Luck of the Bodkins

by P. G. Wodehouse

  He pressed the bell and requested his bedroom steward to send Albert Peasemarch to him.

  In every exchange of diplomatic notes a messenger is essential, and Monty felt very strongly that Albert Peasemarch, having been directly responsible for the whole trouble, was the ideal choice. A glance at the boat deck had shown him that Lottie Blossom was up there again playing quoits, and that meant that there would be a good deal of sweating about and climbing stairs to be done by the intermediary. The thought of

  Albert Peasemarch sweating about and climbing stairs made a powerful appeal to him.

  Presently there was a faint sound of the 'Yeoman's Wedding Song'without, and Albert appeared.

  'What ho, Peasemarch.’

  'Good afternoon, sir.'

  'I want you,' said Monty, 'to take this note to Miss Blossom and bring back an answer. You will find her on the boat deck.’

  There was already a look of disapproval on the steward's face, for Monty's summons had broken in upon him at a moment when he had been hoping to enjoy a quiet lie down and a pipe. At these words it became intensified. He drew his lips together in that duenna-like way with which Monty was so familiar. It was plain that the moral aspect of the matter was troubling him.

  'Is this wise, sir?' he said gravely.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘I am. of course, aware,' proceeded Albert Peasemarch, with a dignified humility which became him well, 'that it is not my place to offer criticism or censure, but if I may take the liberty of saying so, I have become respectfully attached to you in the course of the voyage, sir, and I have your best interests at heart. And I say - Is this wise? If you insist upon me taking this letter to Miss Blossom, I will, of course, do so, being always willing to oblige, but I say again - Is it wise?'

  'Peasemarch,' said Monty, 'you're an ass.'

  'No, sir, begging your pardon, sir, I am nothing of the kind. I've seen more of life than what you have, if you will excuse me saying so, sir, and I know what I'm talking about. My uncle Sidney, who was a travelling salesman for a Portsmouth firm, used to say to me: "Never put anything in writing, Albert," and you'll find there's no better rule in life. It was the salvation of my uncle Sidney. Oh, I know how it is with you, sir. Don't think I don't understand. This Miss Blossom is what I might call a fam fatarl, and in spite of being engaged to a pure, sweet English girl, if you'll excuse me mentioning it, you've gone and fallen beneath her spell -'

  'Listen,' said Monty. 'You just pop off as requested with that note and look slippy about it.'

  "Very good, sir,’ said Albert Peasemarch with a sigh. 'If you insist.'

  The somewhat lengthy interval which separated the steward's departure and return Monty occupied in pacing the floor. Owing to limitations of space, the pacing is never very good in liner state-rooms, but he did the best he could and was still going well when the door opened.

  The lady gave me a letter, sir,' said Albert Peasemarch, speaking in a voice which disapproval, the heat of the day and unaccustomed exercise rendered thick and unmusical.

  'Did she say anything?'

  'No, sir. She laughed.'

  Monty did not like the sound of this. He could imagine that laugh. No doubt one of those mocking, tinkling ones which in certain circumstances can churn a man up as if an egg whisk had been introduced into his vitals. It was in no sanguine spirit that he opened the envelope, and it was as well that he had not been optimistic, for the tone of the communication was in no sense encouraging.

  'Miss Blossom presents her compliments to Mr Bodkin and declines to return any Mickey Mice except on certain conditions. Miss Blossom says: Come on up and have a talk about it'

  Albert Peasemarch mopped a heated brow. ‘Will that be all, sir?'

  'All?' Monty stared. 'We've only just begun.'

  'You aren't going to ask me to climb all those steps again?'

  'I jolly well am.'

  'I ought to be practising my "Yeoman's Wedding Song’’, sir.'

  'Well, practise it as you climb the steps.'

  The steward would have spoken further, but Monty, deep now in literary composition, waved him down with an imperious hand. Frowning, he read what he had written. He did not see how he could improve on it Unless ... His pencil hovered over the paper.

  'You don't know how to spell "inexplicable", do you?' he asked.

  'No, sir.'

  Monty decided not to add the sentence he had been contemplating.

  He read the thing again, and crossed out one of the 't's' in the word 'conditions'.

  'Mr Bodkin presents his compliments to Miss Blossom and begs to inform her that how on earth can he come up and have a talk about it when he has promised his fiancee not to speak to her again? The whole point of this writing notes business is that Mr Bodkin is not allowed to speak to Miss Blossom.

  'Mr Bodkin is at a loss to understand what Miss Blossom means about conditions. Mr Bodkin would like to point out to Miss Blossom that this is a straight, clean-cut issue of returning a Mickey Mouse which belongs to Miss Butterwick and does jolly well not belong to Miss Blossom.'

  There was a still longer interval this time, but eventually a sound of puffing heralded Albert Peasemarch's return. He handed Monty an envelope and with a courteous word of apology sat down on the bed and began to massage a corn which was paining him.

  Monty opened the envelope, read its contents and stood spellbound. The revelation of the depths to which women can sink is always a stunning one.

  'Miss Blossom presents her compliments to Mr Bodkin and he knows very well what she means by conditions. If he wants his mouse, he must go to Ikey Llewellyn and sign up with him and get him to consent to overlook the fact that poor old Ambrose did not write "The Boy Stood on the Burning Deck" and give him a contract. Miss Blossom asks Mr Bodkin to sort out all these He's and Him's to see that she has got them right and in conclusion informs Mr Bodkin that unless he kicks in she is going to parade the promenade deck tomorrow with that Mickey Mouse and when Miss Butterwick (ha, ha) comes up and says: Where the heck did you get that mouse? she, Miss Blossom, is going to say: Why, tee-hee, Mr Bodkin gave it to me with warm personal regards. And if that doesn't make Miss Buttersplosh kick Mr Bodkin in the slats and hand him his hat, Miss Blossom will be vastly surprised.

  ‘P.S. Think on your feet boy!'

  Monty came out of his trance. He was breathing hard. He had decided to stand no more nonsense. There are times when a man has to forget his chivalry and talk turkey to the other sex. His ancestor, the Sieur Pharamond, had realized this when, returning home from the Crusades rather earlier than had been expected, he found his wife in her boudoir singing close harmony with three troubadours.

  There must, he saw, be no more of that polished third-person stuff. What the situation demanded was good, sinewy prose, straight to the button. He dashed off a single, searing line and handed it to Albert Peasemarch.

  It ran:

  ‘Do you know what you are?'

  Miss Blossom replied:

  ‘Yessir. I'm the girl that's got your Mickey Mouse.'

  Impatient with this frivolity, Monty became sterner:'

  ‘You're a thief!'

  Five minutes later Albert Peasemarch limped back to GH.Q. with the following:

  ‘My God! Not that?'

  Monty declined to abate by so much as a jot or tittle the gravity of the charge:

  ‘Yes, you are. A bally thief.'

  To which Miss Blossom, in philosophic vein:

  'Oh, well, I've got a nice day for it'

  Monty then delivered an ultimatum:

  'Return that mouse by bearer, or I go to the purser.'

  But when Albert Peasemarch returned, panting like the hart when wearied in the chase, there was no Mickey Mouse in his hand. He bore nothing but a sheet of paper on which was written a single ribald word. And Monty, reading it, frowned darkly.

  'All right!' he said, between clenched teeth. 'All jolly right!'

  Chapter 17

  It was as the sh
ip's clocks were pointing to four and busy stewards were bustling about preparing tea and cake for famished passengers who had not touched food since half-past two that Reggie Tennyson, roving the vessel in search of Monty, observed him coming out of the purser's office.

  Reggie's was not an unsympathetic nature. It is true that he had left Monty somewhat abruptly at a moment when the latter would have been glad of his advice and comfort, but that was because he wanted to play shuffleboard with Mabel Spence. He had by no means failed to give his friend's hard case a good deal of thought, and after lunch and another game of shuffle-board he went to look for him, anxious to ascertain how things were coming along.

  For some considerable time his quest had been unsuccessful, but at four o'clock his efforts were rewarded. Happening, as has been said, to pass the purser's office, he caught sight of Monty emerging.

  Monty was not alone. The ship's doctor was with him. The ship's doctor had placed an arm about his shoulder and there was a kindly, solicitous expression on his face.

  There is nothing to be alarmed about,' he was saying. 'You just go to your state-room and lie down. I'll send a steward along with something which I would like you to take in a little water every two hours.’

  And with these words the ship's doctor administered a cheery little pat on the shoulder and made off, in his bearing the unmistakable look which ship's doctors always wear when they are going back to play quoits with the prettiest girl on board.

  Reggie hailed Monty with a friendly 'Hoy!' and the latter turned, blinking. He seemed a little dazed.

  'What,' inquired Reggie, 'was all that? Have you gone and got leprosy or something?'

  'Come on up to the smoking-room,’ said Monty feverishly. 'I want a drink.’

  'But the medico told you to go to your state-room and lie down.'

  'Blast the medico and curse the state-room,' said Monty, with that same odd feverishness.

  Reggie decided to postpone any attempt at reasoning with his friend. Whatever scourge he had got, it was plain that he had no intention of lying down and taking things in a little water every two hours. His whole mind was manifestly intent on reaching the smoking-room and getting a snootful. And as the heat of the afternoon was making Reggie feel that he, too, could do with a spot of refreshment, he suspended his remarks and followed, wondering but silent.

  It was only after Monty had had one quick and another rather slower that he seemed to return to this world from whatever misty empyrean it was in which his soul had been wandering. He looked at Reggie as if he were seeing him for the first time, and as his eye was now bright and unclouded and as intelligent as it ever was, the latter considered that he might go on where they had left off.

  'What,’ he asked, 'was all that?'

  A shudder shook Monty.

  ‘Reggie,' he said, 'I've made a bit of an ass of myself.’ ·How?’

  ‘I’ll tell you. Where's that steward?’

  'What do you want the steward for?'

  ‘What do you think I want the steward for?’

  With a replenished glass at his side, Monty became calmer. He still had that shaken look and one could see that he had passed through some experience which had tested him to the utmost, but his voice, if toneless, was level.

  ‘I’ve just had the dickens of a time, Reggie, old man.’

  'With Lottie Blossom?'

  'With the purser and the doctor and the ship's detective. Did you know ships had detectives? I didn't. But they have. Big chaps with moustaches. Have you ever seen a sergeant-major? Well, that'll give you some idea.'

  He fell into that trancelike silence again, and it was only by placing the lighted end of his cigarette gently on the back of his hand that Reggie was enabled to secure his attention once more. 'Ouch I' cried Monty.

  'Carry on, old boy,' said Reggie. 'You have our ear. You were talking about pursers and doctors and ship's detectives.’

  'So I was. Yes. I see now, of course,' said Monty, 'that I ought never to have gone.'

  'Gone where?'

  ‘To the purser. But when the Blossom took that attitude, there seemed no other course.' 'What attitude?'

  ‘I'm telling you. A beastly, low-down, sneering, jeering -' 'You've been chatting with her, then?' 'No, I haven't. We corresponded per Peasemarch.' 'Oh, you wrote to her?'

  'And she wrote to me. And Peasemarch flitted to and fro, singing the "Yeoman's Wedding Song’’.' 'Doing what?’

  'Nothing, nothing. What I'm driving at is that I wrote to her demanding the immediate return of the Mickey Mouse, and she wrote back - per, as I say, Peasemarch - informing me that unless I went to old Llewellyn and signed on with him and got him to give Ambrose a contract she was going to flaunt the mouse openly and tell Gertrude that I had given it to her.'

  Reggie looked grave.

  ‘I hadn't thought of that. Yes, I see, that's the line she would take. Holding you up, what? Strategic, beyond a doubt, though a thoroughly dirty trick, of course. Still, women are women.’

  'No, they aren't. Not all of them.’

  'Perhaps you're right,' said Reggie pacifically. 'What did you do then?'

  ‘I let her have it straight. I said I would go to the purser.' Monty gave a little shiver. 'I've just been,' he said. 'What happened?'

  Monty endeavoured to restore his composure with a sip at his glass. It was evident that it hurt him to dwell upon what had occurred.

  'It was an unfortunate move, old man. I thought the whole thing was going to be perfectly plain and straightforward, but it wasn't.' 'What happened?’

  'I'm telling you. I went in and said: "Could I have a word," and the purser said yes, I could have a word, so I sat down and said: "I must ask you to treat this as entirely confidential," and he said: "Treat what as entirely confidential?" and I said: "What I am about to tell you. Entirely confidential is what I must ask you to treat what I am about to tell you as," and he said: "Right ho," or words to that effect, and I said: "Purser, I've been robbed!" ‘

  'That stirred him up?’

  'Quite a bit. He touched a bell, seeming distraught As a matter of fact, he clutched it' 'The bell?'

  'His hair. I wish you would listen. I tell you he clutched his hair. And when he had clutched his hair, he said something about there being notices posted all over the ship, imploring people not to play cards with strangers, and in spite of that he had never known a single voyage finish without someone coming to him and complaining that they had been rooked by sharpers. And I said I hadn't been rooked by any sharpers, I'd been robbed. And he clutched his hair again and said did I mean that I had had valuables stolen from me? and I said: "Yes, absolutely." And at this juncture old William the Walrus came in - in response, no doubt, to the bell.'

  'This W. Walrus being who?'

  'That's what I wondered for a moment, but the purser said: "This is the ship's detective," and something about tell him my story and: "My God this sort of thing doesn't do the Line any good, people being robbed as soon as they set foot on board," so I said: "Good afternoon, detective, I've been robbed." And the detective said: "You don't say that, sir?" And I said: "You silly ass, I've just said it." I was a bit overwrought at the moment, you understand?'

  'Quite.'

  Monty sipped and resumed.

  'Well, then the purser and the Walrus started greatly conferencing. The purser said had the Walrus noticed any gangs on board? And the Walrus said: "No, not what you would call gangs." And the purser said that that was rummy, because these big robberies were usually the work of some gang of international crooks. And then they conferenced a bit more, and then the Walrus said that the first thing to do was to get a full description of the lost valuables, and he hauled out a note-book and said: "Perhaps, Mr Bodkin, you will just give me a complete list of the missing jewellery." And it was at that moment, old man, that I began to see that I had made a bit of an ass of myself. You know how it is.'

  Reggie nodded. He knew how it was.

  'It was only then that it suddenly oc
curred to me that it might seem a little odd, a chap sending out SOS's and calling in ship's detectives because he had lost a brown plush Mickey Mouse. And they did think it odd, too, because no sooner had I sprung the news than the purser gave a sort of gulp and the Walrus gave a sort of gulp and they looked at one another, and then the purser went out and came back in a minute or two with the doctor, and the doctor asked me a lot of questions about: "Did I feel dizzy?" and: "Were there floating spots in front of my eyes?" and: "Had I as a child ever been dropped on my head?" and: "Did I hear voices and imagine that people were following me about?" and the upshot of the whole thing was that he led me out in a foul, fatherly sort of way -very kind and gentle, if you know what I mean, and told me to lie down and keep out of the hot sun and take something which he would send me, in a little water every two hours.'

  Reggie Tennyson was a clear, keen thinker. He could read between the lines.

  "They thought you were off your rocker.’

  That's the way it looked to me.'

  'H'm ... Were you ever dropped on your head as a child?’

  'Not that I know of.'

  ‘I was just wondering.'

  Reggie pondered.

  'Most unpleasant,' he said.

  'Most,' agreed Monty.

  'And when all the smoke's blown away you're still minus the mouse.’

  ‘Yes.’

  'And Lottie isn't just bluffing? She'll do what she said?’ ‘Yes.’

  Reggie pondered again.

  'It looks to me as if the only thing you can do is meet her conditions.' 'What, become a movie actor?' That's about how it seems to pan out.’ A febrile spasm shook Monty.

  'I won't become a bally movie actor. The mere thought of it gives me the pip. I hate acting. I've always dodged even amateur theatricals. Many's the time I've had an invitation to go and stay for a couple of weeks at some house and wanted to go and found out at the eleventh hour that they were doing A Pantomime Rehearsal or something in aid of the local Church Organ Fund and backed out like a rabbit. It's a regular what-d'you-call-it with me.'