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

Thought Of That Before I Inserted The Advertisement."

Ashe Appreciated The Difficulty.

"Couldn't You Make An A--B Case Out Of It?"

"Maybe I Could If I Knew What An A--B Case Was."

"Call The People Mixed Up In It A And B."

"And Forget,  Halfway Through,  Who Was Which! No; I Guess I'll

Have To Trust You."

"I'll Play Square."

The Little Man Fastened His Eyes On Ashe's In A Piercing Stare.

Ashe Met Them Smilingly. His Spirits,  Always Fairly Cheerful,  Had

Risen High By Now. There Was Something About The Little Man,  In

Spite Of His Brusqueness And Ill Temper,  Which Made Him Feel

Flippant.

"Pure White!" Said Ashe.

"Eh?"

"My Soul! And This"--He Thumped The Left Section Of His

Waistcoat--"Solid Gold. You May Fire When Ready,  Gridley.

Proceed,  Professor."

"I Don't Know Where To Begin."

"Without Presuming To Dictate,  Why Not At The Beginning?"

"It's All So Darned Complicated That I Don't Rightly Know Which

Is The Beginning. Well,  See Here . . . I Collect Scarabs. I'm

Crazy About Scarabs. Ever Since I Quit Business,  You Might Say

That I Have Practically Lived For Scarabs."

"Though It Sounds Like An Unkind Thing To Say Of Anyone," Said

Ashe. "Incidentally,  What Are Scarabs?" He Held Up His Hand.

"Wait! It All Comes Back To Me. Expensive Classical Education,

Now Bearing Belated Fruit. Scarabaeus--Latin; Noun,  Nominative--A

Beetle. Scarabaee--Vocative--O You Beetle! Scarabaeum--

Accusative--The Beetle. Scarabaei--Of The Beetle. Scarabaeo--To

Or For The Beetle. I Remember Now. Egypt--Rameses--Pyramids--

Sacred Scarabs! Right!"

"Well,  I Guess I've Gotten Together The Best Collection Of

Scarabs Outside The British Museum,  And Some Of Them Are Worth

What You Like To Me. I Don't Reckon Money When It Comes To A

Question Of My Scarabs. Do You Understand?"

"Sure,  Mike!"

Displeasure Clouded The Little Man's Face.

"My Name Is Not Mike."

"I Used The Word Figuratively,  As It Were."

"Well,  Don't Do It Again. My Name Is J. Preston Peters,  And Mr.

Peters Will Do As Well As Anything Else When You Want To Attract

My Attention."

"Mine Is Marson. You Were Saying,  Mr. Peters--?"

"Well,  It's This Way," Said The Little Man.

Shakespeare And Pope Have Both Emphasized The Tediousness Of A

Twice-Told Tale; The Episode Of The Stolen Scarab Need Not Be

Repeated At This Point,  Though It Must Be Admitted That Mr.

Peters' Version Of It Differed Considerably From The Calm,

Dispassionate Description The Author,  In His Capacity Of Official

Historian,  Has Given Earlier In The Story.

In Mr. Peters' Version The Earl Of Emsworth Appeared As A Smooth

And Purposeful Robber,  A Sort Of Elderly Raffles,  Worming His Way

Into The Homes Of The Innocent,  And Only Sparing That Portion Of

Their Property Which Was Too Heavy For Him To Carry Away. Mr.

Peters,  Indeed,  Specifically Described The Earl Of Emsworth As An

Oily Old Second-Story Man.

It Took Ashe Some Little Time To Get A Thorough Grasp Of The

Tangled Situation; But He Did It At Last.

Only One Point Perplexed Him.

"You Want To Hire Somebody To Go To This Castle And Get This

Scarab Back For You. I Follow That. But Why Must He Go As Your

Valet?"

"That's Simple Enough. You Don't Think I'm Asking Him To Buy A

Black Mask And Break In,  Do You? I'm Making It As Easy For Him As

Possible. I Can't Take A Secretary Down To The Castle,  For

Everybody Knows That,  Now I've Retired,  I Haven't Got A

Secretary; And If I Engaged A New One And He Was Caught Trying To

Steal My Scarab From The Earl's Collection,  It Would Look

Suspicious. But A Valet Is Different. Anyone Can Get Fooled By A

Crook Valet With Bogus References."

"I See. There's Just One Other Point: Suppose Your Accomplice

Does Get Caught--What Then?"

"That," Said Mr. Peters,  "Is The Catch; And It's Just Because Of

That I Am Offering Good Pay To My Man. We'll Suppose,  For The

Sake Of Argument,  That You Accept The Contract And Get Caught.

Well,  If That Happens You've Got To Look After Yourself. I

Couldn't Say A Word. If I Did It Would All Come Out,  And So Far

As The Breaking Off Of My Daughter's Engagement To Young

Threepwood Is Concerned,  It Would Be Just As Bad As Though I Had

Tried To Get The Thing Back Myself.

"You've Got To Bear That In Mind. You've Got To Remember It If

You Forget Everything Else. I Don't Appear In This Business In

Any Way Whatsoever. If You Get Caught You Take What's Coming To

You Without A Word. You Can't Turn Round And Say: 'I Am Innocent.

Mr. Peters Will Explain All'--Because Mr. Peters Certainly Won't.

Mr. Peters Won't Utter A Syllable Of Protest If They Want To Hang

You.

"No; If You Go Into This,  Young Man,  You Go Into It With Your

Eyes Open. You Go Into It With A Full Understanding Of The

Risks--Because You Think The Reward,  If You Are Successful,  Makes

The Taking Of Those Risks Worth While. You And I Know That What

You Are Doing Isn't Really Stealing; It's Simply A Tactful Way Of

Getting Back My Own Property. But The Judge And Jury Will Have

Different Views."

"I Am Beginning To Understand," Said Ashe Thoughtfully,  "Why You

Called The Job Delicate And Dangerous."

Certainly It Had Been No Overstatement. As A Writer Of Detective

Stories For The British Office Boy,  He Had Imagined In His Time

Many Undertakings That Might Be So Described,  But Few To Which

The Description Was More Admirably Suited.

"It Is," Said Mr. Peters; "And That Is Why I'm Offering Good Pay.

Whoever Carries This Job Through Gets One Thousand Pounds."

Ashe Started.

"One Thousand Pounds--Five Thousand Dollars!"

"Five Thousand."

"When Do I Begin?"

"You'll Do It?"

"For Five Thousand Dollars I Certainly Will."

"With Your Eyes Open?"

"Wide Open!"

A Look Of Positive Geniality Illuminated Mr. Peters' Pinched

Features. He Even Went So Far As To Pat Ashe On The Shoulder.

"Good Boy!" He Said. "Meet Me At Paddington Station At Four

O'clock On Friday. And If There's Anything More You Want To Know

Come Round To This Address."

There Remained The Telling Of Joan Valentine; For It Was

Obviously Impossible Not To Tell Her. When You Have

Revolutionized Your Life At The Bidding Of Another You Cannot

Well Conceal The Fact,  As Though Nothing Had Happened. Ashe Had

Not The Slightest Desire To Conceal The Fact. On The Contrary,  He

Was Glad To Have Such A Capital Excuse For Renewing The

Acquaintance.

He Could Not Tell Her,  Of Course,  The Secret Details Of The

Thing. Naturally Those Must Remain Hidden. No,  He Would Just Go

Airily In And Say:

"You Know What You Told Me About Doing Something New? Well,  I've

Just Got A Job As A Valet."

So He Went Airily In And Said It.

"To Whom?" Said Joan.

"To A Man Named Peters--An American."

Women Are Trained From Infancy Up To Conceal Their Feelings. Joan

Did Not Start Or Otherwise Express Emotion.

"Not Mr. J. Preston Peters?"

"Yes. Do You Know Him? What A Remarkable Thing."

"His Daughter," Said Joan,  "Has Just Engaged Me As A Lady's

Maid."

"What!"

"It Will Not Be Quite The Same Thing As Three Years Ago," Joan

Explained. "It Is Just A Cheap Way Of Getting A Holiday. I Used

To Know Miss Peters Very Well,  You See. It Will Be More Like

Traveling As Her Guest."

"But--But--" Ashe Had Not Yet Overcome His Amazement.

"Yes?"

"But What An Extraordinary Coincidence!"

"Yes. By The Way,  How Did You Get The Situation? And What Put It

Into Your Head To Be A Valet At All? It Seems Such A Curious

Thing For You To Think Of Doing."

Ashe Was Embarrassed.

"I--I--Well,  You See,  The Experience Will Be Useful To Me,  Of

Course,  In My Writing."

"Oh! Are You Thinking Of Taking Up My Line Of Work? Dukes?"

"No,  No--Not Exactly That."

"It Seems So Odd. How Did You Happen To Get In Touch With Mr.

Peters?"

"Oh,  I Answered An Advertisement."

"I See."

Ashe Was Becoming Conscious Of An Undercurrent Of Something Not

Altogether Agreeable In The Conversation. It Lacked The Gay Ease

Of Their First Interview. He Was Not Apprehensive Lest She Might

Have Guessed His Secret. There Was,  He Felt,  No Possible Means By

Which She Could Have Done That. Yet The Fact Remained That Those

Keen Blue Eyes Of Hers Were Looking At Him In A Peculiar And

Penetrating Manner. He Felt Damped.

"It Will Be Nice,  Being Together," He Said Feebly.

"Very!" Said Joan.

There Was A Pause.

"I Thought I Would Come And Tell You."

"Quite So."

There Was Another Pause.

"It Seems So Funny That You Should Be Going Out As A Lady's

Maid."

"Yes?"

"But,  Of Course,  You Have Done It Before."

"Yes."

"The Really Extraordinary Thing Is That We Should Be Going To The

Same People."

"Yes."

"It--It's Remarkable,  Isn't It?"

"Yes."

Ashe Reflected. No; He Did Not Appear To Have Any Further Remarks

To Make.

"Good-By For The Present," He Said.

"Good-By."

Ashe Drifted Out. He Was Conscious Of A Wish That He Understood

Girls. Girls,  In His Opinion,  Were Odd.

When He Had Gone