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

Funds. Damned Shame! I Take It That Things Have Loosened Up A Bit

Since The Engagement Was Announced--Eh?"

Freddie Sat Down And Chewed The Knob Of His Cane Unhappily.

"Well,  As A Matter Of Fact,  Dickie,  Old Top," He Said,  "Not So

That You Could Notice It,  Don't You Know! Things Are Still Pretty

Much The Same. I Managed To Get Away From Blandings For A Night,

Because The Gov'nor Had To Come To London; But I've Got To Go

Back With Him On The Three-O'clock Train. And,  As For Money,  I

Can't Get A Quid Out Of Him. As A Matter Of Fact,  I'm In The

Deuce Of A Hole; And That's Why I've Come To You."

Even Fat,  Jovial Men Have Their Moments Of Depression. R. Jones'

Face Clouded,  And Jerky Remarks About Hardness Of Times And

Losses On The Stock Exchange Began To Proceed From Him. As

Scotland Yard Had Discovered,  He Lent Money On Occasion; But He

Did Not Lend It To Youths In Freddie's Unfortunate Position.

"Oh,  I Don't Want To Make A Touch,  You Know," Freddie Hastened To

Explain. "It Isn't That. As A Matter Of Fact,  I Managed To Raise

Five Hundred Of The Best This Morning. That Ought To Be Enough."

"Depends On What You Want It For," Said R. Jones,  Magically Genial

Once More.

The Thought Entered His Mind,  As It Had So Often,  That The World

Was Full Of Easy Marks. He Wished He Could Meet The Money-Lender

Who Had Been Rash Enough To Advance The Honorable Freddie Five

Hundred Pounds. Those Philanthropists Cross Our Path Too Seldom.

Freddie Felt In His Pocket,  Produced A Cigarette Case,  And From

It Extracted A Newspaper Clipping.

"Did You Read About Poor Old Percy In The Papers? The Case,  You

Know?"

"Percy?"

"Lord Stockheath,  You Know."

"Oh,  The Stockheath Breach-Of-Promise Case? I Did More Than That.

I Was In Court All Three Days." R. Jones Emitted A Cozy Chuckle.

"Is He A Pal Of Yours? A Cousin,  Eh? I Wish You Had Seen Him In

The Witness Box,  With Jellicoe-Smith Cross-Examining Him! The

Funniest Thing I Ever Heard! And His Letters To The Girl! They

Read Them Out In Court; And Of All--"

"Don't,  Old Man! Dickie,  Old Top--Please! I Know All About It. I

Read The Reports. They Made Poor Old Percy Look Like An Absolute

Ass."

"Well,  Nature Had Done That Already; But I'm Bound To Say They

Improved On Nature's Work. I Should Think Your Cousin Percy Must

A Spasm Of Pain Passed Over The Honorable Freddie's Vacant Face.

He Wriggled In His Chair.

"Dickie,  Old Man,  I Wish You Wouldn't Talk Like That. It Makes Me

Feel Ill."

"Why,  Is He Such A Pal Of Yours As All That?"

"It's Not That. It's--The Fact Is,  Dickie,  Old Top,  I'm In

Exactly The Same Bally Hole As Poor Old Percy Was,  Myself!"

"What! You Have Been Sued For Breach Of Promise?"

"Not Absolutely That--Yet. Look Here; I'll Tell You The Whole

Thing. Do You Remember A Show At The Piccadilly About A Year Ago

Called "The Baby Doll"? There Was A Girl In The Chorus."

"Several--I Remember Noticing."

"No; I Mean One Particular Girl--A Girl Called Joan Valentine.

The Rotten Part Is That I Never Met Her."

"Pull Yourself Together,  Freddie. What Exactly Is The Trouble?"

"Well--Don't You See?--I Used To Go To The Show Every Other

Night,  And I Fell Frightfully In Love With This Girl--"

"Without Having Met Her?"

"Yes. You See,  I Was Rather An Ass In Those Days."

"No,  No!" Said R. Jones Handsomely.

"I Must Have Been Or I Shouldn't Have Been Such An Ass,  Don't You

Know! Well,  As I Was Saying,  I Used To Write This Girl Letters,

Saying How Much I Was In Love With Her; And--And--"

"Specifically Proposing Marriage?"

"I Can't Remember. I Expect I Did. I Was Awfully In Love."

"How Was That If You Never Met Her?"

"She Wouldn't Meet Me. She Wouldn't Even Come Out To Luncheon.

She Didn't Even Answer My Letters--Just Sent Word Down By The

Johnny At The Stage Door. And Then----"

Freddie's Voice Died Away. He Thrust The Knob Of His Cane Into

His Mouth In A Sort Of Frenzy.

"What Then?" Inquired R. Jones.

A Scarlet Blush Manifested Itself On Freddie's Young Face. His

Eyes Wandered Sidewise. After A Long Pause A Single Word Escaped

Him,  Almost Inaudible:

"Poetry!"

R. Jones Trembled As Though An Electric Current Had Been Passed

Through His Plump Frame. His Little Eyes Sparkled With Merriment.

"You Wrote Her Poetry!"

"Yards Of It,  Old Boy--Yards Of It!" Groaned Freddie. Panic

Filled Him With Speech. "You See The Frightful Hole I'm In? This

Girl Is Bound To Have Kept The Letters. I Don't Remember Whether

I Actually Proposed To Her Or Not; But Anyway She's Got Enough

Material To Make It Worth While To Have A Dash At An

Action--Especially After Poor Old Percy Has Just Got Soaked For

Such A Pile Of Money And Made Breach-Of-Promise Cases The

Fashion,  So To Speak.

"And Now That The Announcement Of My Engagement Is Out She's

Certain To Get Busy. Probably She Has Been Waiting For Something

Of The Sort. Don't You See That All The Cards Are In Her Hands?

We Couldn't Afford To Let The Thing Come Into Court. That Poetry

Would Dish My Marriage For A Certainty. I'd Have To Emigrate Or

Something! Goodness Knows What Would Happen At Home! My Old

Gov'nor Would Murder Me! So You See What A Frightful Hole I'm In,

Don't You,  Dickie,  Old Man?"

"And What Do You Want Me To Do?"

"Why,  To Get Hold Of This Girl And Get Back The Letters--Don't

You See? I Can't Do It Myself,  Cooped Up Miles Away In The

Country. And Besides,  I Shouldn't Know How To Handle A Thing

Like That. It Needs A Chappie With A Lot Of Sense And A

Persuasive Sort Of Way With Him."

"Thanks For The Compliment,  Freddie; But I Should Imagine That

Something A Little More Solid Than A Persuasive Way Would Be

Required In A Case Like This. You Said Something A While Ago

About Five Hundred Pounds?"

"Here It Is,  Old Man--In Notes. I Brought It On Purpose. Will You

Really Take The Thing On? Do You Think You Can Work It For Five

Hundred?"

"I Can Have A Try."

Freddie Rose,  With An Expression Approximating To Happiness On

His Face. Some Men Have The Power Of Inspiring Confidence In Some

Of Their Fellows,  Though They Fill Others With Distrust. Scotland

Yard Might Look Askance At R. Jones,  But To Freddie He Was All

That Was Helpful And Reliable. He Shook R. Jones' Hand Several

Times In His Emotion.

"That's Absolutely Topping Of You,  Old Man!" He Said. "Then I'll

Leave The Whole Thing To You. Write Me The Moment You Have Done

Anything,  Won't You? Good-By,  Old Top,  And Thanks Ever So Much!"

The Door Closed. R. Jones Remained Where He Sat,  His Fingers

Straying Luxuriously Among The Crackling Paper. A Feeling Of

Complete Happiness Warmed R. Jones' Bosom. He Was Uncertain

Whether Or Not His Mission Would Be Successful; And To Be

Truthful He Was Not Letting That Worry Him Much. What He Was

Certain Of Was The Fact That The Heavens Had Opened Unexpectedly

And Dropped Five Hundred Pounds Into His Lap.

The Earl Of Emsworth Stood In The Doorway Of The Senior

Conservative Club's Vast Diningroom,  And Beamed With A Vague

Sweetness On The Two Hundred Or So Senior Conservatives Who,  With

Much Clattering Of Knives And Forks,  Were Keeping Body And Soul

Together By Means Of The Coffee-Room Luncheon. He Might Have Been

Posing For A Statue Of Amiability. His Pale Blue Eyes Shone With

A Friendly Light Through Their Protecting Glasses; The Smile Of A

Man At Peace With All Men Curved His Weak Mouth; His Bald Head,

Reflecting The Sunlight,  Seemed Almost To Wear A Halo.

Nobody Appeared To Notice Him. He So Seldom Came To London These

Days That He Was Practically A Stranger In The Club; And In Any

Case Your Senior Conservative,  When At Lunch,  Has Little Leisure

For Observing Anything Not Immediately On The Table In Front Of

Him. To Attract Attention In The Dining-Room Of The Senior

Conservative Club Between The Hours Of One And Two-Thirty,  You

Have To Be A Mutton Chop--Not An Earl.

It Is Possible That,  Lacking The Initiative To Make His Way Down

The Long Aisle And Find A Table For Himself,  He Might Have Stood

There Indefinitely,  But For The Restless Activity Of Adams,  The

Head Steward. It Was Adams' Mission In Life To Flit To And Fro,

Hauling Would-Be Lunchers To Their Destinations,  As A St. Bernard

Dog Hauls Travelers Out Of Alpine Snowdrifts. He Sighted Lord

Emsworth And Secured Him With A Genteel Pounce.

"A Table,  Your Lordship? This Way,  Your Lordship." Adams

Remembered Him,  Of Course. Adams Remembered Everybody.

Lord Emsworth Followed Him Beamingly And Presently Came To Anchor

At A Table In The Farther End Of The Room. Adams Handed Him The

Bill Of Fare And Stood Brooding Over Him