Ukridge Stories by P. G. Wodehouse (best large ereader TXT) 📕

must remember Flossie. The barmaid at the Crown in Kennington. The girl Battling Billson is engaged to. Surely you haven’t forgotten Flossie? Why, she was saying only yesterday that you had nice eyes.”

Memory awoke. I felt ashamed that I could ever have forgotten a girl so bounding and spectacular.

“Of course! The blister you brought with you that night George Tupper gave us dinner at the Regent Grill. By the way, has George ever forgiven you for that?”

“There is still a little coldness,” admitted Ukridge, ruefully. “I’m bound to say old Tuppy seems to be letting the thing rankle a bit. The fact of the matter is, old horse, Tuppy has his limitations. He isn’t a real friend like you. Delightful fellow, but lacks vision. Can’t understand that there are certain occasions when it is simply imperative that a man’s pals rally round him. Now you⁠—”

“Well, I’ll tell you one thing. I am hoping that what I went through this afternoon really was for some good cause. I should be sorry, now that I am in a cooler frame of mind, to have to strangle you where you lie. Would you mind telling me exactly what was the idea behind all this?”

“It’s like this, laddie. Good old Billson blew in to see me the other day.”

“I met him down in the East End and he asked for your address.”

“Yes, he told me.”

“What’s going on? Are you still managing him?”

“Yes. That’s what he wanted to see me about. Apparently the contract has another year to run and he can’t fix up anything without my OK. And he’s just had an offer to fight a bloke called Alf Todd at the Universal.”

“That’s a step up from Wonderland,” I said, for I had a solid respect for this Mecca of the boxing world. “How much is he getting this time?”

“Two hundred quid.”

“Two hundred quid! But that’s a lot for practically an unknown man.”

“Unknown man?” said Ukridge, hurt. “What do you mean, unknown man? If you ask my opinion, I should say the whole pugilistic world is seething with excitement about old Billson. Literally seething. Didn’t he slosh the middleweight champion?”

“Yes, in a rough-and-tumble in a back alley. And nobody saw him do it.”

“Well, these things get about.”

“But two hundred pounds!”

“A fleabite, laddie, a fleabite. You can take it from me that we shall be asking a lot more than a measly couple of hundred for our services pretty soon. Thousands, thousands! Still, I’m not saying it won’t be something to be going on with. Well, as I say, old Billson came to me and said he had had this offer, and how about it? And when I realised that I was in halves, I jolly soon gave him my blessing and told him to go as far as he liked. So you can imagine how I felt when Flossie put her foot down like this.”

“Like what? About ten minutes ago when you started talking, you seemed to be on the point of explaining about Flossie. How does she come to be mixed up with the thing? What did she do?”

“Only wanted to stop the whole business, laddie, that was all. Just put the kybosh on the entire works. Said he mustn’t fight!”

“Mustn’t fight?”

“That was what she said. Just in that airy, careless way, as if the most stupendous issues didn’t hang on his fighting as he had never fought before. Said⁠—if you’ll believe me, laddie; I shan’t blame you if you don’t⁠—that she didn’t want his looks spoiled.” Ukridge gazed at me with lifted eyebrows while he let this evidence of feminine perverseness sink in. “His looks, old man! You got the word correctly? His looks! She didn’t want his looks spoiled. Why, damme, he hasn’t got any looks. There isn’t any possible manner in which you could treat that man’s face without improving it. I argued with her by the hour, but no, she couldn’t see it. Avoid women, laddie, they have no intelligence.”

“Well, I’ll promise to avoid Flossie’s mother, if that’ll satisfy you. How does she come into the thing?”

“Now, there’s a woman in a million, my boy. She saved the situation. She came along at the eleventh hour and snatched your old friend out of the soup. It seems she has a habit of popping up to London at intervals, and Flossie, while she loves and respects her, finds that from ten minutes to a quarter of an hour of the old dear gives her the pip to such an extent that she’s a nervous wreck for days.”

I felt my heart warm to the future Mrs. Billson. Despite Ukridge’s slurs, a girl, it seemed to me, of the soundest intelligence.

“So when Flossie told me⁠—with tears in her eyes, poor girl⁠—that mother was due today, I had the inspiration of a lifetime. Said I would take her off her hands from start to finish if she would agree to let Billson fight at the Universal. Well, it shows you what family affection is, laddie; she jumped at it. I don’t mind telling you she broke down completely and kissed me on both cheeks. The rest, old horse, you know.”

“Yes. The rest I do know.”

“Never,” said Ukridge, solemnly, “never, old son, till the sands of the desert grow cold, shall I forget how you have stood by me this day!”

“Oh, all right. I expect in about a week from now you will be landing me with something equally foul.”

“Now, laddie⁠—”

“When does this fight come off?”

“A week from tonight. I’m relying on you to be at my side. Tense nervous strain, old man; shall want a pal to see me through.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for worlds. I’ll give you dinner before we go there, shall I?”

“Spoken like a true friend,” said Ukridge, warmly. “And on the following night I will stand you the banquet of your life. A banquet which will ring down the ages. For, mark you, laddie, I shall be in funds. In funds, my boy.”

“Yes, if Billson wins. What does he get