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

"We Have Known Each Other So Long," Said Emerson,  "And I Have

Told You So Often That I Love You,  We Have Come To Make Almost A

Joke Of It,  As Though We Were Playing Some Game. It Just Happens

That That Is Our Way--To Laugh At Things; But I Am Going To Say

It Once Again,  Even Though It Has Come To Be A Sort Of Catch

Phrase. I Love You! I'm Reconciled To The Fact That I Am Done

For,  Out Of The Running,  And That You Are Going To Marry Somebody

Else; But I Am Not Going To Stop Loving You.

"It Isn't A Question Of Whether I Should Be Happier If I Forgot

You. I Can't Do It. It's Just An Impossibility--And That's All

There Is To It. Whatever I May Be To You,  You Are Part Of Me,  And

You Always Will Be Part Of Me. I Might Just As Well Try To Go On

Living Without Breathing As Living Without Loving You."

He Stopped And Straightened Himself.

"That's All! I Don't Want To Spoil A Perfectly Good Spring

Afternoon For You By Pulling Out The Tragic Stop. I Had To Say

All That; But It's The Last Time. It Shan't Occur Again. There

Will Be No Tragedy When I Step Into The Train To-Morrow. Is There

Any Chance That You Might Come And See Me Off?"

Aline Nodded.

"You Will? That Will Be Splendid! Now I'll Go And Pack And Break

It To My Host That I Must Leave Him. I Expect,  It Will Be News To

Him To Learn That I Am Here. I Doubt If He Knows Me By Sight."

Aline Stood Where He Had Left Her,  Leaning On The Balustrade. In

The Fullness Of Time There Came To Her The Recollection She Had

Promised Freddie That Shortly After Luncheon She Would Sit With

Him.

The Honorable Freddie,  Draped In Purple Pyjamas And Propped Up

With Many Pillows,  Was Lying In Bed,  Reading Gridley Quayle,

Investigator. Aline's Entrance Occurred At A Peculiarly Poignant

Moment In The Story And Gave Him A Feeling Of Having Been Brought

Violently To Earth From A Flight In The Clouds. It Is Not Often

An Author Has The Good Fortune To Grip A Reader As The Author Of

Gridley Quayle Gripped Freddie.

One Of The Results Of His Absorbed Mood Was That He Greeted Aline

With A Stare Of An Even Glassier Quality Than Usual. His Eyes

Were By Nature A Trifle Prominent; And To Aline,  In The

Overstrung Condition In Which Her Talk With George Emerson Had

Left Her,  They Seemed To Bulge At Her Like A Snail's. A Man

Seldom Looks His Best In Bed,  And To Aline,  Seeing Him For The

First Time At This Disadvantage,  The Honorable Freddie Seemed

Quite Repulsive. It Was With A Feeling Of Positive Panic That She

Wondered Whether He Would Want Her To Kiss Him.

Freddie Made No Such Demand. He Was Not One Of Your Demonstrative

Lovers. He Contented Himself With Rolling Over In Bed And

Dropping His Lower Jaw.

"Hello,  Aline!"

Aline Sat Down On The Edge Of The Bed.

"Well,  Freddie?"

Her Betrothed Improved His Appearance A Little By Hitching Up His

Jaw. As Though Feeling That Would Be Too Extreme A Measure,  He

Did Not Close His Mouth Altogether; But He Diminished The Abyss.

The Honorable Freddie Belonged To The Class Of Persons Who Move

Through Life With Their Mouths Always Restfully Open.

It Seemed To Aline That On This Particular Afternoon A Strange

Dumbness Had Descended On Her. She Had Been Unable To Speak To

George And Now She Could Not Think Of Anything To Say To Freddie.

She Looked At Him And He Looked At Her; And The Clock On The

Mantel-Piece Went On Ticking.

"It Was That Bally Cat Of Aunt Ann's," Said Freddie At Length,

Essaying Light Conversation. "It Came Legging It Up The Stairs

And I Took The Most Frightful Toss. I Hate Cats! Do You Hate

Cats? I Knew A Fellow In London Who Couldn't Stand Cats."

Aline Began To Wonder Whether There Was Not Something Permanently

Wrong With Her Organs Of Speech. It Should Have Been A Simple

Matter To Develop The Cat Theme,  But She Found Herself Unable To

Do So. Her Mind Was Concentrated,  To The Exclusion Of All Else,

On The Repellent Nature Of The Spectacle Provided By Her Loved

One In Pyjamas. Freddie Resumed The Conversation.

"I Was Just Reading A Corking Book. Have You Ever Read These

Things? They Come Out Every Month,  And They're Corking. The

Fellow Who Writes Them Must Be A Corker. It Beats Me How He

Thinks Of These Things. They Are About A Detective--A Chap Called

Gridley Quayle. Frightfully Exciting!"

An Obvious Remedy For Dumbness Struck Aline.

"Shall I Read To You,  Freddie?"

"Right-Ho! Good Scheme! I've Got To The Top Of This Page."

Aline Took The Paper-Covered Book.

"'Seven Guns Covered Him With Deadly Precision.' Did You Get As

Far As That?"

"Yes; Just Beyond. It's A Bit Thick,  Don't You Know! This Chappie

Quayle Has Been Trapped In A Lonely House,  Thinking He Was Going

To See A Pal In Distress; And Instead Of The Pal There Pop Out A

Whole Squad Of Masked Blighters With Guns. I Don't See How He's

Going To Get Out Of It,  Myself; But I'll Bet He Does. He's A

Corker!"

If Anybody Could Have Pitied Aline More Than She Pitied Herself,

As She Waded Through The Adventures Of Mr. Quayle,  It Would Have

Been Ashe Marson. He Had Writhed As He Wrote The Words And She

Writhed As She Read Them. The Honorable Freddie Also Writhed,  But

With Tense Excitement.

"What's The Matter? Don't Stop!" He Cried As Aline's Voice

Ceased.

"I'm Getting Hoarse,  Freddie."

Freddie Hesitated. The Desire To Remain On The Trail With Gridley

Struggled With Rudimentary Politeness.

"How Would It Be--Would You Mind If I Just Took A Look At The

Rest Of It Myself? We Could Talk Afterward,  You Know. I Shan't Be

Long."

"Of Course! Do Read If You Want To. But Do You Really Like This

Sort Of Thing,  Freddie?"

"Me? Rather! Why--Don't You?"

"I Don't Know. It Seems A Little--I Don't Know."

Freddie Had Become Absorbed In His Story. Aline Did Not Attempt

Further Analysis Of Her Attitude Toward Mr. Quayle; She Relapsed

Into Silence.

It Was A Silence Pregnant With Thought. For The First Time In

Their Relations,  She Was Trying To Visualize To Herself Exactly

What Marriage With This Young Man Would Mean. Hitherto,  It Struck

Her,  She Had Really Seen So Little Of Freddie That She Had

Scarcely Had A Chance Of Examining Him. In The Crowded World

Outside He Had Always Seemed A Tolerable Enough Person. To-Day,

Somehow,  He Was Different. Everything Was Different To-Day.

This,  She Took It,  Was A Fair Sample Of What She Might Expect

After Marriage. Marriage Meant--To Come To Essentials--That Two

People Were Very Often And For Lengthy Periods Alone Together,

Dependent On Each Other For Mutual Entertainment. What Exactly

Would It Be Like,  Being Alone Often And For Lengthy Periods With

Freddie? Well,  It Would,  She Assumed,  Be Like This.

"It's All Right," Said Freddie Without Looking Up. "He Did Get

Out! He Had A Bomb On Him,  And He Threatened To Drop It And Blow

The Place To Pieces Unless The Blighters Let Him Go. So They

Cheesed It. I Knew He Had Something Up His Sleeve."

Like This! Aline Drew A Deep Breath. It Would Be Like

This--Forever And Ever And Ever--Until She Died. She Bent Forward

And Stared At Him.

"Freddie," She Said,  "Do You Love Me?" There Was No Reply.

"Freddie,  Do You Love Me? Am I A Part Of You? If You Hadn't Me

Would It Be Like Trying To Go On Living Without Breathing?"

The Honorable Freddie Raised A Flushed Face And Gazed At Her With

An Absent Eye.

"Eh? What?" He Said. "Do I--Oh; Yes,  Rather! I Say,  One Of The

Blighters Has Just Loosed A Rattlesnake Into Gridley Quayle's

Bedroom Through The Transom!"

Aline Rose From Her Seat And Left The Room Softly. The Honorable

Freddie Read On,  Unheeding.

                        *   *   *

Ashe Marson Had Not Fallen Far Short Of The Truth In His Estimate

Of The Probable Effect On Mr. Peters Of The Information That His

Precious Scarab Had Once More Been Removed By Alien Hands And Was

Now Farther From His Grasp Than Ever. A Drawback To Success In

Life Is That Failure,  When It Does Come,  Acquires An Exaggerated

Importance. Success Had Made Mr. Peters,  In Certain Aspects Of

His Character,  A Spoiled Child.

At The Moment When Ashe Broke The News He Would Have Parted With

Half His Fortune To Recover The Scarab. Its Recovery Had Become A

Point Of Honor. He Saw It As The Prize Of A Contest Between His

Will And That Of Whatever Malignant Powers There Might Be Ranged

Against Him In The Effort To Show Him That There Were Limits To

What He Could Achieve. He Felt As He Had Felt In The Old Days

When People Sneaked Up On Him In Wall Street And Tried To Loosen

His Grip On A Railroad Or A Pet Stock. He Was Suffering From That

Form Of Paranoia Which Makes Men Multimillionaires. Nobody Would

Be Foolish Enough To Become A Multimillionaire If It Were Not For

The Desire To Prove Himself Irresistible.

Mr. Peters Obtained A Small Relief For His Feelings By Doubling

The Existing Reward,  And Ashe Went Off In Search Of Joan,  Hoping

That This New Stimulus,  Acting On Their Joint Brains,  Might

Develop Inspiration.

"Have Any Fresh Ideas Been Vouchsafed To You?" He Asked. "You May

Look On Me As Baffled."

Joan Shook Her Head.

"Don't Give Up," She Urged. "Think Again. Try To