The Adventures of Sally by P. G. Wodehouse (good books for 7th graders .TXT) 📕

like these dual identity cases you read about. She's awfully fond of you. I know she is. She was always saying so, and it was quite genuine. If it didn't interfere with business there's nothing she wouldn't do for you. But when it's a case of her career you don't count. Nobody counts. Not even her husband. Now that's funny. If you think that sort of thing funny. Personally, it gives me the willies.”

“What's funny?” asked Sally, dully.

“Well, you weren't there, so you didn't see it, but I was on the spot all the time, and I know as well as I know anything that he simply married her because he thought she could get him on in the game. He hardly paid any attention to her at all till she was such a riot in Chicago, and then he was all over her. And now he's got stung. She throws down his show and goes off to another fellow's. It's like marrying for money and finding the girl hasn't any. And she's got stung, too, in a way, because I'm pretty sure she married him mostly because she thought he was going to be the next big man in the play-writing business and could boost her up the ladder. And now it doesn't look as though he had another success in him. The result is they're at outs. I hear he's drinking. Somebody who'd seen him told me he had gone all to pieces. You haven't seen him, I suppose?”

“No.”

“I thought maybe you might have run into him. He lives right opposite.”

Sally clutched at the arm of her chair.

“Lives right opposite? Gerald Foster? What do you mean?”

“Across the passage there,” said Mrs. Fillmore, jerking her thumb at the door. “Didn't you know? That's right, I suppose you didn't. They moved in after you had beaten it for England. Elsa wanted to be near you, and she was tickled to death when she found there was an apartment to be had right across from you. Now, that just proves what I was saying a while ago about Elsa. If she wasn't fond of you, would she go out of her way to camp next door? And yet, though she's so fond of you, she doesn't hesitate about wrecking your property by quitting the show when she sees a chance of doing herself a bit of good. It's funny, isn't it?”

The telephone-bell, tinkling sharply, rescued Sally from the necessity of a reply. She forced herself across the room to answer it.

“Hullo?”

Ginger's voice spoke jubilantly.

“Hullo. Are you there? I say, it's all right, about that binge, you know.”

“Oh, yes?”

“That dog fellow, you know,” said Ginger, with a slight diminution of exuberance. His sensitive ear had seemed to detect a lack of animation in her voice. “I've just been talking to him over the 'phone, and it's all settled. If,” he added, with a touch of doubt, “you still feel like going into it, I mean.”

There was an instant in which Sally hesitated, but it was only an instant.

“Why, of course,” she said, steadily. “Why should you think I had changed my mind?”

“Well, I thought... that is to say, you seemed... oh, I don't know.”

“You imagine things. I was a little worried about something when you called me up, and my mind wasn't working properly. Of course, go ahead with it. Ginger. I'm delighted.”

“I say, I'm awfully sorry you're worried.”

“Oh. it's all right.”

“Something bad?”

“Nothing that'll kill me. I'm young and strong.”

Ginger was silent for a moment.

“I say, I don't want to butt in, but can I do anything?”

“No, really, Ginger, I know you would do anything you could, but this is just something I must worry through by myself. When do you go down to this place?”

“I was thinking of popping down this afternoon, just to take a look round.”

“Let me know what train you're making and I'll come and see you off.”

“That's ripping of you. Right ho. Well, so long.”

“So long,” said Sally.

Mrs. Fillmore, who had been sitting in that state of suspended animation which comes upon people who are present at a telephone conversation which has nothing to do with themselves, came to life as Sally replaced the receiver.

“Sally,” she said, “I think we ought to have a talk now about what you're going to do.”

Sally was not feeling equal to any discussion of the future. All she asked of the world at the moment was to be left alone.

“Oh, that's all right. I shall manage. You ought to be worrying about Fillmore.”

“Fillmore's got me to look after him,” said Gladys, with quiet determination. “You're the one that's on my mind. I lay awake all last night thinking about you. As far as I can make out from Fillmore, you've still a few thousand dollars left. Well, as it happens, I can put you on to a really good thing. I know a girl...”

“I'm afraid,” interrupted Sally, “all the rest of my money, what there is of it, is tied up.”

“You can't get hold of it?”

“No.”

“But listen,” said Mrs. Fillmore, urgently. “This is a really good thing. This girl I know started an interior decorating business some time ago and is pulling in the money in handfuls. But she wants more capital, and she's willing to let go of a third of the business to anyone who'll put in a few thousand. She won't have any difficulty getting it, but I 'phoned her this morning to hold off till I'd heard from you. Honestly, Sally, it's the chance of a lifetime. It would put you right on easy street. Isn't there really any way you could get your money out of this other thing and take on this deal?”

“There really isn't. I'm awfully obliged to you, Gladys dear, but it's impossible.”

“Well,” said Mrs. Fillmore, prodding the carpet energetically with her parasol, “I don't know what you've gone into, but, unless they've given you a share in the Mint or something, you'll be losing by not making the switch. You're sure you can't do it?”

“I really can't.”

Mrs. Fillmore rose, plainly disappointed.

“Well, you know best, of course. Gosh! What a muddle everything is. Sally,” she said, suddenly stopping at the door, “you're not going to hate poor old Fillmore over this, are you?”

“Why, of course not. The whole thing was just bad luck.”