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

And this after reading “Doctor Cupid’s” invaluable tip about “Seeking her company on all occasions” and the dictum of “Aunt Charlotte” to the effect that “Many a wooer has won his lady by being persistent”⁠—Albert spelled it “persistuent” but the effect is the same⁠—“and rendering himself indispensable by constant little attentions.” So far from rendering himself indispensable to Maud by constant little attentions, Reggie, to the disgust of his backer and supporter, seemed to spend most of his time with Alice Faraday. On three separate occasions had Albert been revolted by the sight of his protégé in close association with the Faraday girl⁠—once in a boat on the lake and twice in his grey car. It was enough to break a boy’s heart; and it completely spoiled Albert’s appetite⁠—a phenomenon attributed, I am glad to say, in the Servants’ Hall to reaction from recent excesses. The moment when Keggs, the butler, called him a greedy little pig and hoped it would be a lesson to him not to stuff himself at all hours with stolen cakes was a bitter moment for Albert.

It is a relief to turn from the contemplation of these tortured souls to the pleasanter picture presented by Lord Marshmoreton. Here, undeniably, we have a man without a secret sorrow, a man at peace with this best of all possible worlds. Since his visit to George a second youth seems to have come upon Lord Marshmoreton. He works in his rose-garden with a new vim, whistling or even singing to himself stray gay snatches of melodies popular in the ’eighties.

Hear him now as he toils. He has a long garden-implement in his hand, and he is sending up the death-rate in slug circles with a devastating rapidity.

Ta-ra-ra boom-de-ay
Ta-ra-ra boom⁠—

And the boom is a death-knell. As it rings softly out on the pleasant spring air, another stout slug has made the Great Change.

It is peculiar, this gaiety. It gives one to think. Others have noticed it, his lordship’s valet amongst them.

“I give you my honest word, Mr. Keggs,” says the valet, awed, “this very morning I ’eard the old devil a-singing in ’is barth! Chirruping away like a blooming linnet!”

“Lor!” says Keggs, properly impressed.

“And only last night ’e gave me ’arf a box of cigars and said I was a good, faithful feller! I tell you, there’s somethin’ happened to the old buster⁠—you mark my words!”

Over this complex situation the mind of Keggs, the butler, played like a searchlight. Keggs was a man of discernment and sagacity. He had instinct and reasoning power. Instinct told him that Maud, all unsuspecting the change that had taken place in Albert’s attitude toward her romance, would have continued to use the boy as a link between herself and George: and reason, added to an intimate knowledge of Albert, enabled him to see that the latter must inevitably have betrayed her trust. He was prepared to bet a hundred pounds that Albert had been given letters to deliver and had destroyed them. So much was clear to Keggs. It only remained to settle on some plan of action which would reestablish the broken connection. Keggs did not conceal a tender heart beneath a rugged exterior: he did not mourn over the picture of two loving fellow human beings separated by a misunderstanding; but he did want to win that sweepstake.

His position, of course, was delicate. He could not go to Maud and beg her to confide in him. Maud would not understand his motives, and might leap to the not unjustifiable conclusion that he had been at the sherry. No! Men were easier to handle than women. As soon as his duties would permit⁠—and in the present crowded condition of the house they were arduous⁠—he set out for George’s cottage.

“I trust I do not disturb or interrupt you, sir,” he said, beaming in the doorway like a benevolent high priest. He had doffed his professional manner of austere disapproval, as was his custom in moments of leisure.

“Not at all,” replied George, puzzled. “Was there anything⁠ ⁠… ?”

“There was, sir.”

“Come along in and sit down.”

“I would not take the liberty, if it is all the same to you, sir. I would prefer to remain standing.”

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Uncomfortable, that is to say, on the part of George, who was wondering if the butler remembered having engaged him as a waiter only a few nights back. Keggs himself was at his ease. Few things ruffled this man.

“Fine day,” said George.

“Extremely, sir, but for the rain.”

“Oh, is it raining?”

“Sharp downpour, sir.”

“Good for the crops,” said George.

“So one would be disposed to imagine, sir.”

Silence fell again. The rain dripped from the eaves.

“If I might speak freely, sir⁠ ⁠… ?” said Keggs.

“Sure. Shoot!”

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

“I mean, yes. Go ahead!”

The butler cleared his throat.

“Might I begin by remarking that your little affair of the ’eart, if I may use the expression, is no secret in the Servants’ ’all? I ’ave no wish to seem to be taking a liberty or presuming, but I should like to intimate that the Servants’ ’all is aware of the facts.”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” said George coldly. “I know all about the sweepstake.”

A flicker of embarrassment passed over the butler’s large, smooth face⁠—passed, and was gone.

“I did not know that you ’ad been apprised of that little matter, sir. But you will doubtless understand and appreciate our point of view. A little sporting flutter⁠—nothing more⁠—designed to halleviate the monotony of life in the country.”

“Oh, don’t apologize,” said George, and was reminded of a point which had exercised him a little from time to time since his vigil on the balcony. “By the way, if it isn’t giving away secrets, who drew Plummer?”

“Sir?”

“Which of you drew a man named Plummer in the sweep?”

“I rather fancy, sir,” Keggs’ brow wrinkled in thought, “I rather fancy it was one of the visiting gentlemen’s gentlemen. I gave the point but slight attention at