said, touching him on the shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +He leaped out of the chair with a smothered yell. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you do that? What did you do it for? What’s the sense of it? +How do you suppose you can ever make yourself popular if you go about touching +people on the shoulder? My nerves are sticking a yard out of my body this +morning, Reggie!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, old boy?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did a murder last night.” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the sort of thing that might happen to anybody. Directly +Stella Vanderley broke off our engagement I——” +</p> + +<p> +“Broke off your engagement? How long were you engaged?” +</p> + +<p> +“About two minutes. It may have been less. I hadn’t a stop-watch. I +proposed to her at ten last night in the saloon. She accepted me. I was just +going to kiss her when we heard someone coming. I went out. Coming along the +corridor was that infernal what’s-her-name—Mrs. Vanderley’s +maid—Pilbeam. Have you ever been accepted by the girl you love, +Reggie?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never. I’ve been refused dozens——” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you won’t understand how I felt. I was off my head with joy. +I hardly knew what I was doing. I just felt I had to kiss the nearest thing +handy. I couldn’t wait. It might have been the ship’s cat. It +wasn’t. It was Pilbeam.” +</p> + +<p> +“You kissed her?” +</p> + +<p> +“I kissed her. And just at that moment the door of the saloon opened and +out came Stella.” +</p> + +<p> +“Great Scott!” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly what I said. It flashed across me that to Stella, dear girl, not +knowing the circumstances, the thing might seem a little odd. It did. She broke +off the engagement, and I got out the dinghy and rowed off. I was mad. I +didn’t care what became of me. I simply wanted to forget. I went ashore. +I—It’s just on the cards that I may have drowned my sorrows a bit. +Anyhow, I don’t remember a thing, except that I can recollect having the +deuce of a scrap with somebody in a dark street and somebody falling, and +myself falling, and myself legging it for all I was worth. I woke up this +morning in the Casino gardens. I’ve lost my hat.” +</p> + +<p> +I dived for the paper. +</p> + +<p> +“Read,” I said. “It’s all there.” +</p> + +<p> +He read. +</p> + +<p> +“Good heavens!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“You didn’t do a thing to His Serene Nibs, did you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Reggie, this is awful.” +</p> + +<p> +“Cheer up. They say he’ll recover.” +</p> + +<p> +“That doesn’t matter.” +</p> + +<p> +“It does to him.” +</p> + +<p> +He read the paper again. +</p> + +<p> +“It says they’ve a clue.” +</p> + +<p> +“They always say that.” +</p> + +<p> +“But—My hat!” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“My hat. I must have dropped it during the scrap. This man, Denman +Sturgis, must have found it. It had my name in it!” +</p> + +<p> +“George,” I said, “you mustn’t waste time. Oh!” +</p> + +<p> +He jumped a foot in the air. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t do it!” he said, irritably. “Don’t bark +like that. What’s the matter?” +</p> + +<p> +“The man!” +</p> + +<p> +“What man?” +</p> + +<p> +“A tall, thin man with an eye like a gimlet. He arrived just before you +did. He’s down in the saloon now, having breakfast. He said he wanted to +see you on business, and wouldn’t give his name. I didn’t like the +look of him from the first. It’s this fellow Sturgis. It must be.” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” +</p> + +<p> +“I feel it. I’m sure of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Had he a hat?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course he had a hat.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fool! I mean mine. Was he carrying a hat?” +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove, he <i>was</i> carrying a parcel. George, old scout, you must +get a move on. You must light out if you want to spend the rest of your life +out of prison. Slugging a Serene Highness is <i>lèse-majesté</i>. It’s +worse than hitting a policeman. You haven’t got a moment to waste.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I haven’t any money. Reggie, old man, lend me a tenner or +something. I must get over the frontier into Italy at once. I’ll wire my +uncle to meet me in——” +</p> + +<p> +“Look out,” I cried; “there’s someone coming!” +</p> + +<p> +He dived out of sight just as Voules came up the companion-way, carrying a +letter on a tray. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter!” I said. “What do you want?” +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon, sir. I thought I heard Mr. Lattaker’s voice. A +letter has arrived for him.” +</p> + +<p> +“He isn’t here.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir. Shall I remove the letter?” +</p> + +<p> +“No; give it to me. I’ll give it to him when he comes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Voules! Are they all still at breakfast? The gentleman who came to +see Mr. Lattaker? Still hard at it?” +</p> + +<p> +“He is at present occupied with a kippered herring, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! That’s all, Voules.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +He retired. I called to George, and he came out. +</p> + +<p> +“Who was it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Only Voules. He brought a letter for you. They’re all at breakfast +still. The sleuth’s eating kippers.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’ll hold him for a bit. Full of bones.” He began to read +his letter. He gave a kind of grunt of surprise at the first paragraph. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’m hanged!” he said, as he finished. +</p> + +<p> +“Reggie, this is a queer thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that?” +</p> + +<p> +He handed me the letter, and directly I started in on it I saw why he had +grunted. This is how it ran: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“My dear George—I shall be seeing you to-morrow, I hope; but I +think it is better, before we meet, to prepare you for a curious situation that +has arisen in connection with the legacy which your father inherited from your +Aunt Emily, and which you are expecting me, as trustee, to hand over to you, +now that you have reached your twenty-fifth birthday. You have doubtless heard +your father speak of your twin-brother Alfred, who was lost or +kidnapped—which, was never ascertained—when you were both babies. +When no news was received of him for so many years, it was supposed that he was +dead. Yesterday, however, I received a letter purporting that he had been +living all this time in Buenos Ayres as the adopted son of a wealthy South +American, and has only recently discovered his identity. He states that he is +on his way to meet me, and will arrive any day now. Of course, like other +claimants, he may prove to be an impostor, but meanwhile his intervention will, +I fear, cause a certain delay before I can hand over your money to you. It will +be necessary to go into a thorough examination of credentials, etc., and this +will take some time. But I will go fully into the matter with you when we +meet.—Your affectionate uncle, +</p> + +<p class="right"> +“A<small>UGUSTUS</small> A<small>RBUTT</small>.” +</p> + +<p> +I read it through twice, and the second time I had one of those ideas I do +sometimes get, though admittedly a chump of the premier class. I have seldom +had such a thoroughly corking brain-wave. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, old top,” I said, “this lets you out.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lets me out of half the darned money, if that’s what you mean. If +this chap’s not an imposter—and there’s no earthly reason to +suppose he is, though I’ve never heard my father say a word about +him—we shall have to split the money. Aunt Emily’s will left the +money to my father, or, failing him, his ‘offspring.’ I thought +that meant me, but apparently there are a crowd of us. I call it rotten work, +springing unexpected offspring on a fellow at the eleventh hour like +this.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, you chump,” I said, “it’s going to save you. This +lets you out of your spectacular dash across the frontier. All you’ve got +to do is to stay here and be your brother Alfred. It came to me in a +flash.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked at me in a kind of dazed way. +</p> + +<p> +“You ought to be in some sort of a home, Reggie.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ass!” I cried. “Don’t you understand? Have you ever +heard of twin-brothers who weren’t exactly alike? Who’s to say you +aren’t Alfred if you swear you are? Your uncle will be there to back you +up that you have a brother Alfred.” +</p> + +<p> +“And Alfred will be there to call me a liar.” +</p> + +<p> +“He won’t. It’s not as if you had to keep it up for the rest +of your life. It’s only for an hour or two, till we can get this +detective off the yacht. We sail for England to-morrow morning.” +</p> + +<p> +At last the thing seemed to sink into him. His face brightened. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, I really do believe it would work,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course it would work. If they want proof, show them your mole. +I’ll swear George hadn’t one.” +</p> + +<p> +“And as Alfred I should get a chance of talking to Stella and making +things all right for George. Reggie, old top, you’re a genius.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no.” +</p> + +<p> +“You <i>are</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it’s only sometimes. I can’t keep it up.” +</p> + +<p> +And just then there was a gentle cough behind us. We spun round. +</p> + +<p> +“What the devil are you doing here, Voules,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon, sir. I have heard all.” +</p> + +<p> +I looked at George. George looked at me. +</p> + +<p> +“Voules is all right,” I said. “Decent Voules! Voules +wouldn’t give us away, would you, Voules?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“You would?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Voules, old man,” I said, “be sensible. What would you +gain by it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Financially, sir, nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Whereas, by keeping quiet”—I tapped him on the +chest—“by holding your tongue, Voules, by saying nothing about it +to anybody, Voules, old fellow, you might gain a considerable sum.” +</p> + +<p> +“Am I to understand, sir, that, because you are rich and I am poor, you +think that you can buy my self-respect?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, come!” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“How much?” said Voules. +</p> + +<p> +So we switched to terms. You wouldn’t believe the way the man haggled. +You’d have thought a decent, faithful servant would have been delighted +to oblige one in a little matter like that for a fiver. But not Voules. By no +means. It was a hundred down, and the promise of another hundred when we had +got safely away, before he was satisfied. But we fixed it up at last, and poor +old George got down to his state-room and changed his clothes. +</p> + +<p> +He’d hardly gone when the breakfast-party came on deck. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you meet him?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Meet whom?” said old Marshall. +</p> + +<p> +“George’s twin-brother Alfred.” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t know George had a brother.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor did he till yesterday. It’s a long story. He was kidnapped in +infancy, and everyone thought he was dead. George had a letter from his uncle +about him yesterday. I shouldn’t wonder if that’s where George has +gone, to see his uncle and find out about it. In the meantime, Alfred has +arrived. He’s down in George’s state-room now, having a brush-up. +It’ll amaze you, the likeness between them. You’ll think it +<i>is</i> George at first. Look! Here he comes.” +</p> + +<p> +And up came George, brushed and clean, in an ordinary yachting suit. +</p> + +<p> +They were rattled. There was no doubt about that. They stood looking at him, as +if they thought there was a catch somewhere, but weren’t quite certain +where it was. I introduced him, and still they looked doubtful. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Pepper tells me my brother is not on board,” said George. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s an amazing likeness,” said old Marshall. +</p> + +<p> +“Is my brother like me?” asked George amiably. +</p> + +<p> +“No one could tell you apart,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose twins always are alike,” said George. “But if it +ever came to a question of identification, there would be one way of +distinguishing us. Do you know George well, Mr. Pepper?” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s a dear old pal of mine.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve been swimming with him perhaps?” +</p> + +<p> +“Every day last August.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, you would have noticed it if he had had a mole like this on +the back of his neck, wouldn’t you?” He turned his back and stooped +and showed the mole. His collar hid it at ordinary times. I had seen it often +when we were bathing together. +</p> + +<p> +“Has George a mole like that?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” I said. “Oh, no.” +</p> + +<p> +“You would have noticed it if he had?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” I said. “Oh, yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad of that,” said George. “It would be a +nuisance not to be able to prove one’s own identity.” +</p> + +<p> +That seemed to satisfy them all. They couldn’t get away from it. It +seemed to me that from now on the thing was a walk-over. And I think George +felt the same, for, when old Marshall asked him if he had had breakfast, he +said he had not, went below, and pitched in as if he hadn’t a care in the +world. +</p> + +<p> +Everything went right till lunch-time. George sat in the shade on the foredeck +talking to Stella most of the time. When the gong went and the rest had started +to go below, he drew me back. He was beaming. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all right,” he said. “What did I tell you?” +</p> + +<p> +“What did you tell me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, about Stella. Didn’t I say that Alfred would fix things for +George? I told her she looked worried, and got her to tell me what the trouble +was. And then——” +</p> + +<p> +“You must have shown a flash of speed if you got her to confide in you +after knowing you for about two hours.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps I did,” said George modestly, “I had no notion, till +I became him, what a persuasive sort of chap my brother Alfred was. Anyway, she +told me all about it, and I started in to show her that George was a pretty +good sort of fellow on the whole, who oughtn’t to be turned down for what +was evidently merely temporary insanity. She saw my point.” +</p> + +<p> +“And it’s all right?” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely, if only we can produce George. How much longer does that +infernal sleuth intend to stay here? He seems to have taken root.” +</p> + +<p> +“I fancy he thinks that you’re bound to come back sooner or later, +and is waiting for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s an absolute nuisance,” said George. +</p> + +<p> +We were moving towards the companion way, to go below for lunch, when a boat +hailed us. We went to the side and looked over. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s my uncle,” said George. +</p> + +<p> +A stout man came up the gangway. +</p> + +<p> +“Halloa, George!” he said. “Get my letter?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think you are mistaking me for my brother,” said George. +“My name is Alfred Lattaker.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am George’s brother Alfred. Are you my Uncle Augustus?” +</p> + +<p> +The stout man stared at him. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re very like George,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“So everyone tells me.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you’re really Alfred?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d like to talk business with you for a moment.” +</p> + +<p> +He cocked his eye at me. I sidled off and went below. +</p> + +<p> +At the foot of the companion-steps I met Voules. +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Voules. “If it would be +convenient I should be glad to have the afternoon off.” +</p> + +<p> +I’m bound to say I rather liked his manner. Absolutely normal. Not a +trace of the fellow-conspirator about it. I gave him the afternoon off. +</p> + +<p> +I had lunch—George didn’t show up—and as I was going out I +was waylaid by the girl Pilbeam. She had been crying. +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon, sir, but did Mr. Voules ask you for the +afternoon?” +</p> + +<p> +I didn’t see what business if was of hers, but she seemed all worked up +about it, so I told her. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I have given him the afternoon off.” +</p> + +<p> +She broke down—absolutely collapsed. Devilish unpleasant it was. +I’m hopeless in a situation like this. After I’d said, +“There, there!” which didn’t seem to help much, I +hadn’t any remarks to make. +</p> + +<p> +“He s-said he was going to the tables to gamble away all his savings and +then shoot himself, because he had nothing left to live for.” +</p> + +<p> +I suddenly remembered the scrap in the small hours outside my state-room door. +I hate mysteries. I meant to get to the bottom of this. I couldn’t have a +really first-class valet like Voules going about the place shooting himself up. +Evidently the girl Pilbeam was at the bottom of the thing. I questioned her. +She sobbed. +</p> + +<p> +I questioned her more. I was firm. And eventually she yielded up the facts. +Voules had seen George kiss her the night before; that was the trouble. +</p> + +<p> +Things began to piece themselves together. I went up to interview George. There +was going to be another job for persuasive Alfred. Voules’s mind had got +to be eased as Stella’s had been. I couldn’t afford to lose a +fellow with his genius for preserving a trouser-crease. +</p> + +<p> +I found George on the foredeck. What is it Shakespeare or somebody says about +some fellow’s face being sicklied o’er with the pale cast of care? +George’s was like that. He looked green. +</p> + +<p> +“Finished with your uncle?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +He grinned a ghostly grin. +</p> + +<p> +“There isn’t any uncle,” he said. “There isn’t +any Alfred. And there isn’t any money.” +</p> + +<p> +“Explain yourself, old top,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“It won’t take long. The old crook has spent every penny of the +trust money. He’s been at it for years, ever since I was a kid. When the +time came to cough up, and I was due to see that he did it, he went to the +tables in the hope of a run of luck, and lost the last remnant of the stuff. He +had to find a way of holding me for a while and postponing the squaring of +accounts while he got away, and he invented this twin-brother business. He knew +I should find out sooner or later, but meanwhile he would be able to get off to +South America, which he has done. He’s on his way now.” +</p> + +<p> +“You let him go?” +</p> + +<p> +“What could I do? I can’t afford to make a fuss with that man +Sturgis around. I can’t prove there’s no Alfred when my only chance +of avoiding prison is to be Alfred.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you’ve made things right for yourself with Stella Vanderley, +anyway,” I said, to cheer him up. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the good of that now? I’ve hardly any money and no +prospects. How can I marry her?” +</p> + +<p> +I pondered. +</p> + +<p> +“It looks to me, old top,” I said at last, “as if things were +in a bit of a mess.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve guessed it,” said poor old George. +</p> + +<p> +I spent the afternoon musing on Life. If you come to think of it, what a queer +thing Life is! So unlike anything else, don’t you know, if you see what I +mean. At any moment you may be strolling peacefully along, and all the time +Life’s waiting around the corner to fetch you one. You can’t tell +when you may be going to get it. It’s all dashed puzzling. Here was poor +old George, as well-meaning a fellow as ever stepped, getting swatted all over +the ring by the hand of Fate. Why? That’s what I asked myself. Just Life, +don’t you know. That’s all there was about it. +</p> + +<p> +It was close on six o’clock when our third visitor of the day arrived. We +were sitting on the afterdeck in the cool of the evening—old Marshall, +Denman Sturgis, Mrs. Vanderley, Stella, George, and I—when he came up. We +had been talking of George, and old Marshall was suggesting the advisability of +sending out search-parties. He was worried. So was Stella Vanderley. So, for +that matter, were George and I, only not for the same reason. +</p> + +<p> +We were just arguing the thing out when the visitor appeared. He was a +well-built, stiff sort of fellow. He spoke with a German accent. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Marshall?” he said. “I am Count Fritz von Cöslin, +equerry to His Serene Highness”—he clicked his heels together and +saluted—“the Prince of Saxburg-Leignitz.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Vanderley jumped up. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Count,” she said, “what ages since we met in Vienna! +You remember?” +</p> + +<p> +“Could I ever forget? And the charming Miss Stella, she is well, I +suppose not?” +</p> + +<p> +“Stella, you remember Count Fritz?” +</p> + +<p> +Stella shook hands with him. +</p> + +<p> +“And how is the poor, dear Prince?” asked Mrs. Vanderley. +“What a terrible thing to have happened!” +</p> + +<p> +“I rejoice to say that my high-born master is better. He has regained +consciousness and is sitting up and taking nourishment.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s good,” said old Marshall. +</p> + +<p> +“In a spoon only,” sighed the Count. “Mr. Marshall, with your +permission I should like a word with Mr. Sturgis.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Who?” +</p> + +<p> +The gimlet-eyed sportsman came forward. +</p> + +<p> +“I am Denman Sturgis, at your service.” +</p> + +<p> +“The deuce you are! What are you doing here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Sturgis,” explained the Count, “graciously volunteered +his services——” +</p> + +<p> +“I know. But what’s he doing here?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am waiting for Mr. George Lattaker, Mr. Marshall.” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“You have not found him?” asked the Count anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Not yet, Count; but I hope to do so shortly. I know what he looks like +now. This gentleman is his twin-brother. They are doubles.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are sure this gentleman is not Mr. George Lattaker?” +</p> + +<p> +George put his foot down firmly on the suggestion. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t go mixing me up with my brother,” he said. “I am +Alfred. You can tell me by my mole.” +</p> + +<p> +He exhibited the mole. He was taking no risks. +</p> + +<p> +The Count clicked his tongue regretfully. +</p> + +<p> +“I am sorry,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +George didn’t offer to console him, +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t worry,” said Sturgis. “He won’t escape me. +I shall find him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do, Mr. Sturgis, do. And quickly. Find swiftly that noble young +man.” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” shouted George. +</p> + +<p> +“That noble young man, George Lattaker, who, at the risk of his life, +saved my high-born master from the assassin.” +</p> + +<p> +George sat down suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t understand,” he said feebly. +</p> + +<p> +“We were wrong, Mr. Sturgis,” went on the Count. “We leaped +to the conclusion—was it not so?—that the owner of the hat you +found was also the assailant of my high-born master. We were wrong. I have +heard the story from His Serene Highness’s own lips. He was passing down +a dark street when a ruffian in a mask sprang out upon him. Doubtless he had +been followed from the Casino, where he had been winning heavily. My high-born +master was taken by surprise. He was felled. But before he lost consciousness +he perceived a young man in evening dress, wearing the hat you found, running +swiftly towards him. The hero engaged the assassin in combat, and my high-born +master remembers no more. His Serene Highness asks repeatedly, ‘Where is +my brave preserver?’ His gratitude is princely. He seeks for this young +man to reward him. Ah, you should be proud of your brother, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks,” said George limply. +</p> + +<p> +“And you, Mr. Sturgis, you must redouble your efforts. You must search +the land; you must scour the sea to find George Lattaker.” +</p> + +<p> +“He needn’t take all that trouble,” said a voice from the +gangway. +</p> + +<p> +It was Voules. His face was flushed, his hat was on the back of his head, and +he was smoking a fat cigar. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you where to find George Lattaker!” he shouted. +</p> + +<p> +He glared at George, who was staring at him. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, look at me,” he yelled. “Look at me. You won’t be +the first this afternoon who’s stared at the mysterious stranger who won +for two hours without a break. I’ll be even with you now, Mr. Blooming +Lattaker. I’ll learn you to break a poor man’s heart. Mr. Marshall +and gents, this morning I was on deck, and I over’eard ’im plotting +to put up a game on you. They’d spotted that gent there as a detective, +and they arranged that blooming Lattaker was to pass himself off as his own +twin-brother. And if you wanted proof, blooming Pepper tells him to show them +his mole and he’d swear George hadn’t one. Those were his very +words. That man there is George Lattaker, Hesquire, and let him deny it if he +can.” +</p> + +<p> +George got up. +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t the least desire to deny it, Voules.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Voules, if <i>you</i> please.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s true,” said George, turning to the Count. “The +fact is, I had rather a foggy recollection of what happened last night. I only +remembered knocking some one down, and, like you, I jumped to the conclusion +that I must have assaulted His Serene Highness.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you are really George Lattaker?” asked the Count. +</p> + +<p> +“I am.” +</p> + +<p> +“’Ere, what does all this mean?” demanded Voules. +</p> + +<p> +“Merely that I saved the life of His Serene Highness the Prince of +Saxburg-Leignitz, Mr. Voules.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a swindle!” began Voules, when there was a sudden rush +and the girl Pilbeam cannoned into the crowd, sending me into old +Marshall’s chair, and flung herself into the arms of Voules. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Harold!” she cried. “I thought you were dead. I thought +you’d shot yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +He sort of braced himself together to fling her off, and then he seemed to +think better of it and fell into the clinch. +</p> + +<p> +It was all dashed romantic, don’t you know, but there <i>are</i> limits. +</p> + +<p> +“Voules, you’re sacked,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Who cares?” he said. “Think I was going to stop on now +I’m a gentleman of property? Come along, Emma, my dear. Give a +month’s notice and get your ’at, and I’ll take you to dinner +at Ciro’s.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you, Mr. Lattaker,” said the Count, “may I conduct you +to the presence of my high-born master? He wishes to show his gratitude to his +preserver.” +</p> + +<p> +“You may,” said George. “May I have my hat, Mr. +Sturgis?” +</p> + +<p> +There’s just one bit more. After dinner that night I came up for a smoke, +and, strolling on to the foredeck, almost bumped into George and Stella. They +seemed to be having an argument. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not sure,” she was saying, “that I believe that a +man can be so happy that he wants to kiss the nearest thing in sight, as you +put it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you?” said George. “Well, as it happens, +I’m feeling just that way now.” +</p> + +<p> +I coughed and he turned round. +</p> + +<p> +“Halloa, Reggie!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Halloa, George!” I said. “Lovely night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Beautiful,” said Stella. +</p> + +<p> +“The moon,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Ripping,” said George. +</p> + +<p> +“Lovely,” said Stella. +</p> + +<p> +“And look at the reflection of the stars on the——” +</p> + +<p> +George caught my eye. “Pop off,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +I popped. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>DOING CLARENCE A BIT OF GOOD</h2> + +<p> +Have you ever thought about—and, when I say thought about, I mean really +carefully considered the question of—the coolness, the cheek, or, if you +prefer it, the gall with which Woman, as a sex, fairly bursts? <i>I</i> have, +by Jove! But then I’ve had it thrust on my notice, by George, in a way I +should imagine has happened to pretty few fellows. And the limit was reached by +that business of the Yeardsley “Venus.” +</p> + +<p> +To make you understand the full what-d’you-call-it of the situation, I +shall have to explain just how matters stood between Mrs. Yeardsley and myself. +</p> + +<p> +When I first knew her she was Elizabeth Shoolbred. Old Worcestershire family; +pots of money; pretty as a picture. Her brother Bill was at Oxford with me. +</p> + +<p> +I loved Elizabeth Shoolbred. I loved her, don’t you know. And there was a +time, for about a week, when we were engaged to be married. But just as I was +beginning to take a serious view of life and study furniture catalogues and +feel pretty solemn when the restaurant orchestra played “The Wedding +Glide,” I’m hanged if she didn’t break it off, and a month +later she was married to a fellow of the name of Yeardsley—Clarence +Yeardsley, an artist. +</p> + +<p> +What with golf, and billiards, and a bit of racing, and fellows at the club +rallying round and kind of taking me out of myself, as it were, I got over it, +and came to look on the affair as a closed page in the book of my life, if you +know what I mean. It didn’t seem likely to me that we should meet again, +as she and Clarence had settled down in the country somewhere and never came to +London, and I’m bound to own that, by the time I got her letter, the +wound had pretty well healed, and I was to a certain extent sitting up and +taking nourishment. In fact, to be absolutely honest, I was jolly thankful the +thing had ended as it had done. +</p> + +<p> +This letter I’m telling you about arrived one morning out of a blue sky, +as it were. It ran like this: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“MY DEAR OLD REGGIE,—What ages it seems since I saw anything of +you. How are you? We have settled down here in the most perfect old house, with +a lovely garden, in the middle of delightful country. Couldn’t you run +down here for a few days? Clarence and I would be so glad to see you. Bill is +here, and is most anxious to meet you again. He was speaking of you only this +morning. <i>Do</i> come. Wire your train, and I will send the car to meet you. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +—Yours most sincerely,<br> +E<small>LIZABETH</small> Y<small>EARDSLEY.</small> +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“P.S.—We can give you new milk and fresh eggs. Think of that! +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“P.P.S.—Bill says our billiard-table is one of the best he has ever +played on. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“P.P.S.S.—We are only half a mile from a golf course. Bill says it +is better than St. Andrews. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“P.P.S.S.S.—You <i>must</i> come!” +</p> + +<p> +Well, a fellow comes down to breakfast one morning, with a bit of a head on, +and finds a letter like that from a girl who might quite easily have blighted +his life! It rattled me rather, I must confess. +</p> + +<p> +However, that bit about the golf settled me. I knew Bill knew what he was +talking about, and, if he said the course was so topping, it must be something +special. So I went. +</p> + +<p> +Old Bill met me at the station with the car. I hadn’t come across him for +some months, and I was glad to see him again. And he apparently was glad to see +me. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank goodness you’ve come,” he said, as we drove off. +“I was just about at my last grip.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the trouble, old scout?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“If I had the artistic what’s-its-name,” he went on, +“if the mere mention of pictures didn’t give me the pip, I dare say +it wouldn’t be so bad. As it is, it’s rotten!” +</p> + +<p> +“Pictures?” +</p> + +<p> +“Pictures. Nothing else is mentioned in this household. Clarence is an +artist. So is his father. And you know yourself what Elizabeth is like when one +gives her her head?” +</p> + +<p> +I remembered then—it hadn’t come back to me before—that most +of my time with Elizabeth had been spent in picture-galleries. During the +period when I had let her do just what she wanted to do with me, I had had to +follow her like a dog through gallery after gallery, though pictures are poison +to me, just as they are to old Bill. Somehow it had never struck me that she +would still be going on in this way after marrying an artist. I should have +thought that by this time the mere sight of a picture would have fed her up. +Not so, however, according to old Bill. +</p> + +<p> +“They talk pictures at every meal,” he said. “I tell you, it +makes a chap feel out of it. How long are you down for?” +</p> + +<p> +“A few days.” +</p> + +<p> +“Take my tip, and let me send you a wire from London. I go there +to-morrow. I promised to play against the Scottish. The idea was that I was to +come back after the match. But you couldn’t get me back with a +lasso.” +</p> + +<p> +I tried to point out the silver lining. +</p> + +<p> +“But, Bill, old scout, your sister says there’s a most corking +links near here.” +</p> + +<p> +He turned and stared at me, and nearly ran us into the bank. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t mean honestly she said that?” +</p> + +<p> +“She said you said it was better than St. Andrews.” +</p> + +<p> +“So I did. Was that all she said I said?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, wasn’t it enough?” +</p> + +<p> +“She didn’t happen to mention that I added the words, ‘I +don’t think’?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, she forgot to tell me that.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the worst course in Great Britain.” +</p> + +<p> +I felt rather stunned, don’t you know. Whether it’s a bad habit to +have got into or not, I can’t say, but I simply can’t do without my +daily allowance of golf when I’m not in London. +</p> + +<p> +I took another whirl at the silver lining. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll have to take it out in billiards,” I said. +“I’m glad the table’s good.” +</p> + +<p> +“It depends what you call good. It’s half-size, and there’s a +seven-inch cut just out of baulk where Clarence’s cue slipped. Elizabeth +has mended it with pink silk. Very smart and dressy it looks, but it +doesn’t improve the thing as a billiard-table.” +</p> + +<p> +“But she said you said——” +</p> + +<p> +“Must have been pulling your leg.” +</p> + +<p> +We turned in at the drive gates of a good-sized house standing well back from +the road. It looked black and sinister in the dusk, and I couldn’t help +feeling, you know, like one of those Johnnies you read about in stories who are +lured to lonely houses for rummy purposes and hear a shriek just as they get +there. Elizabeth knew me well enough to know that a specially good golf course +was a safe draw to me. And she had deliberately played on her knowledge. What +was the game? That was what I wanted to know. And then a sudden thought struck +me which brought me out in a cold perspiration. She had some girl down here and +was going to have a stab at marrying me off. I’ve often heard that young +married women are all over that sort of thing. Certainly she had said there was +nobody at the house but Clarence and herself and Bill and Clarence’s +father, but a woman who could take the name of St. Andrews in vain as she had +done wouldn’t be likely to stick at a trifle. +</p> + +<p> +“Bill, old scout,” I said, “there aren’t any frightful +girls or any rot of that sort stopping here, are there?” +</p> + +<p> +“Wish there were,” he said. “No such luck.” +</p> + +<p> +As we pulled up at the front door, it opened, and a woman’s figure +appeared. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you got him, Bill?” she said, which in my present frame of +mind struck me as a jolly creepy way of putting it. The sort of thing Lady +Macbeth might have said to Macbeth, don’t you know. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean me?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +She came down into the light. It was Elizabeth, looking just the same as in the +old days. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that you, Reggie? I’m so glad you were able to come. I was +afraid you might have forgotten all about it. You know what you are. Come along +in and have some tea.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Have you ever been turned down by a girl who afterwards married and then been +introduced to her husband? If so you’ll understand how I felt when +Clarence burst on me. You know the feeling. First of all, when you hear about +the marriage, you say to yourself, “I wonder what he’s like.” +Then you meet him, and think, “There must be some mistake. She +can’t have preferred <i>this</i> to me!” That’s what I +thought, when I set eyes on Clarence. +</p> + +<p> +He was a little thin, nervous-looking chappie of about thirty-five. His hair +was getting grey at the temples and straggly on top. He wore pince-nez, and he +had a drooping moustache. I’m no Bombardier Wells myself, but in front of +Clarence I felt quite a nut. And Elizabeth, mind you, is one of those tall, +splendid girls who look like princesses. Honestly, I believe women do it out of +pure cussedness. +</p> + +<p> +“How do you do, Mr. Pepper? Hark! Can you hear a mewing cat?” said +Clarence. All in one breath, don’t you know. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“A mewing cat. I feel sure I hear a mewing cat. Listen!” +</p> + +<p> +While we were listening the door opened, and a white-haired old gentleman came +in. He was built on the same lines as Clarence, but was an earlier model. I +took him, correctly, to be Mr. Yeardsley, senior. Elizabeth introduced us. +</p> + +<p> +“Father,” said Clarence, “did you meet a mewing cat outside? +I feel positive I heard a cat mewing.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said the father, shaking his head; “no mewing +cat.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t bear mewing cats,” said Clarence. “A mewing +cat gets on my nerves!” +</p> + +<p> +“A mewing cat is so trying,” said Elizabeth. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>I</i> dislike mewing cats,” said old Mr. Yeardsley. +</p> + +<p> +That was all about mewing cats for the moment. They seemed to think they had +covered the ground satisfactorily, and they went back to pictures. +</p> + +<p> +We talked pictures steadily till it was time to dress for dinner. At least, +they did. I just sort of sat around. Presently the subject of picture-robberies +came up. Somebody mentioned the “Monna Lisa,” and then I happened +to remember seeing something in the evening paper, as I was coming down in the +train, about some fellow somewhere having had a valuable painting pinched by +burglars the night before. It was the first time I had had a chance of breaking +into the conversation with any effect, and I meant to make the most of it. The +paper was in the pocket of my overcoat in the hall. I went and fetched it. +</p> + +<p> +“Here it is,” I said. “A Romney belonging to Sir Bellamy +Palmer——” +</p> + +<p> +They all shouted “What!” exactly at the same time, like a chorus. +Elizabeth grabbed the paper. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me look! Yes. ‘Late last night burglars entered the residence +of Sir Bellamy Palmer, Dryden Park, Midford, Hants——’” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, that’s near here,” I said. “I passed through +Midford——” +</p> + +<p> +“Dryden Park is only two miles from this house,” said Elizabeth. I +noticed her eyes were sparkling. +</p> + +<p> +“Only two miles!” she said. “It might have been us! It might +have been the ‘Venus’!” +</p> + +<p> +Old Mr. Yeardsley bounded in his chair. +</p> + +<p> +“The ‘Venus’!” he cried. +</p> + +<p> +They all seemed wonderfully excited. My little contribution to the +evening’s chat had made quite a hit. +</p> + +<p> +Why I didn’t notice it before I don’t know, but it was not till +Elizabeth showed it to me after dinner that I had my first look at the +Yeardsley “Venus.” When she led me up to it, and switched on the +light, it seemed impossible that I could have sat right through dinner without +noticing it. But then, at meals, my attention is pretty well riveted on the +foodstuffs. Anyway, it was not till Elizabeth showed it to me that I was aware +of its existence. +</p> + +<p> +She and I were alone in the drawing-room after dinner. Old Yeardsley was +writing letters in the morning-room, while Bill and Clarence were rollicking on +the half-size billiard table with the pink silk tapestry effects. All, in fact, +was joy, jollity, and song, so to speak, when Elizabeth, who had been sitting +wrapped in thought for a bit, bent towards me and said, “Reggie.” +</p> + +<p> +And the moment she said it I knew something was going to happen. You know that +pre-what-d’you-call-it you get sometimes? Well, I got it then. +</p> + +<p> +“What-o?” I said nervously. +</p> + +<p> +“Reggie,” she said, “I want to ask a great favour of +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” +</p> + +<p> +She stooped down and put a log on the fire, and went on, with her back to me: +</p> + +<p> +“Do you remember, Reggie, once saying you would do anything in the world +for me?” +</p> + +<p> +There! That’s what I meant when I said that about the cheek of Woman as a +sex. What I mean is, after what had happened, you’d have thought she +would have preferred to let the dead past bury its dead, and all that sort of +thing, what? +</p> + +<p> +Mind you, I <i>had</i> said I would do anything in the world for her. I admit +that. But it was a distinctly pre-Clarence remark. He hadn’t appeared on +the scene then, and it stands to reason that a fellow who may have been a +perfect knight-errant to a girl when he was engaged to her, doesn’t feel +nearly so keen on spreading himself in that direction when she has given him +the miss-in-baulk, and gone and married a man who reason and instinct both tell +him is a decided blighter. +</p> + +<p> +I couldn’t think of anything to say but “Oh, yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s something you can do for me now, which will make me +everlastingly grateful.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know, Reggie,” she said suddenly, “that only a few +months ago Clarence was very fond of cats?” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh! Well, he still seems—er—<i>interested</i> in them, +what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Now they get on his nerves. Everything gets on his nerves.” +</p> + +<p> +“Some fellows swear by that stuff you see advertised all over +the——” +</p> + +<p> +“No, that wouldn’t help him. He doesn’t need to take +anything. He wants to get rid of something.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t quite follow. Get rid of something?” +</p> + +<p> +“The ‘Venus,’” said Elizabeth. +</p> + +<p> +She looked up and caught my bulging eye. +</p> + +<p> +“You saw the ‘Venus,’” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Not that I remember.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, come into the dining-room.” +</p> + +<p> +We went into the dining-room, and she switched on the lights. +</p> + +<p> +“There,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +On the wall close to the door—that may have been why I hadn’t +noticed it before; I had sat with my back to it—was a large oil-painting. +It was what you’d call a classical picture, I suppose. What I mean +is—well, you know what I mean. All I can say is that it’s funny I +<i>hadn’t</i> noticed it. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that the ‘Venus’?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +She nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“How would you like to have to look at that every time you sat down to a +meal?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I don’t know. I don’t think it would affect me much. +I’d worry through all right.” +</p> + +<p> +She jerked her head impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +“But you’re not an artist,” she said. “Clarence +is.” +</p> + +<p> +And then I began to see daylight. What exactly was the trouble I didn’t +understand, but it was evidently something to do with the good old Artistic +Temperament, and I could believe anything about that. It explains everything. +It’s like the Unwritten Law, don’t you know, which you plead in +America if you’ve done anything they want to send you to chokey for and +you don’t want to go. What I mean is, if you’re absolutely off your +rocker, but don’t find it convenient to be scooped into the luny-bin, you +simply explain that, when you said you were a teapot, it was just your Artistic +Temperament, and they apologize and go away. So I stood by to hear just how the +A.T. had affected Clarence, the Cat’s Friend, ready for anything. +</p> + +<p> +And, believe me, it had hit Clarence badly. +</p> + +<p> +It was this way. It seemed that old Yeardsley was an amateur artist and that +this “Venus” was his masterpiece. He said so, and he ought to have +known. Well, when Clarence married, he had given it to him, as a wedding +present, and had hung it where it stood with his own hands. All right so far, +what? But mark the sequel. Temperamental Clarence, being a professional artist +and consequently some streets ahead of the dad at the game, saw flaws in the +“Venus.” He couldn’t stand it at any price. He didn’t +like the drawing. He didn’t like the expression of the face. He +didn’t like the colouring. In fact, it made him feel quite ill to look at +it. Yet, being devoted to his father and wanting to do anything rather than +give him pain, he had not been able to bring himself to store the thing in the +cellar, and the strain of confronting the picture three times a day had begun +to tell on him to such an extent that Elizabeth felt something had to be done. +</p> + +<p> +“Now you see,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“In a way,” I said. “But don’t you think it’s +making rather heavy weather over a trifle?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, can’t you understand? Look!” Her voice dropped as if she +was in church, and she switched on another light. It shone on the picture next +to old Yeardsley’s. “There!” she said. “Clarence +painted that!” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at me expectantly, as if she were waiting for me to swoon, or yell, +or something. I took a steady look at Clarence’s effort. It was another +Classical picture. It seemed to me very much like the other one. +</p> + +<p> +Some sort of art criticism was evidently expected of me, so I made a dash at +it. +</p> + +<p> +“Er—‘Venus’?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +Mark you, Sherlock Holmes would have made the same mistake. On the evidence, I +mean. +</p> + +<p> +“No. ‘Jocund Spring,’” she snapped. She switched off +the light. “I see you don’t understand even now. You never had any +taste about pictures. When we used to go to the galleries together, you would +far rather have been at your club.” +</p> + +<p> +This was so absolutely true, that I had no remark to make. She came up to me, +and put her hand on my arm. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry, Reggie. I didn’t mean to be cross. Only I do want +to make you understand that Clarence is <i>suffering</i>. +Suppose—suppose—well, let us take the case of a great musician. +Suppose a great musician had to sit and listen to a cheap vulgar tune—the +same tune—day after day, day after day, wouldn’t you expect his +nerves to break! Well, it’s just like that with Clarence. Now you +see?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but——” +</p> + +<p> +“But what? Surely I’ve put it plainly enough?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. But what I mean is, where do I come in? What do you want me to +do?” +</p> + +<p> +“I want you to steal the ‘Venus.’” +</p> + +<p> +I looked at her. +</p> + +<p> +“You want me to——?” +</p> + +<p> +“Steal it. Reggie!” Her eyes were shining with excitement. +“Don’t you see? It’s Providence. When I asked you to come +here, I had just got the idea. I knew I could rely on you. And then by a +miracle this robbery of the Romney takes place at a house not two miles away. +It removes the last chance of the poor old man suspecting anything and having +his feelings hurt. Why, it’s the most wonderful compliment to him. Think! +One night thieves steal a splendid Romney; the next the same gang take his +‘Venus.’ It will be the proudest moment of his life. Do it +to-night, Reggie. I’ll give you a sharp knife. You simply cut the canvas +out of the frame, and it’s done.” +</p> + +<p> +“But one moment,” I said. “I’d be delighted to be of +any use to you, but in a purely family affair like this, wouldn’t it be +better—in fact, how about tackling old Bill on the subject?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have asked Bill already. Yesterday. He refused.” +</p> + +<p> +“But if I’m caught?” +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t be. All you have to do is to take the picture, open one +of the windows, leave it open, and go back to your room.” +</p> + +<p> +It sounded simple enough. +</p> + +<p> +“And as to the picture itself—when I’ve got it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Burn it. I’ll see that you have a good fire in your room.” +</p> + +<p> +“But——” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at me. She always did have the most wonderful eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Reggie,” she said; nothing more. Just “Reggie.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at me. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, after all, if you see what I mean—The days that are no more, +don’t you know. Auld Lang Syne, and all that sort of thing. You follow +me?” +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” I said. “I’ll do it.” +</p> + +<p> +I don’t know if you happen to be one of those Johnnies who are steeped in +crime, and so forth, and think nothing of pinching diamond necklaces. If +you’re not, you’ll understand that I felt a lot less keen on the +job I’d taken on when I sat in my room, waiting to get busy, than I had +done when I promised to tackle it in the dining-room. On paper it all seemed +easy enough, but I couldn’t help feeling there was a catch somewhere, and +I’ve never known time pass slower. The kick-off was scheduled for one +o’clock in the morning, when the household might be expected to be pretty +sound asleep, but at a quarter to I couldn’t stand it any longer. I lit +the lantern I had taken from Bill’s bicycle, took a grip of my knife, and +slunk downstairs. +</p> + +<p> +The first thing I did on getting to the dining-room was to open the window. I +had half a mind to smash it, so as to give an extra bit of local colour to the +affair, but decided not to on account of the noise. I had put my lantern on the +table, and was just reaching out for it, when something happened. What it was +for the moment I couldn’t have said. It might have been an explosion of +some sort or an earthquake. Some solid object caught me a frightful whack on +the chin. Sparks and things occurred inside my head and the next thing I +remember is feeling something wet and cold splash into my face, and hearing a +voice that sounded like old Bill’s say, “Feeling better now?” +</p> + +<p> +I sat up. The lights were on, and I was on the floor, with old Bill kneeling +beside me with a soda siphon. +</p> + +<p> +“What happened?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m awfully sorry, old man,” he said. “I hadn’t +a notion it was you. I came in here, and saw a lantern on the table, and the +window open and a chap with a knife in his hand, so I didn’t stop to make +inquiries. I just let go at his jaw for all I was worth. What on earth do you +think you’re doing? Were you walking in your sleep?” +</p> + +<p> +“It was Elizabeth,” I said. “Why, you know all about it. She +said she had told you.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t mean——” +</p> + +<p> +“The picture. You refused to take it on, so she asked me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Reggie, old man,” he said. “I’ll never believe what +they say about repentance again. It’s a fool’s trick and upsets +everything. If I hadn’t repented, and thought it was rather rough on +Elizabeth not to do a little thing like that for her, and come down here to do +it after all, you wouldn’t have stopped that sleep-producer with your +chin. I’m sorry.” +</p> + +<p> +“Me, too,” I said, giving my head another shake to make certain it +was still on. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you feeling better now?” +</p> + +<p> +“Better than I was. But that’s not saying much.” +</p> + +<p> +“Would you like some more soda-water? No? Well, how about getting this +job finished and going to bed? And let’s be quick about it too. You made +a noise like a ton of bricks when you went down just now, and it’s on the +cards some of the servants may have heard. Toss you who carves.” +</p> + +<p> +“Heads.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tails it is,” he said, uncovering the coin. “Up you get. +I’ll hold the light. Don’t spike yourself on that sword of +yours.” +</p> + +<p> +It was as easy a job as Elizabeth had said. Just four quick cuts, and the thing +came out of its frame like an oyster. I rolled it up. Old Bill had put the +lantern on the floor and was at the sideboard, collecting whisky, soda, and +glasses. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ve got a long evening before us,” he said. “You +can’t burn a picture of that size in one chunk. You’d set the +chimney on fire. Let’s do the thing comfortably. Clarence can’t +grudge us the stuff. We’ve done him a bit of good this trip. +To-morrow’ll be the maddest, merriest day of Clarence’s glad New +Year. On we go.” +</p> + +<p> +We went up to my room, and sat smoking and yarning away and sipping our drinks, +and every now and then cutting a slice off the picture and shoving it in the +fire till it was all gone. And what with the cosiness of it and the cheerful +blaze, and the comfortable feeling of doing good by stealth, I don’t know +when I’ve had a jollier time since the days when we used to brew in my +study at school. +</p> + +<p> +We had just put the last slice on when Bill sat up suddenly, and gripped my +arm. +</p> + +<p> +“I heard something,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +I listened, and, by Jove, I heard something, too. My room was just over the +dining-room, and the sound came up to us quite distinctly. Stealthy footsteps, +by George! And then a chair falling over. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s somebody in the dining-room,” I whispered. +</p> + +<p> +There’s a certain type of chap who takes a pleasure in positively +chivvying trouble. Old Bill’s like that. If I had been alone, it would +have taken me about three seconds to persuade myself that I hadn’t really +heard anything after all. I’m a peaceful sort of cove, and believe in +living and letting live, and so forth. To old Bill, however, a visit from +burglars was pure jam. He was out of his chair in one jump. +</p> + +<p> +“Come on,” he said. “Bring the poker.” +</p> + +<p> +I brought the tongs as well. I felt like it. Old Bill collared the knife. We +crept downstairs. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll fling the door open and make a rush,” said Bill. +</p> + +<p> +“Supposing they shoot, old scout?” +</p> + +<p> +“Burglars never shoot,” said Bill. +</p> + +<p> +Which was comforting provided the burglars knew it. +</p> + +<p> +Old Bill took a grip of the handle, turned it quickly, and in he went. And then +we pulled up sharp, staring. +</p> + +<p> +The room was in darkness except for a feeble splash of light at the near end. +Standing on a chair in front of Clarence’s “Jocund Spring,” +holding a candle in one hand and reaching up with a knife in the other, was old +Mr. Yeardsley, in bedroom slippers and a grey dressing-gown. He had made a +final cut just as we rushed in. Turning at the sound, he stopped, and he and +the chair and the candle and the picture came down in a heap together. The +candle went out. +</p> + +<p> +“What on earth?” said Bill. +</p> + +<p> +I felt the same. I picked up the candle and lit it, and then a most fearful +thing happened. The old man picked himself up, and suddenly collapsed into a +chair and began to cry like a child. Of course, I could see it was only the +Artistic Temperament, but still, believe me, it was devilish unpleasant. I +looked at old Bill. Old Bill looked at me. We shut the door quick, and after +that we didn’t know what to do. I saw Bill look at the sideboard, and I +knew what he was looking for. But we had taken the siphon upstairs, and his +ideas of first-aid stopped short at squirting soda-water. We just waited, and +presently old Yeardsley switched off, sat up, and began talking with a rush. +</p> + +<p> +“Clarence, my boy, I was tempted. It was that burglary at Dryden Park. It +tempted me. It made it all so simple. I knew you would put it down to the same +gang, Clarence, my boy. I——” +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to dawn upon him at this point that Clarence was not among those +present. +</p> + +<p> +“Clarence?” he said hesitatingly. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s in bed,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“In bed! Then he doesn’t know? Even now—Young men, I throw +myself on your mercy. Don’t be hard on me. Listen.” He grabbed at +Bill, who sidestepped. “I can explain everything—everything.” +</p> + +<p> +He gave a gulp. +</p> + +<p> +“You are not artists, you two young men, but I will try to make you +understand, make you realise what this picture means to me. I was two years +painting it. It is my child. I watched it grow. I loved it. It was part of my +life. Nothing would have induced me to sell it. And then Clarence married, and +in a mad moment I gave my treasure to him. You cannot understand, you two young +men, what agonies I suffered. The thing was done. It was irrevocable. I saw how +Clarence valued the picture. I knew that I could never bring myself to ask him +for it back. And yet I was lost without it. What could I do? Till this evening +I could see no hope. Then came this story of the theft of the Romney from a +house quite close to this, and I saw my way. Clarence would never suspect. He +would put the robbery down to the same band of criminals who stole the Romney. +Once the idea had come, I could not drive it out. I fought against it, but to +no avail. At last I yielded, and crept down here to carry out my plan. You +found me.” He grabbed again, at me this time, and got me by the arm. He +had a grip like a lobster. “Young man,” he said, “you would +not betray me? You would not tell Clarence?” +</p> + +<p> +I was feeling most frightfully sorry for the poor old chap by this time, +don’t you know, but I thought it would be kindest to give it him straight +instead of breaking it by degrees. +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t say a word to Clarence, Mr. Yeardsley,” I said. +“I quite understand your feelings. The Artistic Temperament, and all that +sort of thing. I mean—what? <i>I</i> know. But I’m +afraid—Well, look!” +</p> + +<p> +I went to the door and switched on the electric light, and there, staring him +in the face, were the two empty frames. He stood goggling at them in silence. +Then he gave a sort of wheezy grunt. +</p> + +<p> +“The gang! The burglars! They <i>have</i> been here, and they have taken +Clarence’s picture!” He paused. “It might have been mine! My +Venus!” he whispered It was getting most fearfully painful, you know, but +he had to know the truth. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m awfully sorry, you know,” I said. “But it +<i>was</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +He started, poor old chap. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh? What do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“They <i>did</i> take your Venus.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I have it here.” +</p> + +<p> +I shook my head. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s Clarence’s ‘Jocund Spring,’” I +said. +</p> + +<p> +He jumped at it and straightened it out. +</p> + +<p> +“What! What are you talking about? Do you think I don’t know my own +picture—my child—my Venus. See! My own signature in the corner. Can +you read, boy? Look: ‘Matthew Yeardsley.’ This is <i>my</i> +picture!” +</p> + +<p> +And—well, by Jove, it <i>was</i>, don’t you know! +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Well, we got him off to bed, him and his infernal Venus, and we settled down to +take a steady look at the position of affairs. Bill said it was my fault for +getting hold of the wrong picture, and I said it was Bill’s fault for +fetching me such a crack on the jaw that I couldn’t be expected to see +what I was getting hold of, and then there was a pretty massive silence for a +bit. +</p> + +<p> +“Reggie,” said Bill at last, “how exactly do you feel about +facing Clarence and Elizabeth at breakfast?” +</p> + +<p> +“Old scout,” I said. “I was thinking much the same +myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Reggie,” said Bill, “I happen to know there’s a +milk-train leaving Midford at three-fifteen. It isn’t what you’d +call a flier. It gets to London at about half-past nine. Well—er—in +the circumstances, how about it?” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a>THE AUNT AND THE SLUGGARD</h2> + +<p> +Now that it’s all over, I may as well admit that there was a time during +the rather funny affair of Rockmetteller Todd when I thought that Jeeves was +going to let me down. The man had the appearance of being baffled. +</p> + +<p> +Jeeves is my man, you know. Officially he pulls in his weekly wages for +pressing my clothes and all that sort of thing; but actually he’s more +like what the poet Johnnie called some bird of his acquaintance who was apt to +rally round him in times of need—a guide, don’t you know; +philosopher, if I remember rightly, and—I rather fancy—friend. I +rely on him at every turn. +</p> + +<p> +So naturally, when Rocky Todd told me about his aunt, I didn’t hesitate. +Jeeves was in on the thing from the start. +</p> + +<p> +The affair of Rocky Todd broke loose early one morning of spring. I was in bed, +restoring the good old tissues with about nine hours of the dreamless, when the +door flew open and somebody prodded me in the lower ribs and began to shake the +bedclothes. After blinking a bit and generally pulling myself together, I +located Rocky, and my first impression was that it was some horrid dream. +</p> + +<p> +Rocky, you see, lived down on Long Island somewhere, miles away from New York; +and not only that, but he had told me himself more than once that he never got +up before twelve, and seldom earlier than one. Constitutionally the laziest +young devil in America, he had hit on a walk in life which enabled him to go +the limit in that direction. He was a poet. At least, he wrote poems when he +did anything; but most of his time, as far as I could make out, he spent in a +sort of trance. He told me once that he could sit on a fence, watching a worm +and wondering what on earth it was up to, for hours at a stretch. +</p> + +<p> +He had his scheme of life worked out to a fine point. About once a month he +would take three days writing a few poems; the other three hundred and +twenty-nine days of the year he rested. I didn’t know there was enough +money in poetry to support a chappie, even in the way in which Rocky lived; but +it seems that, if you stick to exhortations to young men to lead the strenuous +life and don’t shove in any rhymes, American editors fight for the stuff. +Rocky showed me one of his things once. It began: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Be!<br> +Be!<br> + The past is dead.<br> + To-morrow is not born.<br> + Be to-day!<br> +To-day!<br> + Be with every nerve,<br> + With every muscle,<br> + With every drop of your red blood!<br> +Be! +</p> + +<p> +It was printed opposite the frontispiece of a magazine with a sort of scroll +round it, and a picture in the middle of a fairly-nude chappie, with bulging +muscles, giving the rising sun the glad eye. Rocky said they gave him a hundred +dollars for it, and he stayed in bed till four in the afternoon for over a +month. +</p> + +<p> +As regarded the future he was pretty solid, owing to the fact that he had a +moneyed aunt tucked away somewhere in Illinois; and, as he had been named +Rockmetteller after her, and was her only nephew, his position was pretty +sound. He told me that when he did come into the money he meant to do no work +at all, except perhaps an occasional poem recommending the young man with life +opening out before him, with all its splendid possibilities, to light a pipe +and shove his feet upon the mantelpiece. +</p> + +<p> +And this was the man who was prodding me in the ribs in the grey dawn! +</p> + +<p> +“Read this, Bertie!” I could just see that he was waving a letter +or something equally foul in my face. “Wake up and read this!” +</p> + +<p> +I can’t read before I’ve had my morning tea and a cigarette. I +groped for the bell. +</p> + +<p> +Jeeves came in looking as fresh as a dewy violet. It’s a mystery to me +how he does it. +</p> + +<p> +“Tea, Jeeves.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +He flowed silently out of the room—he always gives you the impression of +being some liquid substance when he moves; and I found that Rocky was surging +round with his beastly letter again. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” I said. “What on earth’s the +matter?” +</p> + +<p> +“Read it!” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t. I haven’t had my tea.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, listen then.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who’s it from?” +</p> + +<p> +“My aunt.” +</p> + +<p> +At this point I fell asleep again. I woke to hear him saying: +</p> + +<p> +“So what on earth am I to do?” +</p> + +<p> +Jeeves trickled in with the tray, like some silent stream meandering over its +mossy bed; and I saw daylight. +</p> + +<p> +“Read it again, Rocky, old top,” I said. “I want Jeeves to +hear it. Mr. Todd’s aunt has written him a rather rummy letter, Jeeves, +and we want your advice.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +He stood in the middle of the room, registering devotion to the cause, and +Rocky started again: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“M<small>Y DEAR</small> R<small>OCKMETTELLER</small>.—I have been +thinking things over for a long while, and I have come to the conclusion that I +have been very thoughtless to wait so long before doing what I have made up my +mind to do now.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you make of that, Jeeves?” +</p> + +<p> +“It seems a little obscure at present, sir, but no doubt it becomes +cleared at a later point in the communication.” +</p> + +<p> +“It becomes as clear as mud!” said Rocky. +</p> + +<p> +“Proceed, old scout,” I said, champing my bread and butter. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“You know how all my life I have longed to visit New York and see for +myself the wonderful gay life of which I have read so much. I fear that now it +will be impossible for me to fulfil my dream. I am old and worn out. I seem to +have no strength left in me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sad, Jeeves, what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Extremely, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sad nothing!” said Rocky. “It’s sheer laziness. I went +to see her last Christmas and she was bursting with health. Her doctor told me +himself that there was nothing wrong with her whatever. But she will insist +that she’s a hopeless invalid, so he has to agree with her. She’s +got a fixed idea that the trip to New York would kill her; so, though +it’s been her ambition all her life to come here, she stays where she +is.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rather like the chappie whose heart was ‘in the Highlands +a-chasing of the deer,’ Jeeves?” +</p> + +<p> +“The cases are in some respects parallel, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Carry on, Rocky, dear boy.” +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“So I have decided that, if I cannot enjoy all the marvels of the city +myself, I can at least enjoy them through you. I suddenly thought of this +yesterday after reading a beautiful poem in the Sunday paper about a young man +who had longed all his life for a certain thing and won it in the end only when +he was too old to enjoy it. It was very sad, and it touched me.” +</p> + +<p> +“A thing,” interpolated Rocky bitterly, “that I’ve not +been able to do in ten years.” +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“As you know, you will have my money when I am gone; but until now I have +never been able to see my way to giving you an allowance. I have now decided to +do so—on one condition. I have written to a firm of lawyers in New York, +giving them instructions to pay you quite a substantial sum each month. My one +condition is that you live in New York and enjoy yourself as I have always +wished to do. I want you to be my representative, to spend this money for me as +I should do myself. I want you to plunge into the gay, prismatic life of New +York. I want you to be the life and soul of brilliant supper parties.<br> + “Above all, I want you—indeed, I insist on this—to write +me letters at least once a week giving me a full description of all you are +doing and all that is going on in the city, so that I may enjoy at second-hand +what my wretched health prevents my enjoying for myself. Remember that I shall +expect full details, and that no detail is too trivial to interest.—Your +affectionate Aunt, +</p> + +<p class="right"> +“I<small>SABEL</small> R<small>OCKMETTELLER</small>.” +</p> + +<p> +“What about it?” said Rocky. +</p> + +<p> +“What about it?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. What on earth am I going to do?” +</p> + +<p> +It was only then that I really got on to the extremely rummy attitude of the +chappie, in view of the fact that a quite unexpected mess of the right stuff +had suddenly descended on him from a blue sky. To my mind it was an occasion +for the beaming smile and the joyous whoop; yet here the man was, looking and +talking as if Fate had swung on his solar plexus. It amazed me. +</p> + +<p> +“Aren’t you bucked?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Bucked!” +</p> + +<p> +“If I were in your place I should be frightfully braced. I consider this +pretty soft for you.” +</p> + +<p> +He gave a kind of yelp, stared at me for a moment, and then began to talk of +New York in a way that reminded me of Jimmy Mundy, the reformer chappie. Jimmy +had just come to New York on a hit-the-trail campaign, and I had popped in at +the Garden a couple of days before, for half an hour or so, to hear him. He had +certainly told New York some pretty straight things about itself, having +apparently taken a dislike to the place, but, by Jove, you know, dear old Rocky +made him look like a publicity agent for the old metrop! +</p> + +<p> +“Pretty soft!” he cried. “To have to come and live in New +York! To have to leave my little cottage and take a stuffy, smelly, over-heated +hole of an apartment in this Heaven-forsaken, festering Gehenna. To have to mix +night after night with a mob who think that life is a sort of St. Vitus’s +dance, and imagine that they’re having a good time because they’re +making enough noise for six and drinking too much for ten. I loathe New York, +Bertie. I wouldn’t come near the place if I hadn’t got to see +editors occasionally. There’s a blight on it. It’s got moral +delirium tremens. It’s the limit. The very thought of staying more than a +day in it makes me sick. And you call this thing pretty soft for me!” +</p> + +<p> +I felt rather like Lot’s friends must have done when they dropped in for +a quiet chat and their genial host began to criticise the Cities of the Plain. +I had no idea old Rocky could be so eloquent. +</p> + +<p> +“It would kill me to have to live in New York,” he went on. +“To have to share the air with six million people! To have to wear stiff +collars and decent clothes all the time! To——” He started. +“Good Lord! I suppose I should have to dress for dinner in the evenings. +What a ghastly notion!” +</p> + +<p> +I was shocked, absolutely shocked. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear chap!” I said reproachfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you dress for dinner every night, Bertie?” +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves,” I said coldly. The man was still standing like a statue +by the door. “How many suits of evening clothes have I?” +</p> + +<p> +“We have three suits full of evening dress, sir; two dinner +jackets——” +</p> + +<p> +“Three.” +</p> + +<p> +“For practical purposes two only, sir. If you remember we cannot wear the +third. We have also seven white waistcoats.” +</p> + +<p> +“And shirts?” +</p> + +<p> +“Four dozen, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“And white ties?” +</p> + +<p> +“The first two shallow shelves in the chest of drawers are completely +filled with our white ties, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +I turned to Rocky. +</p> + +<p> +“You see?” +</p> + +<p> +The chappie writhed like an electric fan. +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t do it! I can’t do it! I’ll be hanged if +I’ll do it! How on earth can I dress up like that? Do you realize that +most days I don’t get out of my pyjamas till five in the afternoon, and +then I just put on an old sweater?” +</p> + +<p> +I saw Jeeves wince, poor chap! This sort of revelation shocked his finest +feelings. +</p> + +<p> +“Then, what are you going to do about it?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what I want to know.” +</p> + +<p> +“You might write and explain to your aunt.” +</p> + +<p> +“I might—if I wanted her to get round to her lawyer’s in two +rapid leaps and cut me out of her will.” +</p> + +<p> +I saw his point. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you suggest, Jeeves?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +Jeeves cleared his throat respectfully. +</p> + +<p> +“The crux of the matter would appear to be, sir, that Mr. Todd is obliged +by the conditions under which the money is delivered into his possession to +write Miss Rockmetteller long and detailed letters relating to his movements, +and the only method by which this can be accomplished, if Mr. Todd adheres to +his expressed intention of remaining in the country, is for Mr. Todd to induce +some second party to gather the actual experiences which Miss Rockmetteller +wishes reported to her, and to convey these to him in the shape of a careful +report, on which it would be possible for him, with the aid of his imagination, +to base the suggested correspondence.” +</p> + +<p> +Having got which off the old diaphragm, Jeeves was silent. Rocky looked at me +in a helpless sort of way. He hasn’t been brought up on Jeeves as I have, +and he isn’t on to his curves. +</p> + +<p> +“Could he put it a little clearer, Bertie?” he said. “I +thought at the start it was going to make sense, but it kind of flickered. +What’s the idea?” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear old man, perfectly simple. I knew we could stand on Jeeves. All +you’ve got to do is to get somebody to go round the town for you and take +a few notes, and then you work the notes up into letters. That’s it, +isn’t it, Jeeves?” +</p> + +<p> +“Precisely, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +The light of hope gleamed in Rocky’s eyes. He looked at Jeeves in a +startled way, dazed by the man’s vast intellect. +</p> + +<p> +“But who would do it?” he said. “It would have to be a pretty +smart sort of man, a man who would notice things.” +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves!” I said. “Let Jeeves do it.” +</p> + +<p> +“But would he?” +</p> + +<p> +“You would do it, wouldn’t you, Jeeves?” +</p> + +<p> +For the first time in our long connection I observed Jeeves almost smile. The +corner of his mouth curved quite a quarter of an inch, and for a moment his eye +ceased to look like a meditative fish’s. +</p> + +<p> +“I should be delighted to oblige, sir. As a matter of fact, I have +already visited some of New York’s places of interest on my evening out, +and it would be most enjoyable to make a practice of the pursuit.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fine! I know exactly what your aunt wants to hear about, Rocky. She +wants an earful of cabaret stuff. The place you ought to go to first, Jeeves, +is Reigelheimer’s. It’s on Forty-second Street. Anybody will show +you the way.” +</p> + +<p> +Jeeves shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Pardon me, sir. People are no longer going to Reigelheimer’s. The +place at the moment is Frolics on the Roof.” +</p> + +<p> +“You see?” I said to Rocky. “Leave it to Jeeves. He +knows.” +</p> + +<p> +It isn’t often that you find an entire group of your fellow-humans happy +in this world; but our little circle was certainly an example of the fact that +it can be done. We were all full of beans. Everything went absolutely right +from the start. +</p> + +<p> +Jeeves was happy, partly because he loves to exercise his giant brain, and +partly because he was having a corking time among the bright lights. I saw him +one night at the Midnight Revels. He was sitting at a table on the edge of the +dancing floor, doing himself remarkably well with a fat cigar and a bottle of +the best. I’d never imagined he could look so nearly human. His face wore +an expression of austere benevolence, and he was making notes in a small book. +</p> + +<p> +As for the rest of us, I was feeling pretty good, because I was fond of old +Rocky and glad to be able to do him a good turn. Rocky was perfectly contented, +because he was still able to sit on fences in his pyjamas and watch worms. And, +as for the aunt, she seemed tickled to death. She was getting Broadway at +pretty long range, but it seemed to be hitting her just right. I read one of +her letters to Rocky, and it was full of life. +</p> + +<p> +But then Rocky’s letters, based on Jeeves’s notes, were enough to +buck anybody up. It was rummy when you came to think of it. There was I, loving +the life, while the mere mention of it gave Rocky a tired feeling; yet here is +a letter I wrote to a pal of mine in London: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“DEAR FREDDIE,—Well, here I am in New York. It’s not a bad +place. I’m not having a bad time. Everything’s pretty all right. +The cabarets aren’t bad. Don’t know when I shall be back. +How’s everybody? Cheer-o!—Yours, +</p> + +<p class="right"> +“B<small>ERTIE</small>. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“PS.—Seen old Ted lately?” +</p> + +<p> +Not that I cared about Ted; but if I hadn’t dragged him in I +couldn’t have got the confounded thing on to the second page. +</p> + +<p> +Now here’s old Rocky on exactly the same subject: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“D<small>EAREST AUNT</small> I<small>SABEL</small>,—How can I ever +thank you enough for giving me the opportunity to live in this astounding city! +New York seems more wonderful every day.<br> + “Fifth Avenue is at its best, of course, just now. The dresses are +magnificent!” +</p> + +<p> +Wads of stuff about the dresses. I didn’t know Jeeves was such an +authority. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“I was out with some of the crowd at the Midnight Revels the other night. +We took in a show first, after a little dinner at a new place on Forty-third +Street. We were quite a gay party. Georgie Cohan looked in about midnight and +got off a good one about Willie Collier. Fred Stone could only stay a minute, +but Doug. Fairbanks did all sorts of stunts and made us roar. Diamond Jim Brady +was there, as usual, and Laurette Taylor showed up with a party. The show at +the Revels is quite good. I am enclosing a programme.<br> + “Last night a few of us went round to Frolics on the +Roof——” +</p> + +<p> +And so on and so forth, yards of it. I suppose it’s the artistic +temperament or something. What I mean is, it’s easier for a chappie +who’s used to writing poems and that sort of tosh to put a bit of a punch +into a letter than it is for a chappie like me. Anyway, there’s no doubt +that Rocky’s correspondence was hot stuff. I called Jeeves in and +congratulated him. +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves, you’re a wonder!” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“How you notice everything at these places beats me. I couldn’t +tell you a thing about them, except that I’ve had a good time.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s just a knack, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Mr. Todd’s letters ought to brace Miss Rockmetteller all +right, what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Undoubtedly, sir,” agreed Jeeves. +</p> + +<p> +And, by Jove, they did! They certainly did, by George! What I mean to say is, I +was sitting in the apartment one afternoon, about a month after the thing had +started, smoking a cigarette and resting the old bean, when the door opened and +the voice of Jeeves burst the silence like a bomb. +</p> + +<p> +It wasn’t that he spoke loudly. He has one of those soft, soothing voices +that slide through the atmosphere like the note of a far-off sheep. It was what +he said made me leap like a young gazelle. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Rockmetteller!” +</p> + +<p> +And in came a large, solid female. +</p> + +<p> +The situation floored me. I’m not denying it. Hamlet must have felt much +as I did when his father’s ghost bobbed up in the fairway. I’d come +to look on Rocky’s aunt as such a permanency at her own home that it +didn’t seem possible that she could really be here in New York. I stared +at her. Then I looked at Jeeves. He was standing there in an attitude of +dignified detachment, the chump, when, if ever he should have been rallying +round the young master, it was now. +</p> + +<p> +Rocky’s aunt looked less like an invalid than any one I’ve ever +seen, except my Aunt Agatha. She had a good deal of Aunt Agatha about her, as a +matter of fact. She looked as if she might be deucedly dangerous if put upon; +and something seemed to tell me that she would certainly regard herself as put +upon if she ever found out the game which poor old Rocky had been pulling on +her. +</p> + +<p> +“Good afternoon,” I managed to say. +</p> + +<p> +“How do you do?” she said. “Mr. Cohan?” +</p> + +<p> +“Er—no.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Fred Stone?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not absolutely. As a matter of fact, my name’s +Wooster—Bertie Wooster.” +</p> + +<p> +She seemed disappointed. The fine old name of Wooster appeared to mean nothing +in her life. +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t Rockmetteller home?” she said. “Where is +he?” +</p> + +<p> +She had me with the first shot. I couldn’t think of anything to say. I +couldn’t tell her that Rocky was down in the country, watching worms. +</p> + +<p> +There was the faintest flutter of sound in the background. It was the +respectful cough with which Jeeves announces that he is about to speak without +having been spoken to. +</p> + +<p> +“If you remember, sir, Mr. Todd went out in the automobile with a party +in the afternoon.” +</p> + +<p> +“So he did, Jeeves; so he did,” I said, looking at my watch. +“Did he say when he would be back?” +</p> + +<p> +“He gave me to understand, sir, that he would be somewhat late in +returning.” +</p> + +<p> +He vanished; and the aunt took the chair which I’d forgotten to offer +her. She looked at me in rather a rummy way. It was a nasty look. It made me +feel as if I were something the dog had brought in and intended to bury later +on, when he had time. My own Aunt Agatha, back in England, has looked at me in +exactly the same way many a time, and it never fails to make my spine curl. +</p> + +<p> +“You seem very much at home here, young man. Are you a great friend of +Rockmetteller’s?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, rather!” +</p> + +<p> +She frowned as if she had expected better things of old Rocky. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you need to be,” she said, “the way you treat his flat +as your own!” +</p> + +<p> +I give you my word, this quite unforeseen slam simply robbed me of the power of +speech. I’d been looking on myself in the light of the dashing host, and +suddenly to be treated as an intruder jarred me. It wasn’t, mark you, as +if she had spoken in a way to suggest that she considered my presence in the +place as an ordinary social call. She obviously looked on me as a cross between +a burglar and the plumber’s man come to fix the leak in the bathroom. It +hurt her—my being there. +</p> + +<p> +At this juncture, with the conversation showing every sign of being about to +die in awful agonies, an idea came to me. Tea—the good old stand-by. +</p> + +<p> +“Would you care for a cup of tea?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Tea?” +</p> + +<p> +She spoke as if she had never heard of the stuff. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing like a cup after a journey,” I said. “Bucks you up! +Puts a bit of zip into you. What I mean is, restores you, and so on, +don’t you know. I’ll go and tell Jeeves.” +</p> + +<p> +I tottered down the passage to Jeeves’s lair. The man was reading the +evening paper as if he hadn’t a care in the world. +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves,” I said, “we want some tea.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“I say, Jeeves, this is a bit thick, what?” +</p> + +<p> +I wanted sympathy, don’t you know—sympathy and kindness. The old +nerve centres had had the deuce of a shock. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s got the idea this place belongs to Mr. Todd. What on earth +put that into her head?” +</p> + +<p> +Jeeves filled the kettle with a restrained dignity. +</p> + +<p> +“No doubt because of Mr. Todd’s letters, sir,” he said. +“It was my suggestion, sir, if you remember, that they should be +addressed from this apartment in order that Mr. Todd should appear to possess a +good central residence in the city.” +</p> + +<p> +I remembered. We had thought it a brainy scheme at the time. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it’s bally awkward, you know, Jeeves. She looks on me as an +intruder. By Jove! I suppose she thinks I’m someone who hangs about here, +touching Mr. Todd for free meals and borrowing his shirts.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s pretty rotten, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Most disturbing, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“And there’s another thing: What are we to do about Mr. Todd? +We’ve got to get him up here as soon as ever we can. When you have +brought the tea you had better go out and send him a telegram, telling him to +come up by the next train.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have already done so, sir. I took the liberty of writing the message +and dispatching it by the lift attendant.” +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove, you think of everything, Jeeves!” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, sir. A little buttered toast with the tea? Just so, sir. +Thank you.” +</p> + +<p> +I went back to the sitting-room. She hadn’t moved an inch. She was still +bolt upright on the edge of her chair, gripping her umbrella like a +hammer-thrower. She gave me another of those looks as I came in. There was no +doubt about it; for some reason she had taken a dislike to me. I suppose +because I wasn’t George M. Cohan. It was a bit hard on a chap. +</p> + +<p> +“This is a surprise, what?” I said, after about five minutes’ +restful silence, trying to crank the conversation up again. +</p> + +<p> +“What is a surprise?” +</p> + +<p> +“Your coming here, don’t you know, and so on.” +</p> + +<p> +She raised her eyebrows and drank me in a bit more through her glasses. +</p> + +<p> +“Why is it surprising that I should visit my only nephew?” she +said. +</p> + +<p> +Put like that, of course, it did seem reasonable. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, rather,” I said. “Of course! Certainly. What I mean +is——” +</p> + +<p> +Jeeves projected himself into the room with the tea. I was jolly glad to see +him. There’s nothing like having a bit of business arranged for one when +one isn’t certain of one’s lines. With the teapot to fool about +with I felt happier. +</p> + +<p> +“Tea, tea, tea—what? What?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +It wasn’t what I had meant to say. My idea had been to be a good deal +more formal, and so on. Still, it covered the situation. I poured her out a +cup. She sipped it and put the cup down with a shudder. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean to say, young man,” she said frostily, “that you +expect me to drink this stuff?” +</p> + +<p> +“Rather! Bucks you up, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean by the expression ‘Bucks you up’?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, makes you full of beans, you know. Makes you fizz.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t understand a word you say. You’re English, +aren’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +I admitted it. She didn’t say a word. And somehow she did it in a way +that made it worse than if she had spoken for hours. Somehow it was brought +home to me that she didn’t like Englishmen, and that if she had had to +meet an Englishman, I was the one she’d have chosen last. +</p> + +<p> +Conversation languished again after that. +</p> + +<p> +Then I tried again. I was becoming more convinced every moment that you +can’t make a real lively <i>salon</i> with a couple of people, especially +if one of them lets it go a word at a time. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you comfortable at your hotel?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“At which hotel?” +</p> + +<p> +“The hotel you’re staying at.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not staying at an hotel.” +</p> + +<p> +“Stopping with friends—what?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am naturally stopping with my nephew.” +</p> + +<p> +I didn’t get it for the moment; then it hit me. +</p> + +<p> +“What! Here?” I gurgled. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly! Where else should I go?” +</p> + +<p> +The full horror of the situation rolled over me like a wave. I couldn’t +see what on earth I was to do. I couldn’t explain that this wasn’t +Rocky’s flat without giving the poor old chap away hopelessly, because +she would then ask me where he did live, and then he would be right in the +soup. I was trying to induce the old bean to recover from the shock and produce +some results when she spoke again. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you kindly tell my nephew’s man-servant to prepare my room? I +wish to lie down.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your nephew’s man-servant?” +</p> + +<p> +“The man you call Jeeves. If Rockmetteller has gone for an automobile +ride, there is no need for you to wait for him. He will naturally wish to be +alone with me when he returns.” +</p> + +<p> +I found myself tottering out of the room. The thing was too much for me. I +crept into Jeeves’s den. +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves!” I whispered. +</p> + +<p> +“Sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mix me a b.-and-s., Jeeves. I feel weak.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“This is getting thicker every minute, Jeeves.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“She thinks you’re Mr. Todd’s man. She thinks the whole place +is his, and everything in it. I don’t see what you’re to do, except +stay on and keep it up. We can’t say anything or she’ll get on to +the whole thing, and I don’t want to let Mr. Todd down. By the way, +Jeeves, she wants you to prepare her bed.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked wounded. +</p> + +<p> +“It is hardly my place, sir——” +</p> + +<p> +“I know—I know. But do it as a personal favour to me. If you come +to that, it’s hardly my place to be flung out of the flat like this and +have to go to an hotel, what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it your intention to go to an hotel, sir? What will you do for +clothes?” +</p> + +<p> +“Good Lord! I hadn’t thought of that. Can you put a few things in a +bag when she isn’t looking, and sneak them down to me at the St. +Aurea?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will endeavour to do so, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I don’t think there’s anything more, is there? Tell +Mr. Todd where I am when he gets here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +I looked round the place. The moment of parting had come. I felt sad. The whole +thing reminded me of one of those melodramas where they drive chappies out of +the old homestead into the snow. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-bye, Jeeves,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-bye, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +And I staggered out. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +You know, I rather think I agree with those poet-and-philosopher Johnnies who +insist that a fellow ought to be devilish pleased if he has a bit of trouble. +All that stuff about being refined by suffering, you know. Suffering does give +a chap a sort of broader and more sympathetic outlook. It helps you to +understand other people’s misfortunes if you’ve been through the +same thing yourself. +</p> + +<p> +As I stood in my lonely bedroom at the hotel, trying to tie my white tie +myself, it struck me for the first time that there must be whole squads of +chappies in the world who had to get along without a man to look after them. +I’d always thought of Jeeves as a kind of natural phenomenon; but, by +Jove! of course, when you come to think of it, there must be quite a lot of +fellows who have to press their own clothes themselves and haven’t got +anybody to bring them tea in the morning, and so on. It was rather a solemn +thought, don’t you know. I mean to say, ever since then I’ve been +able to appreciate the frightful privations the poor have to stick. +</p> + +<p> +I got dressed somehow. Jeeves hadn’t forgotten a thing in his packing. +Everything was there, down to the final stud. I’m not sure this +didn’t make me feel worse. It kind of deepened the pathos. It was like +what somebody or other wrote about the touch of a vanished hand. +</p> + +<p> +I had a bit of dinner somewhere and went to a show of some kind; but nothing +seemed to make any difference. I simply hadn’t the heart to go on to +supper anywhere. I just sucked down a whisky-and-soda in the hotel smoking-room +and went straight up to bed. I don’t know when I’ve felt so rotten. +Somehow I found myself moving about the room softly, as if there had been a +death in the family. If I had anybody to talk to I should have talked in a +whisper; in fact, when the telephone-bell rang I answered in such a sad, hushed +voice that the fellow at the other end of the wire said “Halloa!” +five times, thinking he hadn’t got me. +</p> + +<p> +It was Rocky. The poor old scout was deeply agitated. +</p> + +<p> +“Bertie! Is that you, Bertie! Oh, gosh? I’m having a time!” +</p> + +<p> +“Where are you speaking from?” +</p> + +<p> +“The Midnight Revels. We’ve been here an hour, and I think +we’re a fixture for the night. I’ve told Aunt Isabel I’ve +gone out to call up a friend to join us. She’s glued to a chair, with +this-is-the-life written all over her, taking it in through the pores. She +loves it, and I’m nearly crazy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me all, old top,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“A little more of this,” he said, “and I shall sneak quietly +off to the river and end it all. Do you mean to say you go through this sort of +thing every night, Bertie, and enjoy it? It’s simply infernal! I was just +snatching a wink of sleep behind the bill of fare just now when about a million +yelling girls swooped down, with toy balloons. There are two orchestras here, +each trying to see if it can’t play louder than the other. I’m a +mental and physical wreck. When your telegram arrived I was just lying down for +a quiet pipe, with a sense of absolute peace stealing over me. I had to get +dressed and sprint two miles to catch the train. It nearly gave me +heart-failure; and on top of that I almost got brain fever inventing lies to +tell Aunt Isabel. And then I had to cram myself into these confounded evening +clothes of yours.” +</p> + +<p> +I gave a sharp wail of agony. It hadn’t struck me till then that Rocky +was depending on my wardrobe to see him through. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll ruin them!” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope so,” said Rocky, in the most unpleasant way. His troubles +seemed to have had the worst effect on his character. “I should like to +get back at them somehow; they’ve given me a bad enough time. +They’re about three sizes too small, and something’s apt to give at +any moment. I wish to goodness it would, and give me a chance to breathe. I +haven’t breathed since half-past seven. Thank Heaven, Jeeves managed to +get out and buy me a collar that fitted, or I should be a strangled corpse by +now! It was touch and go till the stud broke. Bertie, this is pure Hades! Aunt +Isabel keeps on urging me to dance. How on earth can I dance when I don’t +know a soul to dance with? And how the deuce could I, even if I knew every girl +in the place? It’s taking big chances even to move in these trousers. I +had to tell her I’ve hurt my ankle. She keeps asking me when Cohan and +Stone are going to turn up; and it’s simply a question of time before she +discovers that Stone is sitting two tables away. Something’s got to be +done, Bertie! You’ve got to think up some way of getting me out of this +mess. It was you who got me into it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Me! What do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Jeeves, then. It’s all the same. It was you who suggested +leaving it to Jeeves. It was those letters I wrote from his notes that did the +mischief. I made them too good! My aunt’s just been telling me about it. +She says she had resigned herself to ending her life where she was, and then my +letters began to arrive, describing the joys of New York; and they stimulated +her to such an extent that she pulled herself together and made the trip. She +seems to think she’s had some miraculous kind of faith cure. I tell you I +can’t stand it, Bertie! It’s got to end!” +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t Jeeves think of anything?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. He just hangs round saying: ‘Most disturbing, sir!’ A +fat lot of help that is!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, old lad,” I said, “after all, it’s far worse for +me than it is for you. You’ve got a comfortable home and Jeeves. And +you’re saving a lot of money.” +</p> + +<p> +“Saving money? What do you mean—saving money?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, the allowance your aunt was giving you. I suppose she’s +paying all the expenses now, isn’t she?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly she is; but she’s stopped the allowance. She wrote the +lawyers to-night. She says that, now she’s in New York, there is no +necessity for it to go on, as we shall always be together, and it’s +simpler for her to look after that end of it. I tell you, Bertie, I’ve +examined the darned cloud with a microscope, and if it’s got a silver +lining it’s some little dissembler!” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Rocky, old top, it’s too bally awful! You’ve no notion +of what I’m going through in this beastly hotel, without Jeeves. I must +get back to the flat.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t come near the flat.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it’s my own flat.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t help that. Aunt Isabel doesn’t like you. She asked +me what you did for a living. And when I told her you didn’t do anything +she said she thought as much, and that you were a typical specimen of a useless +and decaying aristocracy. So if you think you have made a hit, forget it. Now I +must be going back, or she’ll be coming out here after me. +Good-bye.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Next morning Jeeves came round. It was all so home-like when he floated +noiselessly into the room that I nearly broke down. +</p> + +<p> +“Good morning, sir,” he said. “I have brought a few more of +your personal belongings.” +</p> + +<p> +He began to unstrap the suit-case he was carrying. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you have any trouble sneaking them away?” +</p> + +<p> +“It was not easy, sir. I had to watch my chance. Miss Rockmetteller is a +remarkably alert lady.” +</p> + +<p> +“You know, Jeeves, say what you like—this is a bit thick, +isn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“The situation is certainly one that has never before come under my +notice, sir. I have brought the heather-mixture suit, as the climatic +conditions are congenial. To-morrow, if not prevented, I will endeavour to add +the brown lounge with the faint green twill.” +</p> + +<p> +“It can’t go on—this sort of thing—Jeeves.” +</p> + +<p> +“We must hope for the best, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t you think of anything to do?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have been giving the matter considerable thought, sir, but so far +without success. I am placing three silk shirts—the dove-coloured, the +light blue, and the mauve—in the first long drawer, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t mean to say you can’t think of anything, +Jeeves?” +</p> + +<p> +“For the moment, sir, no. You will find a dozen handkerchiefs and the tan +socks in the upper drawer on the left.” He strapped the suit-case and put +it on a chair. “A curious lady, Miss Rockmetteller, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“You understate it, Jeeves.” +</p> + +<p> +He gazed meditatively out of the window. +</p> + +<p> +“In many ways, sir, Miss Rockmetteller reminds me of an aunt of mine who +resides in the south-east portion of London. Their temperaments are much alike. +My aunt has the same taste for the pleasures of the great city. It is a passion +with her to ride in hansom cabs, sir. Whenever the family take their eyes off +her she escapes from the house and spends the day riding about in cabs. On +several occasions she has broken into the children’s savings bank to +secure the means to enable her to gratify this desire.” +</p> + +<p> +“I love to have these little chats with you about your female relatives, +Jeeves,” I said coldly, for I felt that the man had let me down, and I +was fed up with him. “But I don’t see what all this has got to do +with my trouble.” +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon, sir. I am leaving a small assortment of neckties on +the mantelpiece, sir, for you to select according to your preference. I should +recommend the blue with the red domino pattern, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Then he streamed imperceptibly toward the door and flowed silently out. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +I’ve often heard that chappies, after some great shock or loss, have a +habit, after they’ve been on the floor for a while wondering what hit +them, of picking themselves up and piecing themselves together, and sort of +taking a whirl at beginning a new life. Time, the great healer, and Nature, +adjusting itself, and so on and so forth. There’s a lot in it. I know, +because in my own case, after a day or two of what you might call prostration, +I began to recover. The frightful loss of Jeeves made any thought of pleasure +more or less a mockery, but at least I found that I was able to have a dash at +enjoying life again. What I mean is, I was braced up to the extent of going +round the cabarets once more, so as to try to forget, if only for the moment. +</p> + +<p> +New York’s a small place when it comes to the part of it that wakes up +just as the rest is going to bed, and it wasn’t long before my tracks +began to cross old Rocky’s. I saw him once at Peale’s, and again at +Frolics on the roof. There wasn’t anybody with him either time except the +aunt, and, though he was trying to look as if he had struck the ideal life, it +wasn’t difficult for me, knowing the circumstances, to see that beneath +the mask the poor chap was suffering. My heart bled for the fellow. At least, +what there was of it that wasn’t bleeding for myself bled for him. He had +the air of one who was about to crack under the strain. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to me that the aunt was looking slightly upset also. I took it that +she was beginning to wonder when the celebrities were going to surge round, and +what had suddenly become of all those wild, careless spirits Rocky used to mix +with in his letters. I didn’t blame her. I had only read a couple of his +letters, but they certainly gave the impression that poor old Rocky was by way +of being the hub of New York night life, and that, if by any chance he failed +to show up at a cabaret, the management said: “What’s the +use?” and put up the shutters. +</p> + +<p> +The next two nights I didn’t come across them, but the night after that I +was sitting by myself at the Maison Pierre when somebody tapped me on the +shoulder-blade, and I found Rocky standing beside me, with a sort of mixed +expression of wistfulness and apoplexy on his face. How the chappie had +contrived to wear my evening clothes so many times without disaster was a +mystery to me. He confided later that early in the proceedings he had slit the +waistcoat up the back and that that had helped a bit. +</p> + +<p> +For a moment I had the idea that he had managed to get away from his aunt for +the evening; but, looking past him, I saw that she was in again. She was at a +table over by the wall, looking at me as if I were something the management +ought to be complained to about. +</p> + +<p> +“Bertie, old scout,” said Rocky, in a quiet, sort of crushed voice, +“we’ve always been pals, haven’t we? I mean, you know +I’d do you a good turn if you asked me?” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear old lad,” I said. The man had moved me. +</p> + +<p> +“Then, for Heaven’s sake, come over and sit at our table for the +rest of the evening.” +</p> + +<p> +Well, you know, there are limits to the sacred claims of friendship. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear chap,” I said, “you know I’d do anything in +reason; but——” +</p> + +<p> +“You must come, Bertie. You’ve got to. Something’s got to be +done to divert her mind. She’s brooding about something. She’s been +like that for the last two days. I think she’s beginning to suspect. She +can’t understand why we never seem to meet anyone I know at these joints. +A few nights ago I happened to run into two newspaper men I used to know fairly +well. That kept me going for a while. I introduced them to Aunt Isabel as David +Belasco and Jim Corbett, and it went well. But the effect has worn off now, and +she’s beginning to wonder again. Something’s got to be done, or she +will find out everything, and if she does I’d take a nickel for my chance +of getting a cent from her later on. So, for the love of Mike, come across to +our table and help things along.” +</p> + +<p> +I went along. One has to rally round a pal in distress. Aunt Isabel was sitting +bolt upright, as usual. It certainly did seem as if she had lost a bit of the +zest with which she had started out to explore Broadway. She looked as if she +had been thinking a good deal about rather unpleasant things. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve met Bertie Wooster, Aunt Isabel?” said Rocky. +</p> + +<p> +“I have.” +</p> + +<p> +There was something in her eye that seemed to say: +</p> + +<p> +“Out of a city of six million people, why did you pick on me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Take a seat, Bertie. What’ll you have?” said Rocky. +</p> + +<p> +And so the merry party began. It was one of those jolly, happy, bread-crumbling +parties where you cough twice before you speak, and then decide not to say it +after all. After we had had an hour of this wild dissipation, Aunt Isabel said +she wanted to go home. In the light of what Rocky had been telling me, this +struck me as sinister. I had gathered that at the beginning of her visit she +had had to be dragged home with ropes. +</p> + +<p> +It must have hit Rocky the same way, for he gave me a pleading look. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll come along, won’t you, Bertie, and have a drink at +the flat?” +</p> + +<p> +I had a feeling that this wasn’t in the contract, but there wasn’t +anything to be done. It seemed brutal to leave the poor chap alone with the +woman, so I went along. +</p> + +<p> +Right from the start, from the moment we stepped into the taxi, the feeling +began to grow that something was about to break loose. A massive silence +prevailed in the corner where the aunt sat, and, though Rocky, balancing +himself on the little seat in front, did his best to supply dialogue, we +weren’t a chatty party. +</p> + +<p> +I had a glimpse of Jeeves as we went into the flat, sitting in his lair, and I +wished I could have called to him to rally round. Something told me that I was +about to need him. +</p> + +<p> +The stuff was on the table in the sitting-room. Rocky took up the decanter. +</p> + +<p> +“Say when, Bertie.” +</p> + +<p> +“Stop!” barked the aunt, and he dropped it. +</p> + +<p> +I caught Rocky’s eye as he stooped to pick up the ruins. It was the eye +of one who sees it coming. +</p> + +<p> +“Leave it there, Rockmetteller!” said Aunt Isabel; and Rocky left +it there. +</p> + +<p> +“The time has come to speak,” she said. “I cannot stand idly +by and see a young man going to perdition!” +</p> + +<p> +Poor old Rocky gave a sort of gurgle, a kind of sound rather like the whisky +had made running out of the decanter on to my carpet. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh?” he said, blinking. +</p> + +<p> +The aunt proceeded. +</p> + +<p> +“The fault,” she said, “was mine. I had not then seen the +light. But now my eyes are open. I see the hideous mistake I have made. I +shudder at the thought of the wrong I did you, Rockmetteller, by urging you +into contact with this wicked city.” +</p> + +<p> +I saw Rocky grope feebly for the table. His fingers touched it, and a look of +relief came into the poor chappie’s face. I understood his feelings. +</p> + +<p> +“But when I wrote you that letter, Rockmetteller, instructing you to go +to the city and live its life, I had not had the privilege of hearing Mr. Mundy +speak on the subject of New York.” +</p> + +<p> +“Jimmy Mundy!” I cried. +</p> + +<p> +You know how it is sometimes when everything seems all mixed up and you +suddenly get a clue. When she mentioned Jimmy Mundy I began to understand more +or less what had happened. I’d seen it happen before. I remember, back in +England, the man I had before Jeeves sneaked off to a meeting on his evening +out and came back and denounced me in front of a crowd of chappies I was giving +a bit of supper to as a moral leper. +</p> + +<p> +The aunt gave me a withering up and down. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; Jimmy Mundy!” she said. “I am surprised at a man of +your stamp having heard of him. There is no music, there are no drunken, +dancing men, no shameless, flaunting women at his meetings; so for you they +would have no attraction. But for others, less dead in sin, he has his message. +He has come to save New York from itself; to force it—in his picturesque +phrase—to hit the trail. It was three days ago, Rockmetteller, that I +first heard him. It was an accident that took me to his meeting. How often in +this life a mere accident may shape our whole future! +</p> + +<p> +“You had been called away by that telephone message from Mr. Belasco; so +you could not take me to the Hippodrome, as we had arranged. I asked your +man-servant, Jeeves, to take me there. The man has very little intelligence. He +seems to have misunderstood me. I am thankful that he did. He took me to what I +subsequently learned was Madison Square Garden, where Mr. Mundy is holding his +meetings. He escorted me to a seat and then left me. And it was not till the +meeting had begun that I discovered the mistake which had been made. My seat +was in the middle of a row. I could not leave without inconveniencing a great +many people, so I remained.” +</p> + +<p> +She gulped. +</p> + +<p> +“Rockmetteller, I have never been so thankful for anything else. Mr. +Mundy was wonderful! He was like some prophet of old, scourging the sins of the +people. He leaped about in a frenzy of inspiration till I feared he would do +himself an injury. Sometimes he expressed himself in a somewhat odd manner, but +every word carried conviction. He showed me New York in its true colours. He +showed me the vanity and wickedness of sitting in gilded haunts of vice, eating +lobster when decent people should be in bed. +</p> + +<p> +“He said that the tango and the fox-trot were devices of the devil to +drag people down into the Bottomless Pit. He said that there was more sin in +ten minutes with a negro banjo orchestra than in all the ancient revels of +Nineveh and Babylon. And when he stood on one leg and pointed right at where I +was sitting and shouted, ‘This means you!’ I could have sunk +through the floor. I came away a changed woman. Surely you must have noticed +the change in me, Rockmetteller? You must have seen that I was no longer the +careless, thoughtless person who had urged you to dance in those places of +wickedness?” +</p> + +<p> +Rocky was holding on to the table as if it was his only friend. +</p> + +<p> +“Y-yes,” he stammered; “I—I thought something was +wrong.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wrong? Something was right! Everything was right! Rockmetteller, it is +not too late for you to be saved. You have only sipped of the evil cup. You +have not drained it. It will be hard at first, but you will find that you can +do it if you fight with a stout heart against the glamour and fascination of +this dreadful city. Won’t you, for my sake, try, Rockmetteller? +Won’t you go back to the country to-morrow and begin the struggle? Little +by little, if you use your will——” +</p> + +<p> +I can’t help thinking it must have been that word “will” that +roused dear old Rocky like a trumpet call. It must have brought home to him the +realisation that a miracle had come off and saved him from being cut out of +Aunt Isabel’s. At any rate, as she said it he perked up, let go of the +table, and faced her with gleaming eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you want me to go back to the country, Aunt Isabel?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not to live in the country?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Rockmetteller.” +</p> + +<p> +“Stay in the country all the time, do you mean? Never come to New +York?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Rockmetteller; I mean just that. It is the only way. Only there can +you be safe from temptation. Will you do it, Rockmetteller? Will you—for +my sake?” +</p> + +<p> +Rocky grabbed the table again. He seemed to draw a lot of encouragement from +that table. +</p> + +<p> +“I will!” he said. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +“Jeeves,” I said. It was next day, and I was back in the old flat, +lying in the old arm-chair, with my feet upon the good old table. I had just +come from seeing dear old Rocky off to his country cottage, and an hour before +he had seen his aunt off to whatever hamlet it was that she was the curse of; +so we were alone at last. “Jeeves, there’s no place like +home—what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very true, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“The jolly old roof-tree, and all that sort of thing—what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Precisely, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +I lit another cigarette. +</p> + +<p> +“Jeeves.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know, at one point in the business I really thought you were +baffled.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“When did you get the idea of taking Miss Rockmetteller to the meeting? +It was pure genius!” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, sir. It came to me a little suddenly, one morning when I was +thinking of my aunt, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your aunt? The hansom cab one?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir. I recollected that, whenever we observed one of her attacks +coming on, we used to send for the clergyman of the parish. We always found +that if he talked to her a while of higher things it diverted her mind from +hansom cabs. It occurred to me that the same treatment might prove efficacious +in the case of Miss Rockmetteller.” +</p> + +<p> +I was stunned by the man’s resource. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s brain,” I said; “pure brain! What do you do to +get like that, Jeeves? I believe you must eat a lot of fish, or something. Do +you eat a lot of fish, Jeeves?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, well, then, it’s just a gift, I take it; and if you +aren’t born that way there’s no use worrying.” +</p> + +<p> +“Precisely, sir,” said Jeeves. “If I might make the +suggestion, sir, I should not continue to wear your present tie. The green +shade gives you a slightly bilious air. I should strongly advocate the blue +with the red domino pattern instead, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right, Jeeves.” I said humbly. “You know!” +</p> + +<p class="center"> +THE END +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MY MAN JEEVES ***</div> + +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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