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

Let Yourself Think In That Way. You Must Exercise Self-Control

Mentally. You Must Think Beautiful Thoughts."

"The Idea Of Skinning You Is A Beautiful Thought!" Said Mr.

Peters Wistfully.

In Order That Their Gayety Might Not Be Diminished--And The Food

Turned To Ashes In Their Mouths By The Absence From The Festive

Board Of Mr. Beach,  It Was The Custom For The Upper Servants At

Blandings To Postpone The Start Of Their Evening Meal Until

Dinner Was Nearly Over Above-Stairs. This Enabled The Butler To

Take His Place At The Head Of The Table Without Fear Of

Interruption,  Except For The Few Moments When Coffee Was Being

Served.

Every Night Shortly Before Half-Past Eight--At Which Hour Mr.

Beach Felt That He Might Safely Withdraw From The Dining-Room And

Leave Lord Emsworth And His Guests To The Care Of Merridew,  The

Under-Butler,  And James And Alfred,  The Footmen,  Returning Only

For A Few Minutes To Lend Tone And Distinction To The

Distribution Of Cigars And Liqueurs--Those Whose Rank Entitled

Them To Do So Made Their Way To The Housekeeper's Room,  To Pass

In Desultory Conversation The Interval Before Mr. Beach Should

Arrive,  And A Kitchen Maid,  With The Appearance Of One Who Has

Been Straining At The Leash And Has At Last Managed To Get Free,

Opened The Door,  With The Announcement: "Mr. Beach,  If You Please,

Dinner Is Served." On Which Mr. Beach,  Extending A Crooked Elbow

Toward The Housekeeper,  Would Say,  "Mrs. Twemlow!" And Lead The

Way,  High And Disposedly,  Down The Passage,  Followed In Order Of

Rank By The Rest Of The Company,  In Couples,  To The Steward's

Room.

For Blandings Was Not One Of Those Houses--Or Shall We Say

Hovels?--Where The Upper Servants Are Expected Not Only To Feed

But To Congregate Before Feeding In The Steward's Room. Under The

Auspices Of Mr. Beach And Of Mrs. Twemlow,  Who Saw Eye To Eye

With Him In These Matters,  Things Were Done Properly At The

Castle,  With The Correct Solemnity. To Mr. Beach And Mrs. Twemlow

The Suggestion That They And Their Peers Should Gather Together

In The Same Room In Which They Were To Dine Would Have Been As

Repellent As An Announcement From Lady Ann Warblington,  The

Chatelaine,  That The House Party Would Eat In The Drawing-Room.

When Ashe,  Returning From His Interview With Mr. Peters,  Was

Intercepted By A Respectful Small Boy And Conducted To The

Housekeeper's Room,  He Was Conscious Of A Sensation Of Shrinking

Inferiority Akin To His Emotions On His First Day At School. The

Room Was Full And Apparently On Very Cordial Terms With Itself.

Everybody Seemed To Know Everybody And Conversation Was

Proceeding In A Manner Reminiscent Of An Old Home Week.

As A Matter Of Fact,  The House Party At Blandings Being In The

Main A Gathering Together Of The Emsworth Clan By Way Of Honor

And As A Means Of Introduction To Mr. Peters And His Daughter,

The Bride-Of-The-House-To-Be,  Most Of The Occupants Of The

Housekeeper's Room Were Old Acquaintances And Were Renewing

Interrupted Friendships At The Top Of Their Voices.

A Lull Followed Ashe's Arrival And All Eyes,  To His Great

Discomfort,  Were Turned In His Direction. His Embarrassment Was

Relieved By Mrs. Twemlow,  Who Advanced To Do The Honors. Of Mrs.

Twemlow Little Need Be Attempted In The Way Of Pen Portraiture

Beyond The Statement That She Went As Harmoniously With Mr.

Beach As One Of A Pair Of Vases Or One Of A Brace Of Pheasants

Goes With Its Fellow. She Had The Same Appearance Of Imminent

Apoplexy,  The Same Air Of Belonging To Some Dignified And Haughty

Branch Of The Vegetable Kingdom.

"Mr. Marson,  Welcome To Blandings Castle!"

Ashe Had Been Waiting For Somebody To Say This,  And Had Been A

Little Surprised That Mr. Beach Had Not Done So. He Was Also

Surprised At The Housekeeper's Ready Recognition Of His Identity,

Until He Saw Joan In The Throng And Deduced That She Must Have

Been The Source Of Information.

He Envied Joan. In Some Amazing Way She Contrived To Look Not Out

Of Place In This Gathering. He Himself,  He Felt,  Had Impostor

Stamped In Large Characters All Over Him.

Mrs. Twemlow Began To Make The Introductions--A Long And Tedious

Process,  Which She Performed Relentlessly,  Without Haste And

Without Scamping Her Work. With Each Member Of The Aristocracy Of

His New Profession Ashe Shook Hands,  And On Each Member He

Smiled,  Until His Facial And Dorsal Muscles Were Like To Crack

Under The Strain. It Was Amazing That So Many High-Class

Domestics Could Be Collected Into One Moderate-Sized Room.

"Miss Simpson You Know," Said Mrs. Twemlow,  And Ashe Was About To

Deny The Charge When He Perceived That Joan Was The Individual

Referred To. "Mr. Judson,  Mr. Marson. Mr. Judson Is The Honorable

Frederick's Gentleman."

"You Have Not The Pleasure Of Our Freddie's Acquaintance As Yet,

I Take It,  Mr. Marson?" Observed Mr. Judson Genially,  A

Smooth-Faced,  Lazy-Looking Young Man. "Freddie Repays

Inspection."

"Mr. Marson,  Permit Me To Introduce You To Mr. Ferris,  Lord

Stockheath's Gentleman."

Mr. Ferris,  A Dark,  Cynical Man,  With A High Forehead,  Shook Ashe

By The Hand.

"Happy To Meet You,  Mr. Marson."

"Miss Willoughby,  This Is Mr. Marson,  Who Will Take You In To

Dinner. Miss Willoughby Is Lady Mildred Mant's Lady. As Of Course

You Are Aware,  Lady Mildred,  Our Eldest Daughter,  Married Colonel

Horace Mant,  Of The Scots Guards."

Ashe Was Not Aware,  And He Was Rather Surprised That Mrs. Twemlow

Should Have A Daughter Whose Name Was Lady Mildred; But Reason,

Coming To His Rescue,  Suggested That By Our She Meant The

Offspring Of The Earl Of Emsworth And His Late Countess. Miss

Willoughby Was A Light-Hearted Damsel,  With A Smiling Face And

Chestnut Hair,  Done Low Over Her Forehead.

Since Etiquette Forbade That He Should Take Joan In To Dinner,

Ashe Was Glad That At Least An Apparently Pleasant Substitute Had

Been Provided. He Had Just Been Introduced To An Appallingly

Statuesque Lady Of The Name Of Chester,  Lady Ann Warblington's

Own Maid,  And His Somewhat Hazy Recollections Of Joan's Lecture

On Below-Stairs Precedence Had Left Him With The Impression That

This Was His Destined Partner. He Had Frankly Quailed At The

Prospect Of Being Linked To So Much Aristocratic Hauteur.

When The Final Introduction Had Been Made Conversation Broke Out

Again. It Dealt Almost Exclusively,  So Far As Ashe Could Follow

It,  With The Idiosyncrasies Of The Employers Of Those Present. He

Took It That This Happened Down The Entire Social Scale Below

Stairs. Probably The Lower Servants In The Servants' Hall

Discussed The Upper Servants In The Room,  And The Still Lower

Servants In The Housemaids' Sitting-Room Discussed Their

Superiors Of The Servants' Hall,  And The Stillroom Gossiped About

The Housemaids' Sitting-Room.

He Wondered Which Was The Bottom Circle Of All,  And Came To The

Conclusion That It Was Probably Represented By The Small

Respectful Boy Who Had Acted As His Guide A Short While Before.

This Boy,  Having Nobody To Discuss Anybody With,  Presumably Sat

In Solitary Meditation,  Brooding On The Odd-Job Man.

He Thought Of Mentioning This Theory To Miss Willoughby,  But

Decided That It Was Too Abstruse For Her,  And Contented Himself

With Speaking Of Some Of The Plays He Had Seen Before Leaving

London. Miss Willoughby Was An Enthusiast On The Drama; And,

Colonel Mant's Military Duties Keeping Him Much In Town,  She Had

Had Wide Opportunities Of Indulging Her Tastes. Miss Willoughby

Did Not Like The Country. She Thought It Dull.

"Don't You Think The Country Dull,  Mr. Marson?"

"I Shan't Find It Dull Here," Said Ashe; And He Was Surprised To

Discover,  Through The Medium Of A Pleased Giggle,  That He Was

Considered To Have Perpetrated A Compliment.

Mr. Beach Appeared In Due Season,  A Little Distrait,  As Becomes A

Man Who Has Just Been Engaged On Important And Responsible

Duties.

"Alfred Spilled The Hock!" Ashe Heard Him Announce To Mrs.

Twemlow In A Bitter Undertone. "Within Half An Inch Of His

Lordship's Arm He Spilled It."

Mrs. Twemlow Murmured Condolences. Mr. Beach's Set Expression Was

Of One Who Is Wondering How Long The Strain Of Existence Can Be

Supported.

"Mr. Beach,  If You Please,  Dinner Is Served."

The Butler Crushed Down Sad Thoughts And Crooked His Elbow.

"Mrs. Twemlow!"

Ashe,  Miscalculating Degrees Of Rank In Spite Of All His Caution,

Was Within A Step Of Leaving The Room Out Of His Proper Turn; But

The Startled Pressure Of Miss Willoughby's Hand On His Arm Warned

Him In Time. He Stopped,  To Allow The Statuesque Miss Chester To

Sail Out Under Escort Of A Wizened Little Man With A Horseshoe

Pin In His Tie,  Whose Name,  In Company With Nearly All The Others

That Had Been Spoken To Him Since He Came Into The Room,  Had

Escaped Ashe's Memory.

"You Were Nearly Making A Bloomer!" Said Miss Willoughby

Brightly. "You Must Be Absent-Minded,  Mr. Marson--Like His

Lordship."

"Is Lord Emsworth Absent-Minded?"

Miss Willoughby Laughed.

"Why,  He Forgets His Own Name Sometimes! If It Wasn't For Mr.

Baxter,  Goodness Knows What Would Happen To Him."

"I Don't Think I Know Mr. Baxter."

"You Will If You Stay Here Long. You Can't Get Away From Him If

You're In The Same House. Don't Tell Anyone I Said So; But He's

The Real Master Here. His Lordship's Secretary He Calls Himself;

But He's Really Everything Rolled Into One--Like The Man In The

Play."

Ashe,  Searching In His Dramatic Memories For Such A Person In A

Play,  Inquired Whether Miss Willoughby Meant Pooh-Bah,  In "The

Mikado," Of Which There Had Been A Revival In London Recently.

Miss Willoughby Did Mean Pooh-Bah.

"But Nosy Parker Is What I Call Him," She Said. "He Minds

Everybody's Business As Well As His Own."

The Last Of The Procession Trickled Into The Steward's Room.

Mr. Beach Said Grace Somewhat Patronizingly. The Meal Began.

"You've Seen Miss Peters,  Of Course,  Mr. Marson?" Said Miss

Willoughby,  Resuming