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

Opened It An Inch,  Stood Listening. When The Sound Of His Door

Closing Came To Her She Ran Down The Stairs And Out Into Arundell

Street. She Went To The Hotel Mathis.

"I Wonder," She Said To The Sad-Eyed Waiter,  "If You Have A Copy

Of The Morning Post?"

The Waiter,  A Child Of Romantic Italy,  Was Only Too Anxious To

Oblige Youth And Beauty. He Disappeared And Presently Returned

With A Crumpled Copy. Joan Thanked Him With A Bright Smile.

Back In Her Room,  She Turned To The Advertisement Pages. She Knew

That Life Was Full Of What The Unthinking Call Coincidences; But

The Miracle Of Ashe Having Selected By Chance The Father Of Aline

Peters As An Employer Was Too Much Of A Coincidence For Her.

Suspicion Furrowed Her Brow.

It Did Not Take Her Long To Discover The Advertisement That Had

Sent Ashe Hurrying In A Taxicab To The Offices Of Messrs.

Mainprice,  Mainprice & Boole. She Had Been Looking For Something

Of The Kind.

She Read It Through Twice And Smiled. Everything Was Very Clear

To Her. She Looked At The Ceiling Above Her And Shook Her Head.

"You Are Quite A Nice Young Man,  Mr. Marson," She Said Softly;

"But You Mustn't Try To Jump My Claim. I Dare Say You Need That

Money Too; But I'm Afraid You Must Go Without. I Am Going To Have

It--And Nobody Else!"

The Four-Fifteen Express Slid Softly Out Of Paddington Station

And Ashe Marson Settled Himself In The Corner Seat Of His

Second-Class Compartment. Opposite Him Joan Valentine Had Begun

To Read A Magazine. Along The Corridor,  In A First-Class Smoking

Compartment,  Mr. Peters Was Lighting A Big Black Cigar. Still

Farther Along The Corridor,  In A First-Class Non-Smoking

Compartment,  Aline Peters Looked Through The Window And Thought

Of Many Things.

In English Trains The Tipping Classes Travel First; Valets,

Lady's Maids,  Footmen,  Nurses,  And Head Stillroom Maids,  Second;

And Housemaids,  Grooms,  And Minor And Inferior Stillroom Maids,

Third. But For These Social Distinctions,  The Whole Fabric Of

Society Would Collapse And Anarchy Stalk Naked Through The

Land--As In The United States.

Ashe Was Feeling Remarkably Light-Hearted. He Wished He Had Not

Bought Joan That Magazine And Thus Deprived Himself Temporarily

Of The Pleasure Of Her Conversation; But That Was The Only Flaw

In His Happiness. With The Starting Of The Train,  Which Might Be

Considered The Formal And Official Beginning Of The Delicate And

Dangerous Enterprise On Which He Had Embarked,  He Had Definitely

Come To The Conclusion That The Life Adventurous Was The Life For

Him. He Had Frequently Suspected This To Be The Case,  But It Had

Required The Actual Experiment To Bring Certainty.

Almost More Than Physical Courage,  The Ideal Adventurer Needs A

Certain Lively Inquisitiveness,  The Quality Of Not Being Content

To Mind His Own Affairs; And In Ashe This Quality Was Highly

Developed. From Boyhood Up He Had Always Been Interested In

Things That Were None Of His Business. And It Is Just That

Attribute Which The Modern Young Man,  As A Rule,  So Sadly Lacks.

The Modern Young Man May Do Adventurous Things If They Are Thrust

On Him; But Left To Himself He Will Edge Away Uncomfortably And

Look In The Other Direction When The Goddess Of Adventure Smiles

At Him. Training And Tradition Alike Pluck At His Sleeve And Urge

Him Not To Risk Making Himself Ridiculous. And From Sheer Horror

Of Laying Himself Open To The Charge Of Not Minding His Own

Business He Falls Into A Stolid Disregard Of All That Is Out Of

The Ordinary And Exciting. He Tells Himself That The Shriek From

The Lonely House He Passed Just Now Was Only The High Note Of

Some Amateur Songstress,  And That The Maiden In Distress Whom He

Saw Pursued By The Ruffian With A Knife Was Merely Earning The

Salary Paid Her By Some Motion-Picture Firm. And He Proceeds On

His Way,  Looking Neither To Left Nor Right.

Ashe Had None Of This Degenerate Coyness Toward Adventure. Though

Born Within Easy Distance Of Boston And Deposited By

Circumstances In London,  He Possessed,  Nevertheless,  To A

Remarkable Degree,  That Quality So Essentially The Property Of

The New Yorker--The Quality Known,  For Want Of A More Polished

Word,  As Rubber. It Is True That It Had Needed The Eloquence Of

Joan Valentine To Stir Him From His Groove; But That Was Because

He Was Also Lazy. He Loved New Sights And New Experiences. Yes;

He Was Happy. The Rattle Of The Train Shaped Itself Into A Lively

March. He Told Himself That He Had Found The Right Occupation For

A Young Man In The Spring.

Joan,  Meantime,  Intrenched Behind Her Magazine,  Was Also Busy

With Her Thoughts. She Was Not Reading The Magazine; She Held It

Before Her As A Protection,  Knowing That If She Laid It Down Ashe

Would Begin To Talk. And Just At Present She Had No Desire For

Conversation. She,  Like Ashe,  Was Contemplating The Immediate

Future,  But,  Unlike Him,  Was Not Doing So With Much Pleasure. She

Was Regretting Heartily That She Had Not Resisted The Temptation

To Uplift This Young Man And Wishing That She Had Left Him To

Wallow In The Slothful Peace In Which She Had Found Him.

It Is Curious How Frequently In This World Our Attempts To

Stimulate And Uplift Swoop Back On Us And Smite Us Like

Boomerangs. Ashe's Presence Was The Direct Outcome Of Her Lecture

On Enterprise,  And It Added A Complication To An Already

Complicated Venture.

She Did Her Best To Be Fair To Ashe. It Was Not His Fault That He

Was About To Try To Deprive Her Of Five Thousand Dollars,  Which

She Looked On As Her Personal Property; But Illogically She Found

Herself Feeling A Little Hostile.

She Glanced Furtively At Him Over The Magazine,  Choosing By Ill

Chance A Moment When He Had Just Directed His Gaze At Her. Their

Eyes Met And There Was Nothing For It But To Talk; So She Tucked

Away Her Hostility In A Corner Of Her Mind,  Where She Could Find

It Again When She Wanted It,  And Prepared For The Time Being To

Be Friendly. After All,  Except For The Fact That He Was Her

Rival,  This Was A Pleasant And Amusing Young Man,  And One For

Whom,  Until He Made The Announcement That Had Changed Her Whole

Attitude Toward Him,  She Had Entertained A Distinct Feeling Of

Friendship--Nothing Warmer.

There Was Something About Him That Made Her Feel That She Would

Have Liked To Stroke His Hair In A Motherly Way And Straighten

His Tie,  And Have Cozy Chats With Him In Darkened Rooms By The

Light Of Open Fires,  And Make Him Tell Her His Inmost Thoughts,

And Stimulate Him To Do Something Really Worth While With His

Life; But This,  She Held,  Was Merely The Instinct Of A Generous

Nature To Be Kind And Helpful Even To A Comparative Stranger.

"Well,  Mr. Marson," She Said,  "Here We Are!"

"Exactly What I Was Thinking," Said Ashe.

He Was Conscious Of A Marked Increase In The Exhilaration The

Starting Of The Expedition Had Brought To Him. At The Back Of His

Mind He Realized There Had Been All Along A Kind Of Wistful

Resentment At The Change In This Girl's Manner Toward Him.

During The Brief Conversation When He Had Told Her Of His Having

Secured His Present Situation,  And Later,  Only A Few Minutes

Back,  On The Platform Of Paddington Station,  He Had Sensed A

Coldness,  A Certain Hostility--So Different From Her Pleasant

Friendliness At Their First Meeting.

She Had Returned Now To Her Earlier Manner And He Was Surprised

At The Difference It Made. He Felt Somehow Younger,  More Alive.

The Lilt Of The Train's Rattle Changed To A Gay Ragtime. This Was

Curious,  Because Joan Was Nothing More Than A Friend. He Was Not

In Love With Her. One Does Not Fall In Love With A Girl Whom One

Has Met Only Three Times. One Is Attracted--Yes; But One Does Not

Fall In Love.

A Moment's Reflection Enabled Him To Diagnose His Sensations

Correctly. This Odd Impulse To Leap Across The Compartment And

Kiss Joan Was Not Love. It Was Merely The Natural Desire Of A

Good-Hearted Young Man To Be Decently Chummy With His Species.

"Well,  What Do You Think Of It All,  Mr. Marson?" Said Joan. "Are

You Sorry Or Glad That You Let Me Persuade You To Do This

Perfectly Mad Thing? I Feel Responsible For You,  You Know. If It

Had Not Been For Me You Would Have Been Comfortably In Arundell

Street,  Writing Your Wand Of Death."

"I'm Glad."

"You Don't Feel Any Misgivings Now That You Are Actually

Committed To Domestic Service?"

"Not One."

Joan,  Against Her Will,  Smiled Approval On This Uncompromising

Attitude. This Young Man Might Be Her Rival,  But His Demeanor On

The Eve Of Perilous Times Appealed To Her. That Was The Spirit

She Liked