Leave It to Psmith by P. G. Wodehouse (best ereader for academics TXT) 📕

Whatever decent sympathy and remorse the other might have shown at these words was swept away in the shock resultant on a glance at his watch. Not for an instant during this brief return of his to London had Freddie Threepwood been unmindful of his father’s stern injunction to him to catch the twelve-fifty train back to Market Blandings. If he missed it, there would be the deuce of a lot of unpleasantness, and unpleasantness in the home was the one thing Freddie wanted to avoid nowadays; for, like a prudent convict in a prison, he hoped by exemplary behaviour to get his sentence of imprisonment at Blandings Castle reduced for good conduct.

“Good Lord! I’ve only got about five minutes. Got to talk quick.⁠ ⁠… About this thing. This business. That advertisement of yours.”

“Ah, yes. My advertisement. It interested you?”

“Was it on the level?”

“Assuredly. We Psmiths do not deceive.”

Freddie looked at him doubtfully.

“You know, you aren’t a bit like I expected you’d be.”

“In what respect,” inquired Psmith, “do I fall short of the ideal?”

“It isn’t so much falling short. It’s⁠—oh, I don’t know⁠ ⁠… Well, yes, if you want to know, I thought you’d be a tougher specimen altogether. I got the impression from your advertisement that you were down and out and ready for anything, and you look as if you were on your way to a garden-party at Buckingham Palace.”

“Ah!” said Psmith, enlightened. “It is my costume that is causing these doubts in your mind. This is the second time this morning that such a misunderstanding has occurred. Have no misgivings. These trousers may sit well, but, if they do, it is because the pockets are empty.”

“Are you really broke?”

“As broke as the Ten Commandments.”

“I’m hanged if I can believe it.”

“Suppose I brush my hat the wrong way for a moment?” said Psmith obligingly. “Would that help?”

His companion remained silent for a few moments. In spite of the fact that he was in so great a hurry and that every minute that passed brought nearer the moment when he would be compelled to tear himself away and make a dash for Paddington Station, Freddie was finding it difficult to open the subject he had come there to discuss.

“Look here,” he said at length, “I shall have to trust you, dash it.”

“You could pursue no better course.”

“It’s like this. I’m trying to raise a thousand quid⁠ ⁠…”

“I regret that I cannot offer to advance it to you myself. I have, indeed, already been compelled to decline to lend a gentleman who claimed to be an old friend of mine so small a sum as a fiver. But there is a dear, obliging soul of the name of Alistair MacDougall who⁠ ⁠…”

“Good Lord! You don’t think I’m trying to touch you?”

“That impression did flit through my mind.”

“Oh, dash it, no. No, but⁠—well, as I was saying, I’m frightfully keen to get hold of a thousand quid.”

“So am I,” said Psmith. “Two minds with but a single thought. How do you propose to start about it? For my part, I must freely confess that I haven’t a notion. I am stumped. The cry goes round the chancelleries, ‘Psmith is baffled!’ ”

“I say, old thing,” said Freddie plaintively, “you couldn’t talk a bit less, could you? I’ve only got about two minutes.”

“I beg your pardon. Proceed.”

“It’s so dashed difficult to know how to begin the thing. I mean, it’s all a bit complicated till you get the hang of it.⁠ ⁠… Look here, you said in your advertisement that you had no objection to crime.”

Psmith considered the point.

“Within reason⁠—and if undetected⁠—I see no objection to two-pennorth of crime.”

“Well, look here⁠ ⁠… look here⁠ ⁠… Well, look here,” said Freddie, “will you steal my aunt’s diamond necklace?”

Psmith placed his monocle in his eye and bent gravely toward his companion.

“Steal your aunt’s necklace?” he said indulgently.

“Yes.”

“You do not think she might consider it a liberty from one to whom she has never been introduced?”

What Freddie might have replied to this pertinent question will never be known, for at this moment, looking nervously at his watch for the twentieth time, he observed that the hands had passed the half-hour and were well on their way to twenty-five minutes to one. He bounded up with a cry.

“I must go! I shall miss that damned train!”

“And meanwhile⁠ ⁠… ?” said Psmith.

The familiar phrase⁠—the words “And meanwhile” had occurred at least once in every film Freddie had ever seen⁠—had the effect of wrenching the latter’s mind back to the subject in hand for a moment. Freddie was not a clear-thinking young man, but even he could see that he had left the negotiations suspended at a very satisfactory point. Nevertheless, he had to catch that twelve-fifty.

“Write and tell me what you think about it,” panted Freddie, skimming through the lobby like a swallow.

“You have unfortunately omitted to leave a name and address,” Psmith pointed out, following him at an easy jog-trot.

In spite of his hurry, a prudence born of much movie-seeing restrained Freddie from supplying the information asked for. Give away your name and address and you never knew what might happen.

“I’ll write to you,” he cried, racing for a cab.

“I shall count the minutes,” said Psmith courteously.

“Drive like blazes!” said Freddie to the chauffeur.

“Where?” inquired the man, not unreasonably.

“Eh? Oh, Paddington.”

The cab whirled off, and Psmith, pleasantly conscious of a morning not ill-spent, gazed after it pensively for a moment. Then, with the feeling that the authorities of Colney Hatch or some kindred establishment had been extraordinarily negligent, he permitted his mind to turn with genial anticipation in the direction of lunch. For, though he had celebrated his first day of emancipation from Billingsgate Fish Market by rising late and breakfasting later, he had become aware by now of that not unpleasant emptiness which is the silent luncheon-gong of the soul.

The minor problem now presented itself of where to lunch; and with scarcely a moment’s consideration he dismissed those large, noisy, and bustling restaurants which lie near Piccadilly