Short Fiction by P. G. Wodehouse (me reader .txt) 📕

“As a matter of fact,” he said, “the library would be all the better for a little of this sort of thing. It’s too conservative. That’s what’s the trouble with the library. What’s the matter with having a crosstalk team and a few performing dogs there? It would brighten the place up and attract custom. Reggie, you’re looking fatigued. I’ve heard there’s a place somewhere in this city, if you can only find it, expressly designed for supplying first-aid to the fatigued. Let’s go and look for it.”

I’m not given to thinking much as a rule, but I couldn’t help pondering over this meeting with Edwin. It’s hard to make you see the remarkableness of the whole thing, for, of course, if you look at it, in one way, there’s nothing so record-breaking in smoking a cigar and drinking a highball. But then you have never seen Edwin. There are degrees in everything, don’t you know. For Edwin to behave as he did with me that night was simply nothing more nor less than a frightful outburst, and it disturbed me. Not that I cared what Edwin did, as a rule, but I couldn’t help feeling a sort of what-d’you-call-it⁠—a presentiment, that somehow, in some way I didn’t understand, I was mixed up in it, or was soon going to be. I think the whole fearful family had got on my nerves to such an extent that the mere sight of any of them made me jumpy.

And, by George, I was perfectly right, don’t you know. In a day or two along came the usual telegram from Florence, telling me to come to Madison Avenue.

The mere idea of Madison Avenue was beginning to give me that tired feeling, and I made up my mind I wouldn’t go near the place. But of course I did. When it came to the point, I simply hadn’t the common manly courage to keep away.

Florence was there as before.

“Reginald,” she said, “I think I shall go raving mad.”

This struck me as a mighty happy solution of everybody’s troubles, but I felt it was too good to be true.

“Over a week ago,” she went on, “my brother Edwin came up to New York to consult a book at the library. I anticipated that this would occupy perhaps an afternoon, and was expecting him back by an early train next day. He did not arrive. He sent an incoherent telegram. But even then I suspected nothing.” She paused. “Yesterday morning,” she said, “I had a letter from my aunt Augusta.”

She paused again. She seemed to think I ought to be impressed.

Her eyes tied a bowknot in my spine.

“Let me read you her letter. No, I will tell you its contents. Aunt Augusta had seen Edwin lunching at the Waldorf with a creature.”

“A what?”

“My aunt described her. Her hair was of a curious dull bronze tint.”

“Your aunt’s?”

“The woman’s. It was then that I began to suspect. How many women with dull bronze hair does Edwin know?”

“Great Scott! Why ask me?”

I had got used to being treated as a sort of “Hey, Bill!” by Florence, but I was darned if I was going to be expected to be an encyclopedia as well.

“One,” she said. “That appalling Darrell woman.”

She drew a deep breath.

“Yesterday evening,” she said, “I saw them together in a taximeter cab. They were obviously on their way to some theatre.”

She fixed me with her eye.

“Reginald,” she said, “you must go and see her the first thing tomorrow.”

“What!” I cried. “Me? Why? Why me?”

“Because you are responsible for the whole affair. You introduced Douglas to her. You suggested that he should bring her home. Go to her tomorrow and ascertain her intentions.”

“But⁠—”

“The very first thing.”

“But wouldn’t it be better to have a talk with Edwin?”

“I have made every endeavour to see Edwin, but he deliberately avoids me. His answers to my telegrams are willfully evasive.”

There was no doubt that Edwin had effected a thorough bolt. He was having quite a pleasant little vacation: Two Weeks in Sunny New York. And from what I’d seen of him, he seemed to be thriving on it. I didn’t wonder Florence had got rather anxious. She’d have been more anxious if she had seen him when I did. He’d got a sort of “New-York-is-so-bracing” look about him, which meant a whole heap of trouble before he trotted back to the fold.

Well, I started off to interview Mrs. Darrell, and, believe me, I didn’t like the prospect. I think they ought to train A.D.T. messengers to do this sort of thing. I found her alone. The rush hour of clients hadn’t begun.

“How do you do, Mr. Pepper?” she said. “How nice of you to call.”

Very friendly, and all that. It made the situation darned difficult for a fellow, if you see what I mean.

“Say,” I said. “What about it, don’t you know?”

“I certainly don’t,” she said. “What ought I to know about what?”

“Well, about Edwin⁠—Edwin Craye,” I said.

She smiled.

“Oh! So you’re an ambassador, Mr. Pepper?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, I did come to see if I could find out how things were running. What’s going to happen?”

“Are you consulting me professionally? If so, you must show me your hand. Or perhaps you would rather I showed you mine?”

It was subtle, but I got on to it after a bit.

“Yes,” I said, “I wish you would.”

“Very well. Do you remember a conversation we had, Mr. Pepper, my last afternoon at the Crayes’? We came to the conclusion that I was rather a vindictive woman.”

“By George! You’re stringing old Edwin so as to put one over on Florence?”

She flushed a little.

“How very direct you are, Mr. Pepper! How do you know I’m not very fond of Mr. Craye? At any rate, I’m very sorry for him.”

“He’s such a chump.”

“But he’s improving every day. Have you seen him? You must notice the difference?”

“There is a difference.”

“He only wanted taking out of himself. I think he found his sister Florence’s influence a little oppressive