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

epub:type="se:name.publication.magazine">Interesting Bits and writing footling short stories about girls who want to be loved for themselves alone, Tuppy will be Sir George Tupper, K.C.M.G., and a devil of a fellow among the Chancelleries.

I found him up to his eyes in official-looking papers, and I came to the point with all speed. I knew that he was probably busy declaring war on Montenegro or somewhere and wouldn’t want a lot of idle chatter.

“Tuppy, old horse,” I said, “it is imperative that I have a fiver immediately.”

“A what?” said Tuppy.

“A tenner,” I said.

It was at this point that I was horrified to observe in the man’s eye that rather cold, forbidding look which you sometimes see in blokes’ eyes on these occasions.

“I lent you five pounds only a week ago,” he said.

“And may heaven reward you, old horse,” I replied courteously.

“What do you want any more for?”

I was just about to tell him the whole circumstances when it was as if a voice whispered to me, “Don’t do it!” Something told me that Tuppy was in a nasty frame of mind and was going to turn me down⁠—yes, me, an old schoolfellow, who had known him since he was in Eton collars. And at the same time I suddenly perceived, lying on a chair by the door, Tuppy’s topper. For Tuppy is not one of those civil servants who lounge into Whitehall in flannels and a straw hat. He is a correct dresser, and I honor him for it.

“What on earth,” said Tuppy, “do you need money for?”

“Personal expenses, laddie,” I replied. “The cost of living is very high these days.”

“What you want,” said Tuppy, “is work.”

“What I want,” I reminded him⁠—if old Tuppy has a fault, it is that he will not stick to the point⁠—“is a fiver.”

He shook his head in a way I did not like to see.

“It’s very bad for you, all this messing about on borrowed money. It’s not that I grudge it to you,” said Tuppy; and I knew, when I heard him talk in that pompous, Foreign-Official way, that something had gone wrong that day in the country’s service. Probably the draft treaty with Switzerland had been pinched by a foreign adventuress. That sort of thing is happening all the time in the Foreign Office. Mysterious veiled women blow in on old Tuppy and engage him in conversation, and when he turns round he finds the long blue envelope with the important papers in it gone.

“It’s not that I grudge you the money,” said Tuppy, “but you really ought to be in some regular job. I must think,” said Tuppy. “I must think. I must have a look round.”

“And meanwhile,” I said, “the fiver?”

“No. I’m not going to give it to you.”

“Only five pounds,” I urged. “Five little pounds, Tuppy, old horse.”

“No.”

“You can chalk it up in the books to office expenses and throw the burden on the taxpayer.”

“No.”

“Will nothing move you?”

“No. And I’m awfully sorry, old man, but I must ask you to clear out now. I’m terribly busy.”

“Oh, right-ho,” I said.

He burrowed down into the documents again; and I moved to the door, scooped up the top hat from the chair, and passed out.

Next morning, when I was having a bit of breakfast, in rolled old Tuppy.

“I say,” said Tuppy.

“Say on, laddie.”

“You know when you came to see me yesterday?”

“Yes. You’ve come to tell me you’ve changed your mind about that fiver?”

“No, I haven’t come to tell you I’ve changed my mind about that fiver. I was going to say that, when I started to leave the office, I found my top hat had gone.”

“Too bad,” I said.

Tuppy gave me a piercing glance.

“You didn’t take it, I suppose.”

“Who, me? What would I want with a top hat?”

“Well, it’s very mysterious.”

“I expect you’ll find it was pinched by an international spy or something.”

Tuppy brooded for some moments.

“It’s all very odd,” he said. “I’ve never had it happen to me before.”

“One gets new experiences.”

“Well, never mind about that. What I really came about was to tell you that I think I have got you a job.”

“You don’t mean that!”

“I met a man at the club last night who wants a secretary. It’s more a matter with him of having somebody to keep his papers in order and all that sort of thing, so typing and shorthand are not essential. You can’t do shorthand, I suppose.”

“I don’t know. I’ve never tried.”

“Well, you’re to go and see him tomorrow morning at ten. His name’s Bulstrode, and you’ll find him at my club. It’s a good chance, so for heaven’s sake don’t be lounging in bed at ten.”

“I won’t. I’ll be up and ready, with a heart for any fate.”

“Well, mind you are.”

“And I am deeply grateful, Tuppy, old horse, for these esteemed favors.”

“That’s all right,” said Tuppy. He paused at the door. “It’s a mystery about that hat.”

“Insoluble, I should say. I shouldn’t worry any more about it.”

“One moment it was there, and the next it had gone.”

“How like life!” I said. “Makes one think a bit, that sort of thing.”

He pushed off, and I was just finishing my breakfast when Mrs. Beale, my landlady, came in with a letter.

It was from Mabel, reminding me to be sure to come to Ascot. I read it three times while I was consuming a fried egg; and I am not ashamed to say, Corky, that tears filled my eyes. To think of her caring so much that she should send special letters urging me to be there made me tremble like a leaf. It looked to me as though the Bart’s number was up. Yes, at that moment, Corky, I felt positively sorry for the Bart, who was in his way quite a good chap, though pimply.

That night I made my final preparations. I counted the cash in hand. I had just enough to pay my fare to Ascot and back, my entrance fee to the grand stand and paddock, with a matter of fifteen bob over for lunch