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Investigation proved that the friends Angela had gone to spend the daywith were some stately-home owners of the name of Stretchley-Budd,hanging out in a joint called Kingham Manor, about eight miles distant inthe direction of Pershore. I didn't know these birds, but theirfascination must have been considerable, for she tore herself away fromthem only just in time to get back and dress for dinner. It was,accordingly, not until coffee had been consumed that I was able to getmatters moving. I found her in the drawing-room and at once proceeded toput things in train.
It was with very different feelings from those which had animated thebosom when approaching the Bassett twenty-four hours before in the samemanner in this same drawing-room that I headed for where she sat. As Ihad told Tuppy, I have always been devoted to Angela, and there isnothing I like better than a ramble in her company.
And I could see by the look of her now how sorely in need she was of myaid and comfort.
Frankly, I was shocked by the unfortunate young prune's appearance. AtCannes she had been a happy, smiling English girl of the best type, fullof beans and buck. Her face now was pale and drawn, like that of a hockeycentre-forward at a girls' school who, in addition to getting a fruityone on the shin, has just been penalized for "sticks". In any normalgathering, her demeanour would have excited instant remark, but thestandard of gloom at Brinkley Court had become so high that it passedunnoticed. Indeed, I shouldn't wonder if Uncle Tom, crouched in hiscorner waiting for the end, didn't think she was looking indecentlycheerful.
I got down to the agenda in my debonair way.
"What ho, Angela, old girl."
"Hullo, Bertie, darling."
"Glad you're back at last. I missed you."
"Did you, darling?"
"I did, indeed. Care to come for a saunter?"
"I'd love it."
"Fine. I have much to say to you that is not for the public ear."
I think at this moment poor old Tuppy must have got a sudden touch ofcramp. He had been sitting hard by, staring at the ceiling, and he nowgave a sharp leap like a gaffed salmon and upset a small table containinga vase, a bowl of potpourri, two china dogs, and a copy of Omar Khayyambound in limp leather.
Aunt Dahlia uttered a startled hunting cry. Uncle Tom, who probablyimagined from the noise that this was civilization crashing at last,helped things along by breaking a coffee-cup.
Tuppy said he was sorry. Aunt Dahlia, with a deathbed groan, said itdidn't matter. And Angela, having stared haughtily for a moment like aprincess of the old regime confronted by some notable example ofgaucherie on the part of some particularly foul member of the underworld,accompanied me across the threshold. And presently I had deposited herand self on one of the rustic benches in the garden, and was ready tosnap into the business of the evening.
I considered it best, however, before doing so, to ease things along witha little informal chitchat. You don't want to rush a delicate job likethe one I had in hand. And so for a while we spoke of neutral topics. Shesaid that what had kept her so long at the Stretchley-Budds was thatHilda Stretchley-Budd had made her stop on and help with the arrangementsfor their servants' ball tomorrow night, a task which she couldn't verywell decline, as all the Brinkley Court domestic staff were to bepresent. I said that a jolly night's revelry might be just what wasneeded to cheer Anatole up and take his mind off things. To which shereplied that Anatole wasn't going. On being urged to do so by AuntDahlia, she said, he had merely shaken his head sadly and gone on talkingof returning to Provence, where he was appreciated.
It was after the sombre silence induced by this statement that Angelasaid the grass was wet and she thought she would go in.
This, of course, was entirely foreign to my policy.
"No, don't do that. I haven't had a chance to talk to you since youarrived."
"I shall ruin my shoes."
"Put your feet up on my lap."
"All right. And you can tickle my ankles."
"Quite."
Matters were accordingly arranged on these lines, and for some minutes wecontinued chatting in desultory fashion. Then the conversation peteredout. I made a few observations _in re_ the scenic effects, featuring thetwilight hush, the peeping stars, and the soft glimmer of the waters ofthe lake, and she said yes. Something rustled in the bushes in front ofus, and I advanced the theory that it was possibly a weasel, and she saidit might be. But it was plain that the girl was distraite, and Iconsidered it best to waste no more time.
"Well, old thing," I said, "I've heard all about your little dust-up Sothose wedding bells are not going to ring out, what?"
"No."
"Definitely over, is it?"
"Yes."
"Well, if you want my opinion, I think that's a bit of goose for you,Angela, old girl. I think you're extremely well out of it. It's a mysteryto me how you stood this Glossop so long. Take him for all in all, heranks very low down among the wines and spirits. A washout, I shoulddescribe him as. A frightful oik, and a mass of side to boot. I'd pitythe girl who was linked for life to a bargee like Tuppy Glossop."
And I emitted a hard laugh--one of the sneering kind.
"I always thought you were such friends," said Angela.
I let go another hard one, with a bit more top spin on it than the firsttime:
"Friends? Absolutely not. One was civil, of course, when one met thefellow, but it would be absurd to say one was a friend of his. A clubacquaintance, and a mere one at that. And then one was at school with theman."
"At Eton?"
"Good heavens, no. We wouldn't have a fellow like that at Eton. At akid's school before I went there. A grubby little brute he was, Irecollect. Covered with ink and mire generally, washing only on alternateThursdays. In short, a notable outsider, shunned by all."
I paused. I was more than a bit perturbed. Apart from the agony of havingto talk in this fashion of one who, except when he was looping back ringsand causing me to plunge into swimming baths in correct evening costume,had always been a very dear and esteemed crony, I didn't seem to begetting anywhere. Business was not resulting. Staring into the busheswithout a yip, she appeared to be bearing these slurs and innuendos ofmine with an easy calm.
I had another pop at it:
"'Uncouth' about sums it up. I doubt if I've ever seen an uncouther kidthan this Glossop. Ask anyone who knew him in those days to describe himin a word, and the word they will use is 'uncouth'. And he's just thesame today. It's the old story. The boy is the father of the man."
She appeared not to have heard.
"The boy," I repeated, not wishing her to miss that one, "is the fatherof the man."
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about this Glossop."
"I thought you said something about somebody's father."
"I said the boy was the father of the man."
"What boy?"
"The boy Glossop."
"He hasn't got a father."
"I never said he had. I said he was the father of the boy--or, rather, ofthe man."
"What man?"
I saw that the conversation had reached a point where, unless care wastaken, we should be muddled.
"The point I am trying to make," I said, "is that the boy Glossop is thefather of the man Glossop. In other words, each loathsome fault andblemish that led the boy Glossop to be frowned upon by his fellows ispresent in the man Glossop, and causes him--I am speaking now of the manGlossop--to be a hissing and a byword at places like the Drones, where acertain standard of decency is demanded from the inmates. Ask anyone atthe Drones, and they will tell you that it was a black day for the dearold club when this chap Glossop somehow wriggled into the list ofmembers. Here you will find a man who dislikes his face; there one whocould stand his face if it wasn't for his habits. But the universalconsensus of opinion is that the fellow is a bounder and a tick, and thatthe moment he showed signs of wanting to get into the place he shouldhave been met with a firm _nolle prosequi_ and heartily blackbal
led."
I had to pause again here, partly in order to take in a spot of breath,and partly to wrestle with the almost physical torture of saying thesefrightful things about poor old Tuppy.
"There are some chaps," I resumed, forcing myself once more to thenauseous task, "who, in spite of looking as if they had slept in theirclothes, can get by quite nicely because they are amiable and suave.There are others who, for all that they excite adverse comment by beingfat and uncouth, find themselves on the credit side of the ledger owingto their wit and sparkling humour. But this Glossop, I regret to say,falls into neither class. In addition to looking like one of those thingsthat come out of hollow trees, he is universally admitted to be a dumbbrick of the first water. No soul. No conversation. In short, any girlwho, having been rash enough to get engaged to him, has managed at theeleventh hour to slide out is justly entitled to consider herself dashedlucky."
I paused once more, and cocked an eye at Angela to see how the treatmentwas taking. All the while I had been speaking, she had sat gazingsilently into the bushes, but it seemed to me incredible that she shouldnot now turn on me like a tigress, according to specifications. It beatme why she hadn't done it already. It seemed to me that a mere tithe ofwhat I had said, if said to a tigress about a tiger of which she wasfond, would have made her--the tigress, I mean--hit the ceiling.
And the next moment you could have knocked me down with a toothpick.
"Yes," she said, nodding thoughtfully, "you're quite right."
"Eh?"
"That's exactly what I've been thinking myself."
"What!"
"'Dumb brick.' It just describes him. One of the six silliest asses inEngland, I should think he must be."
I did not speak. I was endeavouring to adjust the faculties, which werein urgent need of a bit of first-aid treatment.
I mean to say, all this had come as a complete surprise. In formulatingthe well-laid plan which I had just been putting into effect, the onecontingency I had not budgeted for was that she might adhere to thesentiments which I expressed. I had braced myself for a gush of stormyemotion. I was expecting the tearful ticking off, the girlishrecriminations and all the rest of the bag of tricks along those lines.
But this cordial agreement with my remarks I had not foreseen, and itgave me what you might call pause for thought.
She proceeded to develop her theme, speaking in ringing, enthusiastictones, as if she loved the topic. Jeeves could tell you the word I want.I think it's "ecstatic", unless that's the sort of rash you get on yourface and have to use ointment for. But if that is the right word, thenthat's what her manner was as she ventilated the subject of poor oldTuppy. If you had been able to go simply by the sound of her voice, shemight have been a court poet cutting loose about an Oriental monarch, orGussie Fink-Nottle describing his last consignment of newts.
"It's so nice, Bertie, talking to somebody who really takes a sensibleview about this man Glossop. Mother says he's a good chap, which issimply absurd. Anybody can see that he's absolutely impossible. He'sconceited and opinionative and argues all the time, even when he knowsperfectly well that he's talking through his hat, and he smokes too muchand eats too much and drinks too much, and I don't like the colour of hishair. Not that he'll have any hair in a year or two, because he's prettythin on the top already, and before he knows where he is he'll be as baldas an egg, and he's the last man who can afford to go bald. And I thinkit's simply disgusting, the way he gorges all the time. Do you know, Ifound him in the larder at one o'clock this morning, absolutely wallowingin a steak-and-kidney pie? There was hardly any of it left. And youremember what an enormous dinner he had. Quite disgusting, I call it. ButI can't stop out here all night, talking about men who aren't worthwasting a word on and haven't even enough sense to tell sharks fromflatfish. I'm going in."
And gathering about her slim shoulders the shawl which she had put on asa protection against the evening dew, she buzzed off, leaving me alone inthe silent night.
Well, as a matter of fact, not absolutely alone, because a few momentslater there was a sort of upheaval in the bushes in front of me, andTuppy emerged.
Right Ho, Jeeves Page 14