The Coming of Bill

by P. G. Wodehouse

  Chapter XIII

  Pastures New

  Steve had arrived at the Connecticut shack in the early dawn of theday which had been so eventful to most of his friends andacquaintances. William Bannister's interest in the drive, at firstacute, had ceased after the first five miles, and he had passed theremainder of the journey in a sound sleep from which the stopping ofthe car did not awaken him.

  Steve jumped down and stretched himself. There was a wonderfulfreshness in the air which made him forget for a moment his desire forrepose. He looked about him, breathing deep draughts of its coolness.The robins which, though not so well advertised, rise just aspunctually as the lark, were beginning to sing as they made theirsimple toilets before setting out to attend to the early worm. The skyto the east was a delicate blend of pinks and greens and yellows, witha hint of blue behind the grey which was still the prevailing note.

  A vaguely sentimental mood came upon Steve. In his heart he knewperfectly well that he could never be happy for any length of time outof sight and hearing of Broadway cars; but at that moment, such was themagic of the dawn, he felt a longing to settle down in the country andpass the rest of his days a simple farmer with beard unchecked byrazor. He saw himself feeding the chickens and addressing the pigs bytheir pet names, while Mamie, in a cotton frock, called cheerfully tohim to come in because breakfast was ready and getting cold.

  Mamie! Ah!

  His sigh turned into a yawn. He realized with the abruptness whichcomes to a man who stands alone with nature in the small hours that hewas very sleepy. The excitement which had sustained him till now hadbegun to ebb. The free life of the bearded farmer seemed suddenly lessattractive. Bed was what he wanted now, not nature.

  He opened the door of the car and lifted William Bannister out, swathedin rugs. The White Hope gurgled drowsily, but did not wake. Stevecarried him on to the porch and laid him down. Then he turned hisattention to the problem of effecting an entry.

  Once an honest man has taken to amateur burgling he soon picks up thetricks of it. To open his knife and shoot back the catch of the nearestwindow was with Steve the work, if not of a moment, of a very fewminutes. He climbed in and unlocked the front door. Then he carried hisyoung charge into the sitting-room and laid him down on a chair, a stepnearer his ultimate destination--bed.

  Steve's faculties were rapidly becoming numb with approaching sleep,but he roused himself to face certain details of the country life whichtill now had escaped him. His earnest concentration on the main plankof his platform, the spiriting away of William Bannister, had causedhim to overlook the fact that no preparations had been made to welcomehim on his arrival at his destination. He had treated the shack as ifit had been a summer hotel, where he could walk in and engage a room.It now struck him that there was much to be attended to before hecould, as he put it to himself, hit the hay. There was the White Hope'sbed to be made, and, by the way of a preliminary to that, sheets mustbe found and blankets, not to mention pillows.

  Yawning wearily he set out on his search.

  He found sheets, but mistrusted them. They might or might not beperfectly dry. He did not care to risk his godson's valuable health inthe experiment. A hazy notion that blankets were always safe restoredhis spirits, and he became cheerful on reflecting that a child withWilliam Bannister's gift for sleep would not be likely to notice theabsence of linen in his bed.

  The couch which he finally passed adequate would have caused LoraDelane Porter's hair to stand erect, but it satisfied Steve. He wentdownstairs, and, returning with William Bannister, placed him carefullyon it and tucked him in. The White Hope slept on.

  Having assured himself that all was well, Steve made up a similar nestfor himself, and, removing his coat and shoes, crawled under theblankets. Five minutes later rhythmical snores proclaimed the fact thatnature had triumphed over all the discomforts of one of the worst-madebeds in Connecticut.

  * * * * *

  The sun was high when Steve woke. He rose stiffly and went into theother room. William Bannister still slept.

  Steve regarded him admiringly.

  "For the dormouse act," he mused, "that kid certainly stands alone. Yougot to hand it to him."

  An aching void within him called his mind to the question of breakfast.It began to come home to him that he had not planned out thisexpedition with that thoroughness which marks the great general.

  "I guess I'll have to get out to the nearest village in the bubble," hesaid. "And while I'm there maybe I'd better send Kirk a wire. And Ireckon I'll have to take the kid. If he wakes up and finds me gonehe'll throw fits. Up you get, squire."

  He kneaded the recumbent form of his godson with a large hand until hehad massaged out of him the last remains of his great sleep. It tooksome time, but it was effective. The White Hope sat up, full of lifeand energy. He inspected Steve gravely for a moment, endeavouring toplace him.

  "Hello, Steve," he said at length.

  "Hello, kid."

  "Where am I?"

  "In the country. In Connecticut."

  "What's 'Necticut?"

  "This is. Where we are."

  "Where are we?"

  "Here. In Connecticut."

  "Why?"

  Steve raised a protesting hand.

  "Not so early in the day, kid; not before breakfast," he pleaded."Honest, I'm not strong enough. It ain't as if we was a vaudeville teamthat had got to rehearse."

  "What's rehearse?"

  Steve changed the subject.

  "Say, kid, ain't you feeling like you could bite into something? I gotan emptiness inside me as big as all outdoors. How about a mouthful ofcereal and a shirred egg? Now, for the love of Mike," he went onquickly, as his godson opened his mouth to speak, "don't say 'What'sshirred?' It's something you do to eggs. It's one way of fixing 'em."

  "What's fixing?" inquired William Bannister brightly.

  Steve sighed. When he spoke he was calm, but determined.

  "That'll be all the dialogue for the present," he said. "We'll play therest of our act in dumb show. Get a move on you, and I'll take you outin the bubble--the automobile, the car, the chug-chug wagon, the thingwe came here in, if you want to know what bubble is--and we'll scare upsome breakfast."

  Steve's ignorance of the locality in which he found himself wascomplete; but he had a general impression that farmers as a class werepeople who delighted in providing breakfasts for the needy, if theneedy possessed the necessary price. Acting on this assumption, hepostponed his trip to the nearest town and drove slowly along the roadswith his eyes open for signs of life.

  He found a suitable farm and, applying the brakes, gathered up WilliamBannister and knocked at the door.

  His surmise as to the hospitality of farmers proved correct, andpresently they were sitting down to a breakfast which it did hisfamished soul good to contemplate.

  William Bannister seemed less enthusiastic. Steve, having disposedof two eggs in quick succession, turned to see how his young chargewas progressing with his repast, and found him eyeing a bowl ofbread-and-milk in a sort of frozen horror.

  "What's the matter, kid?" he asked. "Get busy."

  "No paper," said William Bannister.

  "For the love of Pete! Do you expect your morning paper out in thewoods?"

  "No paper," repeated the White Hope firmly.

  Steve regarded him thoughtfully.

  "I didn't have this trip planned out right," he said regretfully. "Iought to have got Mamie to come along. I bet a hundred dollars shewould have got next to your meanings in a second. I pass. What's yourkick, anyway? What's all this about paper?"

  "Aunty Lora says not to eat bread that doesn't come wrapped up inpaper," said the White Hope, becoming surprisingly lucid. "Mamie undoesit out of crinkly paper."

  "I get you. They feed you rolls at home wrapped up in tissue-paper, isthat it?"

  "What's tissue?"

  "Same as crinkly. Well, see here. You remember what we was talkingabout last night abo
ut germs?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, that's one thing germs never do, eat bread out of crinkly paper.You want to forget all the dope they shot into you back in New York andstart fresh. You do what I tell you and you can't go wrong. If you'regoing to be a regular germ, what you've got to do is to wrap yourselfround that bread-and-milk the quickest you can. Get me? Till you dothat we can't begin to start out to have a good time."

  William Bannister made no more objections. He attacked his meal with aneasy conscience, and about a quarter of an hour later leaned back witha deep sigh of repletion.

  Steve, meanwhile had entered into conversation with the lady of thehouse.

  "Say, I guess you ain't got a kid of your own anywheres, have you?"

  "Sure I have," said the hostess proudly. "He's out in the field withhis pop this minute. His name's Jim."

  "Fine. I want to get hold of a kid to play with this kid here. Jimsounds pretty good to me. About the same age as this one?"

  "For the Lord's sake! Jim's eighteen and weighs two hundred pounds."

  "Cut out Jim. I thought from the way you spoke he was a regular kid.Know any one in these parts who's got something about the same weightas this one?"

  The farmer's wife reflected.

  "Kids is pretty scarce round here," she said. "I reckon you won't getone that I knows of. There's that Tom Whiting, but he's a bad boy. Heain't been raised right."

  "What's the matter with him?"

  "I don't want to speak harm of no one, but his father used to be a lowprize-fighter, and you know what they are."

  Steve nodded sympathetically.

  "Regular plug-uglies," he said. "A friend of mine used to have to mixwith them quite a lot, poor fellah! He used to say they was none ofthem truly refined. And this kid takes after his pop, eh? Kind ofscrappy kid, is that it?"

  "He's a bad boy."

  "Well, maybe I'd better look him over, just in case. Where's he to befound?"

  "They live in the cottage by the big house you can see through themtrees. His pop looks after Mr. Wilson's prize dawgs. That's his job."

  "What's Wilson?" asked the White Hope, coming out of his stupor.

  "You beat me to it by a second, kid. I was just going to ask itmyself."

  "He's one of them rich New Yawkers. He has his summer place here, andthis Whiting looks after his prize dawgs."

  "Well, I guess I'll give him a call. It's going to be lonesome for mykid if he ain't got some one to show him how to hit it up. He's notused to country life. Come along. We'll get into the bubble and go andsend your pop a telegram."

  "What's telegram?" asked William Bannister.

  "I got you placed now," said Steve, regarding him with interest."You're not going to turn into an ambassador or an artist or any ofthem things. You're going to be the greatest district attorney thatever came down the pike."