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

To Ashe; But Presently There Came A Creaking Of Brakes And The

Train Jerked Itself To Another Stop. A Voice On The Platform Made

Itself Heard,  Calling:

"Market Blandings! Market Blandings Station!"

                        *   *   *

The Village Of Market Blandings Is One Of Those Sleepy English

Hamlets That Modern Progress Has Failed To Touch; Except By The

Addition Of A Railroad Station And A Room Over The Grocer's Shop

Where Moving Pictures Are On View On Tuesdays And Fridays. The

Church Is Norman And The Intelligence Of The Majority Of The

Natives Paleozoic. To Alight At Market Blandings Station In The

Dusk Of A Rather Chilly Spring Day,  When The Southwest Wind Has

Shifted To Due East And The Thrifty Inhabitants Have Not Yet Lit

Their Windows,  Is To Be Smitten With The Feeling That One Is At

The Edge Of The World With No Friends Near.

Ashe,  As He Stood Beside Mr. Peters' Baggage And Raked The

Unsympathetic Darkness With A Dreary Eye,  Gave Himself Up To

Melancholy. Above Him An Oil Lamp Shed A Meager Light. Along The

Platform A Small But Sturdy Porter Was Juggling With A Milk Can.

The East Wind Explored Ashe's System With Chilly Fingers.

Somewhere Out In The Darkness Into Which Mr. Peters And Aline Had

Already Vanished In A Large Automobile,  Lay The Castle,  With Its

Butler And Its Fearful Code Of Etiquette. Soon The Cart That Was

To Convey Him And The Trunks Thither Would Be Arriving. He

Shivered.

Out Of The Gloom And Into The Feeble Rays Of The Oil Lamp Came

Joan Valentine. She Had Been Away,  Tucking Aline Into The Car.

She Looked Warm And Cheerful. She Was Smiling In The Old Friendly

Way.

If Girls Realized Their Responsibilities They Would Be So Careful

When They Smiled That They Would Probably Abandon The Practice

Altogether. There Are Moments In A Man's Life When A Girl's Smile

Can Have As Important Results As An Explosion Of Dynamite.

In The Course Of Their Brief Acquaintance Joan Had Smiled At Ashe

Many Times,  But The Conditions Governing Those Occasions Had Not

Been Such As To Permit Him To Be Seriously Affected. He Had Been

Pleased On Such Occasions; He Had Admired Her Smile In A Detached

And Critical Spirit; But He Had Not Been Overwhelmed By It. The

Frame Of Mind Necessary For That Result Had Been Lacking.

Now,  However,  After Five Minutes Of Solitude On The Depressing

Platform Of Market Blandings Station,  He Was What The

Spiritualists Call A Sensitive Subject. He Had Reached That Depth

Of Gloom And Bodily Discomfort When A Sudden Smile Has All The

Effect Of Strong Liquor And Good News Administered

Simultaneously,  Warming The Blood And Comforting The Soul,  And

Generally Turning The World From A Bleak Desert Into A Land

Flowing With Milk And Honey.

It Is Not Too Much To Say That He Reeled Before Joan's Smile. It

Was So Entirely Unexpected. He Clutched Mr. Peters' Steamer Trunk

In His Emotion. All His Resolutions To Be Cold And Distant Were

Swept Away. He Had The Feeling That In A Friendless Universe Here

Was Somebody Who Was Fond Of Him And Glad To See Him.

A Smile Of Such Importance Demands Analysis,  And In This Case

Repays It; For Many Things Lay Behind This Smile Of Joan

Valentine's On The Platform Of Market Blandings Station.

In The First Place,  She Had Had Another Of Her Swift Changes Of

Mood,  And Had Once Again Tucked Away Hostility Into Its Corner.

She Had Thought It Over And Had Come To The Conclusion That As

She Had No Logical Grievance Against Ashe For Anything He Had

Done To Be Distant To Him Was The Behavior Of A Cat. Consequently

She Resolved,  When They Should Meet Again,  To Resume Her Attitude

Of Good-Fellowship. That In Itself Would Have Been Enough To Make

Her Smile.

There Was Another Reason,  However,  Which Had Nothing To Do With

Ashe. While She Had Been Tucking Aline Into The Automobile She

Met The Eye Of The Driver Of That Vehicle And Had Perceived A

Curious Look In It--A Look Of Amazement And Sheer Terror. A

Moment,  Later,  When Aline Called The Driver Freddie,  She Had

Understood. No Wonder The Honorable Freddie Had Looked As Though

He Had Seen A Ghost.

It Would Be A Relief To The Poor Fellow When,  As He Undoubtedly

Would Do In The Course Of The Drive,  He Inquired Of Aline The

Name Of Her Maid And Was Told That It Was Simpson. He Would

Mutter Something About "Reminds Me Of A Girl I Used To Know," And

Would Brood On The Remarkable Way In Which Nature Produces

Doubles. But He Had A Bad Moment,  And It Was Partly At The

Recollection Of His Face That Joan Smiled.

A Third Reason Was Because The Sight Of The Honorable Freddie Had

Reminded Her That R. Jones Had Said He Had Written Her Poetry.

That Thought,  Too,  Had Contributed Toward The Smile Which So

Dazzled Ashe.

Ashe,  Not Being Miraculously Intuitive,  Accepted The Easier

Explanation That She Smiled Because She Was Glad To Be In His

Company; And This Thought,  Coming On Top Of His Mood Of Despair

And General Dissatisfaction With Everything Mundane,  Acted On Him

Like Some Powerful Chemical.

In Every Man's Life There Is Generally One Moment To Which In

Later Years He Can Look Back And Say: "In This Moment I Fell In

Love!" Such A Moment Came To Ashe Now.

          Betwixt The Stirrup And The Ground,

          Mercy I Asked; Mercy I Found.

So Sings The Poet And So It Was With Ashe.

In The Almost Incredibly Brief Time It Took The Small But Sturdy

Porter To Roll A Milk Can Across The Platform And Hump It,  With A

Clang,  Against Other Milk Cans Similarly Treated A Moment Before,

Ashe Fell In Love.

The Word Is So Loosely Used,  To Cover A Thousand Varying Shades

Of Emotion--From The Volcanic Passion Of An Antony For A

Cleopatra To The Tepid Preference Of A Grocer's Assistant For The

Irish Maid At The Second House On Main Street,  As Opposed To The

Norwegian Maid At The First House Past The Post Office--The Mere

Statement That Ashe Fell In Love Is Not A Sufficient Description

Of His Feelings As He Stood Grasping Mr. Peters' Steamer Trunk.

Analysis Is Required.

From His Fourteenth Year Onward Ashe Had Been In Love Many Times.

His Sensations In The Case Of Joan Were Neither The Terrific

Upheaval That Had Caused Him,  In His Fifteenth Year,  To Collect

Twenty-Eight Photographs Of The Heroine Of The Road Company Of A

Musical Comedy Which Had Visited The Hayling Opera House,  Nor The

Milder Flame That Had Caused Him,  When At College,  To Give Up

Smoking For A Week And Try To Read The Complete Works Of Ella

Wheeler Wilcox.

His Love Was Something That Lay Between These Two Poles.

He Did Not Wish The Station Platform Of Market Blandings To

Become Suddenly Congested With Red Indians So That He Might Save

Joan's Life; And He Did Not Wish To Give Up Anything At All. But

He Was Conscious--To The Very Depths Of His Being--That A Future

In Which Joan Did Not Figure Would Be So Insupportable As Not To

Bear Considering; And In The Immediate Present He Very Strongly

Favored The Idea Of Clasping Joan In His Arms And Kissing Her

Until Further Notice.

Mingled With These Feelings Was An Excited Gratitude To Her For

Coming To Him Like This,  With That Electric Smile On Her Face; A

Stunned Realization That She Was A Thousand Times Prettier Than

He Had Ever Imagined; And A Humility That Threatened To Make Him

Loose His Clutch On The Steamer Trunk And Roll About At Her Feet,

Yapping Like A Dog.

Gratitude,  So Far As He Could Dissect His Tangled Emotion Was The

Predominating Ingredient Of His Mood. Only Once In His Life Had

He Felt So Passionately Grateful To Any Human Being. On That

Occasion,  Too,  The Object Of His Gratitude Had Been Feminine.

Years Before,  When A Boy In His Father's Home In Distant Hayling,

Massachusetts,  Those In Authority Had Commanded That He--In His

Eleventh Year And As Shy As One Can Be Only At That Interesting

Age--Should Rise In The Presence Of A Roomful Of Strangers,  Adult

Guests,  And Recite "The Wreck Of The Hesperus."

He Had Risen. He Had Blushed. He Had Stammered. He Had Contrived

To Whisper: "It Was The Schooner Hesperus." And Then,  In A Corner

Of The Room,  A Little Girl,  For No Properly Explained Reason,  Had

Burst Out Crying. She Had Yelled,  She Had Bellowed,  And Would Not

Be Comforted; And In The Ensuing Confusion Ashe Had Escaped To

The Woodpile At The Bottom Of The Garden,  Saved By A Miracle.

All His Life He Had Remembered The Gratitude He Had Felt For That

Little Timely Girl,  And Never Until Now Had He Experienced Any

Other Similar Spasm. But As He Looked At Joan He Found Himself

Renewing That Emotion Of Fifteen Years Ago.

She Was About To Speak. In A Sort Of Trance He Watched Her Lips

Part. He Waited Almost Reverently For The First Words She Should

Speak To Him In Her New Role Of The Only Authentic Goddess.

"Isn't It A Shame?" She Said. "I've Just Put A Penny In The

Chocolate Slot Machine--And It's Empty! I've A Good Mind To Write

To The Company."

Ashe Felt As Though He Were Listening To The Strains Of Some

Grand Sweet Anthem.

The Small But Sturdy Porter,  Weary Of His Work Among The Milk

Cans,  Or Perhaps--Let Us Not Do Him An Injustice Even In

Thought--Having Finished It,  Approached Them.

"The Cart From The Castle's Here."

In The Gloom Beyond Him There Gleamed A Light Which Had Not Been

There Before. The