Uneasy Money by P. G. Wodehouse (types of ebook readers TXT) 📕

a renewed understanding between us, I am prepared to apologize for striking Clarence. That is conciliatory, I think, Miss Fenwick?”

“Very.”

“Miss Fenwick considers my attitude conciliatory, my dear.”

“It’s something,” admitted Lady Wetherby grudgingly.

Lord Wetherby drained the highball which Dudley Pickering had left behind him and seemed to draw strength from it, for he now struck a firmer note.

“But, though expressing regret for my momentary loss of self-control, I cannot recede from the position I have taken up as regards the essential unfitness of Clarence’s presence in the home.”

Lady Wetherby looked despairingly at Claire.

“The very first words I heard Algie speak, Claire, were at Newmarket during the three-o’clock race one May afternoon. He was hanging over the rail, yelling like an Indian, and what he was yelling was: ‘Come on, you blighter, come on. By the living jingo, Brickbat wins in a walk!’ And now he’s pulling stuff about receding from essential positions! Oh, well, he wasn’t an artist then!”

“My dear Pau⁠—Polly. I am purposely picking my words on the present occasion in order to prevent the possibility of further misunderstandings. I consider myself an ambassador.”

“You would be shocked if you knew what I consider you!”

“I am endeavoring to the best of my ability⁠—”

“Algie, listen to me! I am quite calm at present, but there’s no knowing how soon I may hit you with a chair if you don’t come to earth quick and talk like an ordinary human being. What is it that you are driving at?”

“Very well, it’s this: I’ll come home if you get rid of that snake.”

“Never!”

“It’s surely not much to ask of you, Polly.”

“I won’t!”

Lord Wetherby sighed.

“When I led you to the altar,” he said reproachfully, “you promised to love, honor and obey me. I thought at the time it was a bit of swank!”

Lady Wetherby’s manner thawed. She became more friendly.

“When you talk like that, Algie, I feel there’s hope for you after all. That’s how you used to talk in the dear old days when you’d come to me to borrow half a crown to put on a horse! You⁠—”

This excursion into reminiscence appeared to embarrass Lord Wetherby. He indicated Claire with a gesture.

“My dear!” he said deprecatingly. “Miss Fenwick!”

“Oh, Claire’s an old pal of mine. You can’t shock her. She knows all about us.”

“Nevertheless⁠—”

“Oh, very well. Listen, Algie, now that you seem to be getting more reasonable, I wish I could make you understand that I don’t keep Clarence for sheer love of him. He’s a commercial asset. He’s an advertisement. You must know that I have got to have something to⁠—”

“I admit that may be so as regards the monkey Eustace. Monkeys as aids to publicity have, I believe, been tested and found valuable by other artists. I am prepared to accept Eustace, but the snake is worthless.”

“Oh, you don’t object to Eustace then?”

“I do strongly, but I concede his uses.”

“You would live in the same house as Eustace?”

“I would endeavor to do so. But not in the same house with Eustace and Clarence.”

There was a pause.

“I don’t know that I’m so struck on Clarence myself,” said Lady Wetherby weakly.

“My darling!”

“Wait a minute. I’ve not said I would get rid of him.”

“But you will?”

Lady Wetherby’s hesitation lasted but a moment.

“All right, Algie. I’ll send him to the Bronx Zoo tomorrow.”

“My precious pet!”

A hand, reaching under the table, enveloped Claire’s in a loving clasp. From the look on Lord Wetherby’s face she supposed that he was under the delusion that he was bestowing this attention on his wife.

“You know, Algie, darling,” said Lady Wetherby, melting completely, “when you get that yearning note in your voice I just flop and take the full count.”

“My sweetheart, when I saw you doing that Dream of What’s-the-girl’s-bally-name dance just now, it was all I could do to keep from rushing out on the floor and hugging you.”

“Algie!”

“Polly!”

“Do you mind letting go of my hand, please, Lord Wetherby?” said Claire, on whom these saccharine exchanges were beginning to have a cloying effect.

For a moment Lord Wetherby seemed somewhat confused, but, pulling himself together, he covered his embarrassment with a pomposity that blended poorly with his horsey appearance.

“Married life, Miss Fenwick,” he said, “as you will no doubt discover some day for yourself, must always be a series of mutual compromises, of cheerful give and take. The lamp of love⁠—”

His remarks were cut short by a crash at the other end of the room. There was sharp cry and the splintering of glass. The place was full of a sudden, sharp confusion. They jumped up with one accord. Lady Wetherby spilled her iced coffee; Lord Wetherby dropped the lamp of love. Claire, who was nearest the pillar that separated them from the part of the restaurant where the accident had happened, was the first to see what had taken place.

A large man, dancing with a large girl, appeared to have charged into a small waiter, upsetting him and his tray and the contents of his tray. The various actors in the drama were now engaged in sorting themselves out from the ruins. The man had his back toward her, and it seemed to Claire that there was something familiar about that back. Then he turned and she recognized Lord Dawlish.

She stood transfixed. For a moment surprise was her only emotion. How came Bill to be in America? Then other feelings blended with her surprise. It is a fact that Lord Dawlish was looking singularly disreputable. The unwonted exercise of the dance had flushed his face, rumpled his hair and imparted a damp untidiness to his collar. He had not yet become aware that there was a pat of butter clinging to his left shoulder, and that did not tend to lessen the dissolute nature of his appearance.

From Bill Claire’s eyes traveled to his partner and took in with one swift feminine glance her large, exuberant blondness. There is no denying that, seen with a somewhat biased eye, the Good Sport resembled rather closely a poster advertising a burlesque show. Claire