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

you want chops...”

“Not at all. I'm spiritual. Besides, people say that vegetables are good for the blood-pressure or something. Of course you forgot to get the mail, too?”

“Absolutely not! I was on to it like a knife. Two letters from fellows wanting Airedale puppies.”

“No! Ginger, we are getting on!”

“Pretty bloated,” agreed Ginger complacently. “Pretty bloated. We'll be able to get that two-seater if things go buzzing on like this. There was a letter for you. Here it is.”

“It's from Fillmore,” said Sally, examining the envelope as they went into the kitchen. “And about time, too. I haven't had a word from him for months.”

She sat down and opened the letter. Ginger, heaving himself on to the table, wriggled into a position of comfort and started to read his evening paper. But after he had skimmed over the sporting page he lowered it and allowed his gaze to rest on Sally's bent head with a feeling of utter contentment.

Although a married man of nearly a year's standing, Ginger was still moving about a magic world in a state of dazed incredulity, unable fully to realize that such bliss could be. Ginger in his time had seen many things that looked good from a distance, but not one that had borne the test of a closer acquaintance—except this business of marriage.

Marriage, with Sally for a partner, seemed to be one of the very few things in the world in which there was no catch. His honest eyes glowed as he watched her. Sally broke into a little splutter of laughter.

“Ginger, look at this!”

He reached down and took the slip of paper which she held out to him. The following legend met his eye, printed in bold letters:

POPP'S OUTSTANDING SUCCULENT——APPETIZING——NUTRITIOUS. (JUST SAY “POP!” A CHILD CAN DO IT.)

Ginger regarded this cipher with a puzzled frown.

“What is it?” he asked.

“It's Fillmore.”

“How do you mean?”

Sally gurgled.

“Fillmore and Gladys have started a little restaurant in Pittsburg.”

“A restaurant!” There was a shocked note in Ginger's voice. Although he knew that the managerial career of that modern Napoleon, his brother-in-law, had terminated in something of a smash, he had never quite lost his reverence for one whom he considered a bit of a master-mind. That Fillmore Nicholas, the Man of Destiny, should have descended to conducting a restaurant—and a little restaurant at that—struck him as almost indecent.

Sally, on the other hand—for sisters always seem to fail in proper reverence for the greatness of their brothers—was delighted.

“It's the most splendid idea,” she said with enthusiasm. “It really does look as if Fillmore was going to amount to something at last. Apparently they started on quite a small scale, just making pork-pies...”

“Why Popp?” interrupted Ginger, ventilating a question which was perplexing him deeply.

“Just a trade name, silly. Gladys is a wonderful cook, you know, and she made the pies and Fillmore toddled round selling them. And they did so well that now they've started a regular restaurant, and that's a success, too. Listen to this.” Sally gurgled again and turned over the letter. “Where is it? Oh yes! '... sound financial footing. In fact, our success has been so instantaneous that I have decided to launch out on a really big scale. It is Big Ideas that lead to Big Business. I am contemplating a vast extension of this venture of ours, and in a very short time I shall organize branches in New York, Chicago, Detroit, and all the big cities, each in charge of a manager and each offering as a special feature, in addition to the usual restaurant cuisine, these Popp's Outstanding Pork-pies of ours. That done, and having established all these branches as going concerns, I shall sail for England and introduce Popp's Pork-pies there...' Isn't he a little wonder!”

“Dashed brainy chap. Always said so.”

“I must say I was rather uneasy when I read that. I've seen so many of Fillmore's Big Ideas. That's always the way with him. He gets something good and then goes and overdoes it and bursts. However, it's all right now that he's got Gladys to look after him. She has added a postscript. Just four words, but oh! how comforting to a sister's heart. 'Yes, I don't think!' is what she says, and I don't know when I've read anything more cheering. Thank heaven, she's got poor dear Fillmore well in hand.”

“Pork-pies!” said Ginger, musingly, as the pangs of a healthy hunger began to assail his interior. “I wish he'd sent us one of the outstanding little chaps. I could do with it.”

Sally got up and ruffled his red hair.

“Poor old Ginger! I knew you'd never be able to stick it. Come on, it's a lovely night, let's walk to the village and revel at the inn. We're going to be millionaires before we know where we are, so we can afford it.”

THE END

End of Project Gutenberg's The Adventures of Sally, by P. G. Wodehouse