A Damsel in Distress by P. G. Wodehouse (pocket ebook reader txt) 📕

right the first time. It’s all a question of luck. There’s nothing anyone can do.”

“I hang about a good deal and get in her way,” said Reggie. “She’s always tripping over me. I thought that might help a bit.”

“It might, of course.”

“But on the other hand, when we do meet, I can’t think of anything to say.”

“That’s bad.”

“Deuced funny thing. I’m not what you’d call a silent sort of chappie by nature. But, when I’m with her⁠—I don’t know. It’s rum!” He drained his glass and rose. “Well, I suppose I may as well be staggering. Don’t get up. Have another game one of these days, what?”

“Splendid. Any time you like.”

“Well, so long.”

“Goodbye.”

George gave himself up to glowing thoughts. For the first time in his life he seemed to be vividly aware of his own existence. It was as if he were some newly-created thing. Everything around him and everything he did had taken on a strange and novel interest. He seemed to notice the ticking of the clock for the first time. When he raised his glass the action had a curious air of newness. All his senses were oddly alert. He could even⁠—

“How would it be,” enquired Reggie, appearing in the doorway like part of a conjuring trick, “if I gave her a flower or two every now and then? Just thought of it as I was starting the car. She’s fond of flowers.”

“Fine!” said George heartily. He had not heard a word. The alertness of sense which had come to him was accompanied by a strange inability to attend to other people’s speech. This would no doubt pass, but meanwhile it made him a poor listener.

“Well, it’s worth trying,” said Reggie. “I’ll give it a whirl. Toodle-oo!”

“Goodbye.”

“Pip-pip!”

Reggie withdrew, and presently came the noise of the car starting. George returned to his thoughts.

Time, as we understand it, ceases to exist for a man in such circumstances. Whether it was a minute later or several hours, George did not know; but presently he was aware of a small boy standing beside him⁠—a golden-haired boy with blue eyes, who wore the uniform of a page. He came out of his trance. This, he recognized, was the boy to whom he had given the note for Maud. He was different from any other intruder. He meant something in George’s scheme of things.

“ ’Ullo!” said the youth.

“Hullo, Alphonso!” said George.

“My name’s not Alphonso.”

“Well, you be very careful or it soon may be.”

“Got a note for yer. From Lidy Mord.”

“You’ll find some cake and ginger-ale in the kitchen,” said the grateful George. “Give it a trial.”

“Not ’arf!” said the stripling.

XI

George opened the letter with trembling and reverent fingers.

Dear Mr. Bevan,

Thank you ever so much for your note, which Albert gave to me. How very, very kind⁠ ⁠…

“Hey, mister!”

George looked up testily. The boy Albert had reappeared.

“What’s the matter? Can’t you find the cake?”

“I’ve found the kike,” rejoined Albert, adducing proof of the statement in the shape of a massive slice, from which he took a substantial bite to assist thought. “But I can’t find the ginger ile.”

George waved him away. This interruption at such a moment was annoying.

“Look for it, child, look for it! Sniff after it! Bay on its trail! It’s somewhere about.”

“Wri’!” mumbled Albert through the cake. He flicked a crumb off his cheek with a tongue which would have excited the friendly interest of an anteater. “I like ginger-ile.”

“Well, go and bathe in it.”

“Wri’!”

George returned to his letter.

Dear Mr. Bevan,

Thank you ever so much for your note, which Albert gave to me. How very, very kind of you to come here like this and to say⁠ ⁠…

“Hey, mister!”

“Good Heavens!” George glared. “What’s the matter now? Haven’t you found that ginger-ale yet?”

“I’ve found the ginger-ile right enough, but I can’t find the thing.”

“The thing? What thing?”

“The thing. The thing wot you open ginger-ile with.”

“Oh, you mean the thing? It’s in the middle drawer of the dresser. Use your eyes, my boy!”

“Wri’.”

George gave an overwrought sigh and began the letter again.

Dear Mr. Bevan,

Thank you ever so much for your note which Albert gave to me. How very, very kind of you to come here like this and to say that you would help me. And how clever of you to find me after I was so secretive that day in the cab! You really can help me, if you are willing. It’s too long to explain in a note, but I am in great trouble, and there is nobody except you to help me. I will explain everything when I see you. The difficulty will be to slip away from home. They are watching me every moment, I’m afraid. But I will try my hardest to see you very soon.

Yours sincerely,

Maud Marsh.

Just for a moment it must be confessed, the tone of the letter damped George. He could not have said just what he had expected, but certainly Reggie’s revelations had prepared him for something rather warmer, something more in the style in which a girl would write to the man she loved. The next moment, however, he saw how foolish any such expectation had been. How on earth could any reasonable man expect a girl to let herself go at this stage of the proceedings? It was for him to make the first move. Naturally she wasn’t going to reveal her feelings until he had revealed his.

George raised the letter to his lips and kissed it vigorously.

“Hey, mister!”

George started guiltily. The blush of shame overspread his cheeks. The room seemed to echo with the sound of that fatuous kiss.

“Kitty, Kitty, Kitty!” he called, snapping his fingers, and repeating the incriminating noise. “I was just calling my cat,” he explained with dignity. “You didn’t see her in there, did you?”

Albert’s blue eyes met his in a derisive stare. The lid of the left one fluttered. It was but too plain that Albert was not convinced.

“A little black cat with white shirtfront,” babbled George