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

as I said before, Corky, you know me. You know that the reason why one of these days I shall make an enormous fortune and retire to spend the evening of my life in affluence is that I have that strange knack, which is given to so few men, of seizing opportunity when it calls. An ordinary mutton-headed fellow like you⁠—I use the expression without any intention of offence⁠—would undoubtedly at this juncture have raised his voice a trifle and explained to this bearded cove that the intricacies of the English language had led him into a pardonable error.

But did I? No, I did not. For, even as he spoke, an idea exploded in my brain like a bomb.

“Done!” I cried.

“Ah?”

“Here’s your five bob. Whistle to the dog.”

He whistled, and the dog came running up. And, having massaged his ribs awhile, I picked him up and shoved him inside the car and banged the door. And then I saw Joe the Lawyer plodding up the road, slopping water from a big pail.

“I got it,” he said.

He went round and unscrewed the cap of the radiator and was starting to pour the water in, when the dog barked. Joe looked up, saw him, and dropped the pail⁠—happily over his trousers.

“Who put that dog in the car?” he said.

“I did. I’ve bought him.”

“Then you can damn well take him out.”

“But I’m bringing him home with me.”

“Not in my car.”

“Well, then,” I said, “I’ll sell him to you, and you can do what you like about him.”

He exhibited a good deal of impatience.

“I don’t want to buy any dogs.”

“Nor did I, till you talked me into it. And I don’t see what you have to complain of. This dog’s alive. The one you sold me was dead.”

“What do you want for him?”

“A hundred pounds.”

He staggered somewhat.

“A hundred pounds?”

“That’s all. Don’t let the boys hear of it, or they’ll think me silly.”

He spoke for awhile.

“A hundred and fifty,” I said. “The market’s rising.”

“Now, listen, listen, listen!” said the bloke Joe.

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” I said. “And this is a firm offer. One hundred pounds, if paid within the minute. After that the price will go up.”

Corky, old horse, I have in my time extracted various sums of money from various people, and some of them have given cheerfully of their abundance and others have unbelted in a manner that you might call wry. But never in the whole of my career have I beheld a fellow-human being cough up in quite the spirit that this bloke Joe the Lawyer did. He was a short-necked man, and there was one moment when I thought his blood-pressure was going to be too much for him. He turned a rather vivid shade of maroon, and his lips trembled as if he were praying. But in the end he dipped into the satchel and counted out the money.

“Thanks,” I said. “Well, goodbye.”

He seemed to be waiting for something.

“Goodbye,” I said again. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, laddie, but I must decline to continue in your society. We are nearing civilization now, and at any moment some friend of mine might see me in your car, which would jeopardize my social prestige. I will walk to the nearest railway station.”

“But, gawblimey⁠—!”

“Now what?”

“Aren’t you going to take that dog out of the car?” he said, specifying what sort of a dog it was in his opinion. He also added a few remarks in a derogatory spirit about myself.

“Me?” I said. “Why? I simply sold him to you. My part in the transaction is ended.”

“But how’m I going to get to Sandown if I can’t get into my car?”

“Why do you want to get to Sandown?”

“If I’m late, it means hundreds of pounds out of my pocket.”

“Ah?” I said. “Then, of course, you’ll be willing to pay large sums to anyone who helps you to get there. I don’t mind lending you a hand, if it’s made worth my while. Removing dogs from cars is highly specialized work, and I’ll have to insist on specialist’s prices. Shall we say fifty quid for the job?”

He yammered a good deal, but I cut him short.

“Take it or leave it,” I said. “It’s all the same to me.”

Whereupon he produced the stipulated sum, and I opened the door and hauled the dog out. And Joe got in without a word and drove off. And that, Corky, is the last I have seen of the man. Nor do I wish to see him again. He is slippery, Corky. Not honest. A man to avoid.

I took the dog back to the cottage, and bellowed for the bearded cove.

“I shan’t want this, after all,” I said. “You can have him.”

“Ah?”

“I don’t want this dog.”

“Ah! Well, you won’t get your five shillings back.”

“God bless you, my merry peasant,” I said, slapping the cove genially abaft the collar-stud. “Keep it with my blessing. I toss such sums to the birds.”

And he said “Ah” and pushed off; and I toddled along to see if I could find a station. And I sang, Corky, old boy. Yes, laddie, your old friend, as he strode through those country lanes, trilled like a bally linnet.

Next day I looked in at the pawnbroker’s, shelled out the requisite cash, recovered the brooch, and bunged it back into the bureau drawer.

And on the following morning my aunt turned up in a taxi and, having paid it its legal fare, backed me into the library and fixed me with a burning eye.

“Stanley,” she said.

“Say on, Aunt Julia,” I said.

“Stanley, Miss Vining tells me you refused to allow her to obtain my diamond brooch.”

“Quite right, Aunt Julia. She wanted to break open your bureau drawer, but I would have none of it.”

“Shall I tell you why?”

“It was because she had lost the key.”

“I am not referring to that, as you know very well. Shall I tell you why you would not let her break open the drawer?”

“Because I respected your property too much.”

“Indeed? I