Love Among the Chickens by P. G. Wodehouse (the reading list book .TXT) 📕

“I can’t help looking respectable.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“That’s where I wanted your advice. You’re a man of resource. What would you do in my place?”

Ukridge tapped me impressively on the shoulder.

“Laddie,” he said, “there’s one thing that’ll carry you through any mess.”

“And that is⁠—?”

“Cheek, my boy, cheek. Gall. Nerve. Why, take my case. I never told you how I came to marry, did I? I thought not. Well, it was this way. It’ll do you a bit of good, perhaps, to hear the story, for, mark you, blessings weren’t going cheap in my case either. You know Millie’s Aunt Elizabeth, the female who wrote that letter? Well, when I tell you that she was Millie’s nearest relative and that it was her consent I had to snaffle, you’ll see that I was faced with a bit of a problem.”

“Let’s have it,” I said.

“Well, the first time I ever saw Millie was in a first-class carriage on the underground. I’d got a third-class ticket, by the way. The carriage was full, and I got up and gave her my seat, and, as I hung suspended over her by a strap, damme, I fell in love with her then and there. You’ve no conception, laddie, how indescribably ripping she looked, in a sort of blue dress with a bit of red in it and a hat with thingummies. Well, we both got out at South Kensington. By that time I was gasping for air and saw that the thing wanted looking into. I’d never had much time to bother about women, but I realised that this must not be missed. I was in love, old horse. It comes over you quite suddenly, like a tidal wave⁠ ⁠…”

“I know! I know! Good Heavens, you can’t tell me anything about that.”

“Well, I followed her. She went to a house in Thurloe Square. I waited outside and thought it over. I had got to get into that shanty and make her acquaintance, if they threw me out on my ear. So I rang the bell. ‘Is Lady Lichenhall at home?’ I asked. You spot the devilish cunning of the ruse, what? My asking for a female with a title was to make ’em think I was one of the Upper Ten.”

“How were you dressed?” I could not help asking.

“Oh, it was one of my frock-coat days. I’d been to see a man about tutoring his son, and by a merciful dispensation of Providence there was a fellow living in the same boardinghouse with me who was about my build and had a frock-coat, and he had lent it to me. At least, he hadn’t exactly lent it to me, but I knew where he kept it and he was out at the time. There was nothing the matter with my appearance. Quite the young duke, I assure you, laddie, down to the last button. ‘Is Lady Lichenhall at home?’ I asked. ‘No,’ said the maid, ‘nobody of that name here. This is Lady Lakenheath’s house.’ So, you see, I had a bit of luck at the start, because the names were a bit alike. Well, I got the maid to show me in somehow, and, once in you can bet I talked for all I was worth. Kept up a flow of conversation about being misdirected and coming to the wrong house. Went away, and called a few days later. Gradually wormed my way in. Called regularly. Spied on their movements, met ’em at every theatre they went to, and bowed, and finally got away with Millie before her aunt knew what was happening or who I was or what I was doing or anything.”

“And what’s the moral?”

“Why, go in like a mighty, rushing wind! Bustle ’em! Don’t give ’em a moment’s rest or time to think or anything. Why, if I’d given Millie’s Aunt Elizabeth time to think, where should we have been? Not at Combe Regis together, I’ll bet. You heard that letter, and know what she thinks of me now, on reflection. If I’d gone slow and played a timid waiting-game, she’d have thought that before I married Millie, instead of afterwards. I give you my honest word, laddie, that there was a time, towards the middle of our acquaintance⁠—after she had stopped mixing me up with the man who came to wind the clocks⁠—when that woman ate out of my hand! Twice⁠—on two separate occasions⁠—she actually asked my advice about feeding her toy Pomeranian! Well, that shows you! Bustle ’em, laddie! Bustle ’em!”

“Ukridge,” I said, “you inspire me. You would inspire a caterpillar. I will go to the professor⁠—I was going anyhow, but now I shall go aggressively. I will prise a father’s blessing out of him, if I have to do it with a crowbar.”

“That’s the way to talk, old horse. Don’t beat about the bush. Tell him exactly what you want and stand no nonsense. If you don’t see what you want in the window, ask for it. Where did you think of tackling him?”

“Phyllis tells me that he always goes for a swim before breakfast. I thought of going down tomorrow and waylaying him.”

“You couldn’t do better. By Jove!” said Ukridge suddenly. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do, laddie. I wouldn’t do it for everybody, but I look on you as a favourite son. I’ll come with you, and help break the ice.”

“What!”

“Don’t you be under any delusion, old horse,” said Ukridge paternally. “You haven’t got an easy job in front of you, and what you’ll need more than anything else, when you really get down to brass-tacks, is a wise, kindly man of the world at your elbow, to whoop you on when your nerve fails you and generally stand in your corner and see that you get a fair show.”

“But it’s rather an intimate business⁠ ⁠…”

“Never mind! Take my tip and have me at your side. I can say things about you that you would