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

Not Every Girl That Would Have Him."

There Was A Murmur Of Assent To This Truth.

"Now Your Miss Peters," Said Judson Tolerantly--"She Seems A Nice

Little Thing."

"She Would Be Pleased To Hear You Say So," Said Joan.

"Joan Valentine!" Cried Judson,  Bringing His Hands Down On The

Tablecloth With A Bang. "I've Just Remembered It. That Was The

Name Of The Girl Freddie Used To Write The Letters And Poems To;

And That's Who It Is I've Been Trying All Along To Think You

Reminded Me Of,  Miss Simpson. You're The Living Image Of

Freddie's Miss Joan Valentine."

Ashe Was Not Normally A Young Man Of Particularly Ready Wit; But

On This Occasion It May Have Been That The Shock Of This

Revelation,  Added To The Fact That Something Must Be Done

Speedily If Joan's Discomposure Was Not To Become Obvious To All

Present,  Quickened His Intelligence. Joan,  Usually So Sure Of

Herself,  So Ready Of Resource,  Had Gone Temporarily To Pieces.

She Was Quite White,  And Her Eyes Met Ashe's With Almost A Hunted

Expression.

If The Attention Of The Company Was To Be Diverted,  Something

Drastic Must Be Done. A Mere Verbal Attempt To Change The

Conversation Would Be Useless. Inspiration Descended On Ashe.

In The Days Of His Childhood In Hayling,  Massachusetts,  He Had

Played Truant From Sunday School Again And Again In Order To

Frequent The Society Of One Eddie Waffles,  The Official Bad Boy

Of The Locality. It Was Not So Much Eddie's Charm Of Conversation

Which Had Attracted Him--Though That Had Been Great--As The Fact

That Eddie,  Among His Other Accomplishments,  Could Give A

Lifelike Imitation Of Two Cats Fighting In A Back Yard; And Ashe

Felt That He Could Never Be Happy Until He Had Acquired This Gift

From The Master.

In Course Of Time He Had Done So. It Might Be That His Absences

From Sunday School In The Cause Of Art Had Left Him In Later

Years A Trifle Shaky On The Subject Of The Kings Of Judah,  But

His Hard-Won Accomplishment Had Made Him In Request At Every

Smoking Concert At Oxford; And It Saved The Situation Now.

"Have You Ever Heard Two Cats Fighting In A Back Yard?" He

Inquired Casually Of His Neighbor,  Miss Willoughby.

The Next Moment The Performance Was In Full Swing. Young Master

Waffles,  Who Had Devoted Considerable Study To His Subject,  Had

Conceived The Combat Of His Imaginary Cats In A Broad,  Almost

Homeric,  Vein. The Unpleasantness Opened With A Low Gurgling

Sound,  Answered By Another A Shade Louder And Possibly More

Querulous. A Momentary Silence Was Followed By A Long-Drawn Note,

Like Rising Wind,  Cut Off Abruptly And Succeeded By A Grumbling

Mutter. The Response To This Was A Couple Of Sharp Howls. Both

Parties To The Contest Then Indulged In A Discontented Whining,

Growing Louder And Louder Until The Air Was Full Of Electric

Menace. And Then,  After Another Sharp Silence,  Came War,  Noisy

And Overwhelming.

Standing At Master Waffles' Side,  You Could Follow Almost Every

Movement Of That Intricate Fray,  And Mark How Now One And Now The

Other Of The Battlers Gained A Short-Lived Advantage. It Was A

Great Fight. Shrewd Blows Were Taken And Given,  And In The Eye Of

The Imagination You Could See The Air Thick With Flying Fur.

Louder And Louder Grew The Din; And Then,  At Its Height,  It

Ceased In One Crescendo Of Tumult,  And All Was Still,  Save For A

Faint,  Angry Moaning.

Such Was The Cat Fight Of Master Eddie Waffles; And Ashe,  Though

Falling Short Of The Master,  As A Pupil Must,  Rendered It

Faithfully And With Energy.

To Say That The Attention Of The Company Was Diverted From Mr.

Judson And His Remarks By The Extraordinary Noises Which

Proceeded From Ashe's Lips Would Be To Offer A Mere Shadowy

Suggestion Of The Sensation Caused By His Efforts. At First,

Stunned Surprise,  Then Consternation,  Greeted Him. Beach,  The

Butler,  Was Staring As One Watching A Miracle,  Nearer Apparently

To Apoplexy Than Ever. On The Faces Of The Others Every Shade Of

Emotion Was To Be Seen.

That This Should Be Happening In The Steward's Room At Blandings

Castle Was Scarcely Less Amazing Than If It Had Taken Place In A

Cathedral. The Upper Servants,  Rigid In Their Seats,  Looked At

Each Other,  Like Cortes' Soldiers--"With A Wild Surmise."

The Last Faint Moan Of Feline Defiance Died Away And Silence Fell

On The Room. Ashe Turned To Miss Willoughby.

"Just Like That!" He Said. "I Was Telling Miss Willoughby," He

Added Apologetically To Mrs. Twemlow,  "About The Cats In London.

They Were A Great Trial."

For Perhaps Three Seconds His Social Reputation Swayed To And Fro

In The Balance,  While The Company Pondered On What He Had Done.

It Was New; But It Was Humorous--Or Was It Vulgar? There Is

Nothing The English Upper Servant So Abhors As Vulgarity. That

Was What The Steward's Room Was Trying To Make Up Its Mind About.

Then Miss Willoughby Threw Her Shapely Head Back And The Squeal

Of Her Laughter Smote The Ceiling. And At That The Company Made

Its Decision. Everybody Laughed. Everybody Urged Ashe To Give An

Encore. Everybody Was His Friend And Admirer---Everybody But

Beach,  The Butler. Beach,  The Butler,  Was Shocked To His Very

Core. His Heavy-Lidded Eyes Rested On Ashe With Disapproval. It

Seemed To Beach,  The Butler,  That This Young Man Marson Had Got

Above Himself.

                        *   *   *

Ashe Found Joan At His Side. Dinner Was Over And The Diners Were

Making For The Housekeeper's Room.

"Thank You,  Mr. Marson. That Was Very Good Of You And Very

Clever." Her Eyes Twinkled. "But What A Terrible Chance You Took!

You Have Made Yourself A Popular Success,  But You Might Just As

Easily Have Become A Social Outcast. As It Is,  I Am Afraid Mr.

Beach Did Not Approve."

"I'm Afraid He Didn't. In A Minute Or So I'm Going To Fawn On Him

And Make All Well."

Joan Lowered Her Voice.

"It Was Quite True,  What That Odious Little Man Said. Freddie

Threepwood Did Write Me Letters. Of Course I Destroyed Them Long

Ago."

"But Weren't You Running The Risk In Coming Here That He Might

Recognize You? Wouldn't That Make It Rather Unpleasant For You?"

"I Never Met Him,  You See. He Only Wrote To Me. When He Came To

The Station To Meet Us This Evening He Looked Startled To See Me;

So I Suppose He Remembers My Appearance. But Aline Will Have Told

Him That My Name Is Simpson."

"That Fellow Judson Said He Was Brooding. I Think You Ought To

Put Him Out Of His Misery."

"Mr. Judson Must Have Been Letting His Imagination Run Away With

Him. He Is Out Of His Misery. He Sent A Horrid Fat Man Named

Jones To See Me In London About The Letters,  And I Told Him I Had

Destroyed Them. He Must Have Let Him Know That By This Time."

"I See."

They Went Into The Housekeeper's Room. Mr. Beach Was Standing

Before The Fire. Ashe Went Up To Him. It Was Not An Easy Matter

To Mollify Mr. Beach. Ashe Tried The Most Tempting Topics. He

Mentioned Swollen Feet--He Dangled The Lining Of Mr. Beach's

Stomach Temptingly Before His Eyes; But The Butler Was Not To Be

Softened. Only When Ashe Turned The Conversation To The Subject

Of The Museum Did A Flicker Of Animation Stir Him.

Mr. Beach Was Fond And Proud Of The Blandings Castle Museum. It

Had Been The Means Of Getting Him Into Print For The First And

Only Time In His Life. A Year Before,  A Representative Of The

Intelligencer And Echo,  From The Neighboring Town Of Blatchford,

Had Come To Visit The Castle On Behalf Of His Paper; And He Had

Begun One Section Of His Article With The Words: "Under The

Auspices Of Mr. Beach,  My Genial Cicerone,  I Then Visited His

Lordship's Museum--" Mr. Beach Treasured The Clipping In A

Special Writing-Desk.

He Responded Almost Amiably To Ashe's Questions. Yes; He Had Seen

The Scarab--He Pronounced It Scayrub--Which Mr. Peters Had

Presented To His Lordship. He Understood That His Lordship

Thought Very Highly Of Mr. Peters' Scayrub. He Had Overheard Mr.

Baxter Telling His Lordship That It Was Extremely Valuable.

"Mr. Beach," Said Ashe,  "I Wonder Whether You Would Take Me To

See Lord Emsworth's Museum?"

Mr. Beach Regarded Him Heavily.

I Shall Be Pleased To Take You To See His Lordship's Museum," He

Replied.

                        *   *   *

One Can Attribute Only To The Nervous Mental Condition Following

The Interview He Had Had With Ashe In His Bedroom The Rash Act

Mr. Peters Attempted Shortly After Dinner.

Mr. Peters,  Shortly After Dinner,  Was In A Dangerous And Reckless

Mood. He Had Had A Wretched Time All Through The Meal. The

Blandings Chef Had Extended Himself In Honor Of The House Party,

And Had Produced A Succession Of Dishes,  Which In Happier Days

Mr. Peters Would Have Devoured Eagerly. To Be Compelled By

Considerations Of Health To Pass These By Was Enough To Damp The

Liveliest Optimist. Mr. Peters Had Suffered Terribly. Occasions

Of Feasting And Revelry Like The Present Were For Him So Many

Battlefields,  On Which Greed Fought With Prudence.

All Through Dinner He Brooded On Ashe's Defiance And The Horrors

Which Were To Result From That Defiance. One Of Mr. Peters' Most

Painful Memories Was Of A Two Weeks' Visit He Had Once Paid To

Mr. Muldoon In His Celebrated Establishment At White Plains. He

Had Been Persuaded To Go There By A Brother Millionaire Whom,

Until Then,  He Had Always Regarded As A Friend. The Memory Of Mr.

Muldoon's Cold Shower Baths And Brisk System Of Physical Exercise

Still Lingered.

The Thought That Under Ashe's Rule He Was To Go Through Privately

Very Much What He Had Gone Through In