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

“My dear chap!”

“That’s all right, then,” said Nutty, closing the door. “Good night.”

Elizabeth entered Nutty’s room and, seating herself on the bed, surveyed him with a bright, quiet eye that drilled holes in her brother’s uneasy conscience. This was her second visit to him that morning. She had come an hour ago, bearing breakfast on a tray, and had departed without saying a word. It was this uncanny silence of hers even more than the effects⁠—which still lingered⁠—of his revels in the metropolis, that had interfered with Nutty’s enjoyment of the morning meal. Never a hearty breakfaster, he had found himself under the influence of her wordless disapproval physically unable to consume the fried egg that confronted him. He had given it one look, then, endorsing the opinion which he had once heard a character in a play utter in somewhat similar circumstances⁠—that there was nothing on earth so homely as an egg⁠—he had covered it with a handkerchief and tried to pull himself round with hot tea, He was now smoking a sad cigarette and waiting for the blow to fall.

Her silence had puzzled him. Though he had tried to give her no opportunity of getting him alone on the previous evening when he had arrived at the farm with Lord Dawlish, he had fully expected that she would have broken in upon him with abuse and recrimination in the middle of the night. Yet she had not done this, nor had she spoken to him when bringing him his breakfast. These things found their explanation in Elizabeth’s character, with which Nutty, though he had known her so long, was but imperfectly acquainted. Elizabeth had never been angrier with her brother, but an innate goodness of heart had prevented her falling upon him before he had had rest and refreshment. She wanted to massacre him, but at the same time she told herself that the poor dear must be feeling very, very ill and should have a reasonable respite before the slaughter commenced.

It was plain that in her opinion this respite had now lasted long enough. She looked over her shoulder to make sure that she had closed the door, then leaned a little forward and spoke.

“Now, Nutty!”

The wretched youth attempted bluster.

“What do you mean⁠—‘Now, Nutty!’ What’s the use of looking at a fellow like that and saying, ‘Now, Nutty!’ Where’s the sense⁠—”

His voice trailed off. He was not a very intelligent young man, but even he could see that his was not a position where righteous indignation could be assumed with any solid chance of success. As a substitute he tried pathos.

“Oo-oo, my head does ache!”

“I wish it would burst,” said his sister unkindly.

“That’s a nice thing to say to a fellow!”

“I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have said it⁠—”

“Oh, well!”

“Only I couldn’t think of anything worse.”

It began to seem to Nutty that pathos was a bit of a flivver too. As a last resort he fell back on silence. He wriggled as far down as he could beneath the sheets and breathed in a soft and wounded sort of way. Elizabeth took up the conversation.

“Nutty,” she said, “I’ve struggled for years against the conviction that you were a perfect idiot. I’ve forced myself against my better judgment to try to look on you as sane, but now I give in. I can’t believe you are responsible for your actions. Don’t imagine that I am going to heap you with reproaches because you sneaked off to New York. I’m not even going to tell you what I thought of you for not sending me a thirty-cent telegram, letting me know where you were. I can understand all that. You were disappointed because Uncle Ira had not left you his money, and I suppose that was your way of working it off. If you had just run away and come back again with a headache, I’d have treated you like the Prodigal Son. But there are some things which are too much, and bringing a perfect stranger back with you for an indefinite period is one of them. I’m not saying anything against Mr. Chalmers personally. I haven’t had time to find out much about him, except that he’s an Englishman; but he looks respectable. Which, as a friend of yours, is more or less of a miracle.”

She raised her eyebrows, as a faint moan of protest came from beneath the sheets.

“You surely,” she said, “aren’t going to suggest at this hour of the day, Nutty, that your friends aren’t the most horrible set of pests outside a penitentiary? Not that it’s likely after all these months that they are outside a penitentiary. You know perfectly well that while you were running round New York you collected the most pernicious bunch of social gangsters that ever fastened their talons into a silly child who ought never to have been allowed out in a big city without his nurse.”

After which complicated insult Elizabeth paused for breath, and there was silence for a space.

“Well, as I was saying, I know nothing against this Mr. Chalmers. Probably his fingerprints are in the Rogues’ Gallery, and he is better known to the police as Jack the Blood or something, but he hasn’t shown that side of him yet. My point is that, whoever he is, I do not want him or anybody else coming and taking up his abode here while I have to be cook and housemaid too. I object to having a stranger on the premises spying out the nakedness of the land. I am sensitive about my honest poverty. So, darling Nutty, my precious Nutty, you miserable simp, you poor boneheaded muddler, will you kindly think up at your earliest convenience some plan for politely ejecting this Mr. Chalmers of yours from our humble home, because if you don’t I’m going to have a nervous breakdown.”

And, completely restored to good humor by her own eloquence, Elizabeth burst out