Something New by Pelham Grenville Wodehouse (best memoirs of all time TXT) 📕

Messrs. Mainprice,  Mainprice & Boole Until The Afternoon,  It Is

Possible That Barriers Of Laziness Might Have Reared Themselves

In The Path Of Adventure; For Ashe,  An Adventurer At Heart,  Was

Also Uncommonly Lazy. As It Was,  However,  He Could Make An

Immediate Start.

Pausing But To Put On His Shoes,  And Having Satisfied Himself By

A Glance In The Mirror That His Appearance Was Reasonably Good,

He Seized His Hat,  Shot Out Of The Narrow Mouth Of Arundell Street

Like A Shell,  And Scrambled Into A Taxicab,  With The Feeling

That--Short Of Murder--They Could Not Make It Too Delicate And

Dangerous For Him.

He Was Conscious Of Strange Thrills. This,  He Told Himself,  Was

The Only Possible Mode Of Life With Spring In The Air. He Had

Always Been Partial To Those Historical Novels In Which The

Characters Are Perpetually Vaulting On Chargers And Riding Across

Country On Perilous Errands. This Leaping Into Taxicabs To Answer

Stimulating Advertisements In The Morning Post Was Very Much The

Same Sort Of Thing. It Was With Fine Fervor Animating Him That He

Entered The Gloomy Offices Of Mainprice,  Mainprice & Boole. His

Brain Was Afire And He Felt Ready For Anything.

"I Have Come In Ans--" He Began,  To The Diminutive Office Boy,

Who Seemed To Be The Nearest Thing Visible To A Mainprice Or A

Boole.

"Siddown. Gottatakeyerturn," Said The Office Boy; And For The

First Time Ashe Perceived That The Ante-Room In Which He Stood

Was Crowded To Overflowing.

This,  In The Circumstances,  Was Something Of A Damper. He Had

Pictured Himself,  During His Ride In The Cab,  Striding Into The

Office And Saying. "The Delicate And Dangerous Enterprise. Lead

Me To It!" He Had Not Realized Until Now That He Was Not The Only

Man In London Who Read The Advertisement Columns Of The Morning

Post,  And For An Instant His Heart Sank At The Sight Of All This

Competition. A Second And More Comprehensive Glance At His Rivals

Gave Him Confidence.

The Wanted Column Of The Morning Paper Is A Sort Of Dredger,

Which Churns Up Strange Creatures From The Mud Of London's

Underworld. Only In Response To The Dredger's Operations Do They

Come To The Surface In Such Numbers As To Be Noticeable,  For As A

Rule They Are Of A Solitary Habit And Shun Company; But When They

Do Come They Bring With Them Something Of The Horror Of The

Depths.

It Is The Saddest Spectacle In The World--That Of The Crowd

Collected By A Wanted Advertisement. They Are So Palpably Not

Wanted By Anyone For Any Purpose Whatsoever; Yet Every Time They

Gather Together With A Sort Of Hopeful Hopelessness. What They

Were Originally--The Units Of These Collections--Heaven Knows.

Fate Has Battered Out Of Them Every Trace Of Individuality. Each

Now Is Exactly Like His Neighbor--No Worse; No Better.

Ashe,  As He Sat And Watched Them,  Was Filled With Conflicting

Emotions. One-Half Of Him,  Thrilled With The Glamour Of

Adventure,  Was Chafing At The Delay,  And Resentful Of These Poor

Creatures As Of So Many Obstacles To The Beginning Of All The

Brisk And Exciting Things That Lay Behind The Mysterious Brevity

Of The Advertisement; The Other,  Pitifully Alive To The Tragedy

Of The Occasion,  Was Grateful For The Delay.

On The Whole,  He Was Glad To Feel That If One Of These Derelicts

Did Not Secure The "Good Pay For The Right Man," It Would Not Be

His Fault. He Had Been The Last To Arrive,  And He Would Be The

Last To Pass Through That Door,  Which Was The Gateway Of

Adventure--The Door With Mr. Boole Inscribed On Its Ground Glass,

Behind Which Sat The Author Of The Mysterious Request For

Assistance,  Interviewing Applicants. It Would Be Through Their

Own Shortcomings--Not Because Of His Superior Attractions--If

They Failed To Please That Unseen Arbiter.

That They Were So Failing Was Plain. Scarcely Had One Scarred

Victim Of London's Unkindness Passed Through Before The Bell

Would Ring; The Office Boy,  Who,  In The Intervals Of Frowning

Sternly On The Throng,  As Much As To Say That He Would Stand No

Nonsense,  Would Cry,  "Next!" And Another Dull-Eyed Wreck Would

Drift Through,  To Be Followed A Moment Later By Yet Another. The

One Fact At Present Ascertainable Concerning The Unknown Searcher

For Reckless Young Men Of Good Appearance Was That He Appeared To

Be Possessed Of Considerable Decision Of Character,  A Man Who Did

Not Take Long To Make Up His Mind. He Was Rejecting Applicants

Now At The Rate Of Two A Minute.

Expeditious Though He Was,  He Kept Ashe Waiting For A

Considerable Time. It Was Not Until The Hands Of The Fat Clock

Over The Door Pointed To Twenty Minutes Past Eleven That The

Office Boy's "Next!" Found Him The Only Survivor. He Gave His

Clothes A Hasty Smack With The Palm Of His Hand And His Hair A

Fleeting Dab To Accentuate His Good Appearance,  And Turned The

Handle Of The Door Of Fate.

The Room Assigned By The Firm To Their Mr. Boole For His Personal

Use Was A Small And Dingy Compartment,  Redolent Of That

Atmosphere Of Desolation Which Lawyers Alone Know How To Achieve.

It Gave The Impression Of Not Having Been Swept Since The

Foundation Of The Firm,  In The Year 1786. There Was One Small

Window,  Covered With Grime. It Was One Of Those Windows You See

Only In Lawyers' Offices. Possibly Some Reckless Mainprice Or

Harebrained Boole Had Opened It In A Fit Of Mad Excitement

Induced By The News Of The Battle Of Waterloo,  In 1815,  And Had

Been Instantly Expelled From The Firm. Since Then,  No One Had

Dared To Tamper With It.

Gazing Through This Window--Or,  Rather,  Gazing At It,  For X-Rays

Could Hardly Have Succeeded In Actually Penetrating The Alluvial

Deposits On The Glass--Was A Little Man. As Ashe Entered,  He

Turned And Looked At Him As Though He Hurt Him Rather Badly In

Some Tender Spot.

Ashe Was Obliged To Own To Himself That He Felt A Little Nervous.

It Is Not Every Day That A Young Man Of Good Appearance,  Who Has

Led A Quiet Life,  Meets Face To Face One Who Is Prepared To Pay

Him Well For Doing Something Delicate And Dangerous. To Ashe The

Sensation Was Entirely Novel. The Most Delicate And Dangerous Act

He Had Performed To Date Had Been The Daily Mastication Of Mrs.

Bell's Breakfast--Included In The Rent. Yes,  He Had To Admit

It--He Was Nervous: And The Fact That He Was Nervous Made Him Hot

And Uncomfortable.

To Judge Him By His Appearance,  The Man At The Window Was Also

Hot And Uncomfortable. He Was A Little,  Truculent-Looking Man,

And His Face At Present Was Red With A Flush That Sat Unnaturally

On A Normally Lead-Colored Face. His Eyes Looked Out From Under

Thick Gray Eyebrows With An Almost Tortured Expression. This Was

Partly Owing To The Strain Of Interviewing Ashe's Preposterous

Predecessors,  But Principally To The Fact That The Little Man Had

Suddenly Been Seized With Acute Indigestion,  A Malady To Which He

Was Peculiarly Subject.

He Removed From His Mouth The Black Cigar He Was Smoking,

Inserted A Digestive Tabloid,  And Replaced The Cigar. Then He

Concentrated His Attention On Ashe. As He Did So The Hostile

Expression Of His Face Became Modified. He Looked Surprised

And--Grudgingly--Pleased.

"Well,  What Do You Want?" He Said.

"I Came In Answer To--"

"In Answer To My Advertisement? I Had Given Up Hope Of Seeing

Anything Part Human. I Thought You Must Be One Of The Clerks.

You're Certainly More Like What I Advertised For. Of All The

Seedy Bunches Of Dead Beats I Ever Struck,  The Aggregation I've

Just Been Interviewing Was The Seediest! When I Spend Good Money

In Advertising For A Young Man Of Good Appearance,  I Want A Young

Man Of Good Appearance--Not A Tramp Of Fifty-Five."

Ashe Was Sorry For His Predecessors,  But He Was Bound To Admit

That They Certainly Had Corresponded Somewhat Faithfully To The

Description Just Given. The Comparative Cordiality Of His Own

Reception Removed The Slight Nervousness That Had Been Troubling

Him. He Began To Feel Confident--Almost Jaunty.

"I'm Through," Said The Little Man Wearily. "I've Had Enough Of

Interviewing Applicants. You're The Last One I'll See. Are There

Any More Hobos Outside?"

"Not When I Came In."

"Then We'll Get Down To Business. I'll Tell You What I Want Done,

And If You Are Willing You Can Do It; If You Are Not Willing You

Can Leave It--And Go To The Devil! Sit Down."

Ashe Sat Down. He Resented The Little Man's Tone,  But This Was

Not The Moment For Saying So. His Companion Scrutinized Him

Narrowly.

"So Far As Appearance Goes," He Said,  "You Are What I Want." Ashe

Felt Inclined To Bow. "Whoever Takes On This Job Has Got To Act

As My Valet,  And You Look Like A Valet." Ashe Felt Less Inclined

To Bow.

"You're Tall And Thin And Ordinary-Looking. Yes; So Far As

Appearance Goes,  You Fill The Bill."

It Seemed To Ashe That It Was Time To Correct An Impression The

Little Man Appeared To Have Formed.

"I Am Afraid," He Said,  "If All You Want Is A Valet,  You Will

Have To Look Elsewhere. I Got The Idea From Your Advertisement

That Something Rather More Exciting Was In The Air. I Can

Recommend You To Several Good Employment Agencies If You Wish."

He Rose. "Good-Morning!" He Said.

He Would Have Liked To Fling The Massive Pewter Inkwell At This

Little Creature Who Had So Keenly Disappointed Him.

"Sit Down!" Snapped The Other.

Ashe Resumed His Seat. The Hope Of Adventure Dies Hard On A

Spring Morning When One Is Twenty-Six,  And He Had The Feeling

That There Was More To Come.

"Don't Be A Damned Fool!" Said The Little Man. "Of Course I'm Not

Asking You To Be A Valet And Nothing Else."

"You Would Want Me To Do Some Cooking And Plain Sewing On The

Side,  Perhaps?"

Their Eyes Met In A Hostile Glare. The Flush On The Little Man's

Face Deepened.

"Are You Trying To Get Fresh With Me?" He Demanded Dangerously.

"Yes," Said Ashe.

The Answer Seemed To Disconcert His Adversary. He Was Silent For

A Moment.

"Well," He Said At Last,  "Maybe It's All For The Best. If You

Weren't Full Of Gall Probably You Wouldn't Have Come Here At All;

And Whoever Takes On This Job Of Mine Has Got To Have Gall If He

Has Nothing Else. I Think We Shall Suit Each Other."

"What Is The Job?"

The Little Man's Face Showed Doubt And Perplexity.

"It's Awkward. If I'm To Make The Thing Clear To You I've Got To

Trust You. And I Don't Know