The Man with Two Left Feet, and Other Stories

by P. G. Wodehouse

  THE MIXER

  I. _He Meets a Shy Gentleman_

  Looking back, I always consider that my career as a dog proper reallystarted when I was bought for the sum of half a crown by the Shy Man.That event marked the end of my puppyhood. The knowledge that I wasworth actual cash to somebody filled me with a sense of newresponsibilities. It sobered me. Besides, it was only after thathalf-crown changed hands that I went out into the great world; and,however interesting life may be in an East End public-house, it is onlywhen you go out into the world that you really broaden your mind andbegin to see things.

  Within its limitations, my life had been singularly full and vivid. Iwas born, as I say, in a public-house in the East End, and, howeverlacking a public-house may be in refinement and the true culture, itcertainly provides plenty of excitement. Before I was six weeks old Ihad upset three policemen by getting between their legs when they cameround to the side-door, thinking they had heard suspicious noises; andI can still recall the interesting sensation of being chased seventeentimes round the yard with a broom-handle after a well-planned andcompletely successful raid on the larder. These and other happenings ofa like nature soothed for the moment but could not cure therestlessness which has always been so marked a trait in my character. Ihave always been restless, unable to settle down in one place andanxious to get on to the next thing. This may be due to a gipsy strainin my ancestry--one of my uncles travelled with a circus--or it may bethe Artistic Temperament, acquired from a grandfather who, before dyingof a surfeit of paste in the property-room of the Bristol Coliseum,which he was visiting in the course of a professional tour, had anestablished reputation on the music-hall stage as one of ProfessorPond's Performing Poodles.

  I owe the fullness and variety of my life to this restlessness of mine,for I have repeatedly left comfortable homes in order to follow someperfect stranger who looked as if he were on his way to somewhereinteresting. Sometimes I think I must have cat blood in me.

  The Shy Man came into our yard one afternoon in April, while I wassleeping with mother in the sun on an old sweater which we had borrowedfrom Fred, one of the barmen. I heard mother growl, but I didn't takeany notice. Mother is what they call a good watch-dog, and she growlsat everybody except master. At first, when she used to do it, I wouldget up and bark my head off, but not now. Life's too short to bark ateverybody who comes into our yard. It is behind the public-house, andthey keep empty bottles and things there, so people are always comingand going.

  Besides, I was tired. I had had a very busy morning, helping the menbring in a lot of cases of beer, and running into the saloon to talk toFred and generally looking after things. So I was just dozing offagain, when I heard a voice say, 'Well, he's ugly enough!' Then I knewthat they were talking about me.

  I have never disguised it from myself, and nobody has ever disguised itfrom me, that I am not a handsome dog. Even mother never thought mebeautiful. She was no Gladys Cooper herself, but she never hesitated tocriticize my appearance. In fact, I have yet to meet anyone who did.The first thing strangers say about me is, 'What an ugly dog!'

  I don't know what I am. I have a bulldog kind of a face, but the restof me is terrier. I have a long tail which sticks straight up in theair. My hair is wiry. My eyes are brown. I am jet black, with a whitechest. I once overheard Fred saying that I was a Gorgonzolacheese-hound, and I have generally found Fred reliable in hisstatements.

  When I found that I was under discussion, I opened my eyes. Master wasstanding there, looking down at me, and by his side the man who hadjust said I was ugly enough. The man was a thin man, about the age of abarman and smaller than a policeman. He had patched brown shoes andblack trousers.

  'But he's got a sweet nature,' said master.

  This was true, luckily for me. Mother always said, 'A dog withoutinfluence or private means, if he is to make his way in the world, musthave either good looks or amiability.' But, according to her, I overdidit. 'A dog,' she used to say, 'can have a good heart, without chummingwith every Tom, Dick, and Harry he meets. Your behaviour is sometimesquite un-doglike.' Mother prided herself on being a one-man dog. Shekept herself to herself, and wouldn't kiss anybody except master--noteven Fred.

  Now, I'm a mixer. I can't help it. It's my nature. I like men. I likethe taste of their boots, the smell of their legs, and the sound oftheir voices. It may be weak of me, but a man has only to speak to meand a sort of thrill goes right down my spine and sets my tail wagging.

  I wagged it now. The man looked at me rather distantly. He didn't patme. I suspected--what I afterwards found to be the case--that he wasshy, so I jumped up at him to put him at his ease. Mother growledagain. I felt that she did not approve.

  'Why, he's took quite a fancy to you already,' said master.

  The man didn't say a word. He seemed to be brooding on something. Hewas one of those silent men. He reminded me of Joe, the old dog downthe street at the grocer's shop, who lies at the door all day, blinkingand not speaking to anybody.

  Master began to talk about me. It surprised me, the way he praised me.I hadn't a suspicion he admired me so much. From what he said you wouldhave thought I had won prizes and ribbons at the Crystal Palace. Butthe man didn't seem to be impressed. He kept on saying nothing.

  When master had finished telling him what a wonderful dog I was till Iblushed, the man spoke.

  'Less of it,' he said. 'Half a crown is my bid, and if he was an angelfrom on high you couldn't get another ha'penny out of me. What aboutit?'

  A thrill went down my spine and out at my tail, for of course I saw nowwhat was happening. The man wanted to buy me and take me away. I lookedat master hopefully.

  'He's more like a son to me than a dog,' said master, sort of wistful.

  'It's his face that makes you feel that way,' said the man,unsympathetically. 'If you had a son that's just how he would look.Half a crown is my offer, and I'm in a hurry.'

  'All right,' said master, with a sigh, 'though it's giving him away, avaluable dog like that. Where's your half-crown?'

  The man got a bit of rope and tied it round my neck.

  I could hear mother barking advice and telling me to be a credit to thefamily, but I was too excited to listen.

  'Good-bye, mother,' I said. 'Good-bye, master. Good-bye, Fred. Good-byeeverybody. I'm off to see life. The Shy Man has bought me for half acrown. Wow!'

  I kept running round in circles and shouting, till the man gave me akick and told me to stop it.

  So I did.

  I don't know where we went, but it was a long way. I had never been offour street before in my life and I didn't know the whole world was halfas big as that. We walked on and on, and the man jerked at my ropewhenever I wanted to stop and look at anything. He wouldn't even let mepass the time of the day with dogs we met.

  When we had gone about a hundred miles and were just going to turn inat a dark doorway, a policeman suddenly stopped the man. I could feelby the way the man pulled at my rope and tried to hurry on that hedidn't want to speak to the policeman. The more I saw of the man themore I saw how shy he was.

  'Hi!' said the policeman, and we had to stop.

  'I've got a message for you, old pal,' said the policeman. 'It's fromthe Board of Health. They told me to tell you you needed a change ofair. See?'

  'All right!' said the man.

  'And take it as soon as you like. Else you'll find you'll get it givenyou. See?'

  I looked at the man with a good deal of respect. He was evidentlysomeone very important, if they worried so about his health.

  'I'm going down to the country tonight,' said the man.

  The policeman seemed pleased.

  'That's a bit of luck for the country,' he said. 'Don't go changingyour mind.'

  And we walked on, and went in at the dark doorway, and climbed about amillion stairs and went into a room that smelt of rats. The man satdown and swore a little, and I sat and looked at him.

  Presently I couldn't keep it in any longer.

  'Do we liv
e here?' I said. 'Is it true we're going to the country?Wasn't that policeman a good sort? Don't you like policemen? I knewlots of policemen at the public-house. Are there any other dogs here?What is there for dinner? What's in that cupboard? When are you goingto take me out for another run? May I go out and see if I can find acat?'

  'Stop that yelping,' he said.

  'When we go to the country, where shall we live? Are you going to be acaretaker at a house? Fred's father is a caretaker at a big house inKent. I've heard Fred talk about it. You didn't meet Fred when you cameto the public-house, did you? You would like Fred. I like Fred. Motherlikes Fred. We all like Fred.'

  I was going on to tell him a lot more about Fred, who had always beenone of my warmest friends, when he suddenly got hold of a stick andwalloped me with it.

  'You keep quiet when you're told,' he said.

  He really was the shyest man I had ever met. It seemed to hurt him tobe spoken to. However, he was the boss, and I had to humour him, so Ididn't say any more.

  We went down to the country that night, just as the man had told thepoliceman we would. I was all worked up, for I had heard so much aboutthe country from Fred that I had always wanted to go there. Fred usedto go off on a motor-bicycle sometimes to spend the night with hisfather in Kent, and once he brought back a squirrel with him, which Ithought was for me to eat, but mother said no. 'The first thing a doghas to learn,' mother used often to say, 'is that the whole worldwasn't created for him to eat.'

  It was quite dark when we got to the country, but the man seemed toknow where to go. He pulled at my rope, and we began to walk along aroad with no people in it at all. We walked on and on, but it was allso new to me that I forgot how tired I was. I could feel my mindbroadening with every step I took.

  Every now and then we would pass a very big house, which looked as ifit was empty, but I knew that there was a caretaker inside, because ofFred's father. These big houses belong to very rich people, but theydon't want to live in them till the summer, so they put in caretakers,and the caretakers have a dog to keep off burglars. I wondered if thatwas what I had been brought here for.

  'Are you going to be a caretaker?' I asked the man.

  'Shut up,' he said.

  So I shut up.

  After we had been walking a long time, we came to a cottage. A man cameout. My man seemed to know him, for he called him Bill. I was quitesurprised to see the man was not at all shy with Bill. They seemed veryfriendly.

  'Is that him?' said Bill, looking at me.

  'Bought him this afternoon,' said the man.

  'Well,' said Bill, 'he's ugly enough. He looks fierce. If you want adog, he's the sort of dog you want. But what do you want one for? Itseems to me it's a lot of trouble to take, when there's no need of anytrouble at all. Why not do what I've always wanted to do? What's wrongwith just fixing the dog, same as it's always done, and walking in andhelping yourself?'

  'I'll tell you what's wrong,' said the man. 'To start with, you can'tget at the dog to fix him except by day, when they let him out. Atnight he's shut up inside the house. And suppose you do fix him duringthe day what happens then? Either the bloke gets another before night,or else he sits up all night with a gun. It isn't like as if theseblokes was ordinary blokes. They're down here to look after the house.That's their job, and they don't take any chances.'

  It was the longest speech I had ever heard the man make, and it seemedto impress Bill. He was quite humble.

  'I didn't think of that,' he said. 'We'd best start in to train thistyke at once.'

  Mother often used to say, when I went on about wanting to go out intothe world and see life, 'You'll be sorry when you do. The world isn'tall bones and liver.' And I hadn't been living with the man and Bill intheir cottage long before I found out how right she was.

  It was the man's shyness that made all the trouble. It seemed as if hehated to be taken notice of.

  It started on my very first night at the cottage. I had fallen asleepin the kitchen, tired out after all the excitement of the day and thelong walks I had had, when something woke me with a start. It wassomebody scratching at the window, trying to get in.

  Well, I ask you, I ask any dog, what would you have done in my place?Ever since I was old enough to listen, mother had told me over and overagain what I must do in a case like this. It is the A B C of a dog'seducation. 'If you are in a room and you hear anyone trying to get in,'mother used to say, 'bark. It may be someone who has business there, orit may not. Bark first, and inquire afterwards. Dogs were made to beheard and not seen.'

  I lifted my head and yelled. I have a good, deep voice, due to a houndstrain in my pedigree, and at the public-house, when there was a fullmoon, I have often had people leaning out of the windows and sayingthings all down the street. I took a deep breath and let it go.

  'Man!' I shouted. 'Bill! Man! Come quick! Here's a burglar getting in!'

  Then somebody struck a light, and it was the man himself. He had comein through the window.

  He picked up a stick, and he walloped me. I couldn't understand it. Icouldn't see where I had done the wrong thing. But he was the boss, sothere was nothing to be said.

  If you'll believe me, that same thing happened every night. Everysingle night! And sometimes twice or three times before morning. Andevery time I would bark my loudest and the man would strike a light andwallop me. The thing was baffling. I couldn't possibly have mistakenwhat mother had said to me. She said it too often for that. Bark! Bark!Bark! It was the main plank of her whole system of education. And yet,here I was, getting walloped every night for doing it.

  I thought it out till my head ached, and finally I got it right. Ibegan to see that mother's outlook was narrow. No doubt, living with aman like master at the public-house, a man without a trace of shynessin his composition, barking was all right. But circumstances altercases. I belonged to a man who was a mass of nerves, who got the jumpsif you spoke to him. What I had to do was to forget the training I hadhad from mother, sound as it no doubt was as a general thing, and toadapt myself to the needs of the particular man who had happened to buyme. I had tried mother's way, and all it had brought me was walloping,so now I would think for myself.

  So next night, when I heard the window go, I lay there without a word,though it went against all my better feelings. I didn't even growl.Someone came in and moved about in the dark, with a lantern, but,though I smelt that it was the man, I didn't ask him a single question.And presently the man lit a light and came over to me and gave me apat, which was a thing he had never done before.

  'Good dog!' he said. 'Now you can have this.'

  And he let me lick out the saucepan in which the dinner had beencooked.

  After that, we got on fine. Whenever I heard anyone at the window Ijust kept curled up and took no notice, and every time I got a bone orsomething good. It was easy, once you had got the hang of things.

  It was about a week after that the man took me out one morning, and wewalked a long way till we turned in at some big gates and went along avery smooth road till we came to a great house, standing all by itselfin the middle of a whole lot of country. There was a big lawn in frontof it, and all round there were fields and trees, and at the back agreat wood.

  The man rang a bell, and the door opened, and an old man came out.

  'Well?' he said, not very cordially.

  'I thought you might want to buy a good watch-dog,' said the man.

  'Well, that's queer, your saying that,' said the caretaker. 'It's acoincidence. That's exactly what I do want to buy. I was just thinkingof going along and trying to get one. My old dog picked up somethingthis morning that he oughtn't to have, and he's dead, poor feller.'

  'Poor feller,' said the man. 'Found an old bone with phosphorus on it,I guess.'

  'What do you want for this one?'

  'Five shillings.'

  'Is he a good watch-dog?'

  'He's a grand watch-dog.'

  'He looks fierce enough.'

  'Ah!'

&n
bsp; So the caretaker gave the man his five shillings, and the man went offand left me.

  At first the newness of everything and the unaccustomed smells andgetting to know the caretaker, who was a nice old man, prevented mymissing the man, but as the day went on and I began to realize that hehad gone and would never come back, I got very depressed. I patteredall over the house, whining. It was a most interesting house, biggerthan I thought a house could possibly be, but it couldn't cheer me up.You may think it strange that I should pine for the man, after all thewallopings he had given me, and it is odd, when you come to think ofit. But dogs are dogs, and they are built like that. By the time it wasevening I was thoroughly miserable. I found a shoe and an oldclothes-brush in one of the rooms, but could eat nothing. I just satand moped.

  It's a funny thing, but it seems as if it always happened that justwhen you are feeling most miserable, something nice happens. As I satthere, there came from outside the sound of a motor-bicycle, andsomebody shouted.

  It was dear old Fred, my old pal Fred, the best old boy that everstepped. I recognized his voice in a second, and I was scratching atthe door before the old man had time to get up out of his chair.

  Well, well, well! That was a pleasant surprise! I ran five times roundthe lawn without stopping, and then I came back and jumped up at him.

  'What are you doing down here, Fred?' I said. 'Is this caretaker yourfather? Have you seen the rabbits in the wood? How long are you goingto stop? How's mother? I like the country. Have you come all the wayfrom the public-house? I'm living here now. Your father gave fiveshillings for me. That's twice as much as I was worth when I saw youlast.'

  'Why, it's young Nigger!' That was what they called me at the saloon.'What are you doing here? Where did you get this dog, father?'

  'A man sold him to me this morning. Poor old Bob got poisoned. This oneought to be just as good a watch-dog. He barks loud enough.'

  'He should be. His mother is the best watch-dog in London. Thischeese-hound used to belong to the boss. Funny him getting down here.'

  We went into the house and had supper. And after supper we sat andtalked. Fred was only down for the night, he said, because the bosswanted him back next day.

  'And I'd sooner have my job, than yours, dad,' he said. 'Of all thelonely places! I wonder you aren't scared of burglars.'

  'I've my shot-gun, and there's the dog. I might be scared if it wasn'tfor him, but he kind of gives me confidence. Old Bob was the same. Dogsare a comfort in the country.'

  'Get many tramps here?'

  'I've only seen one in two months, and that's the feller who sold methe dog here.'

  As they were talking about the man, I asked Fred if he knew him. Theymight have met at the public-house, when the man was buying me from theboss.

  'You would like him,' I said. 'I wish you could have met.'

  They both looked at me.

  'What's he growling at?' asked Fred. 'Think he heard something?'

  The old man laughed.

  'He wasn't growling. He was talking in his sleep. You're nervous, Fred.It comes of living in the city.'

  'Well, I am. I like this place in the daytime, but it gives me the pipat night. It's so quiet. How you can stand it here all the time, Ican't understand. Two nights of it would have me seeing things.'

  His father laughed.

  'If you feel like that, Fred, you had better take the gun to bed withyou. I shall be quite happy without it.'

  'I will,' said Fred. 'I'll take six if you've got them.'

  And after that they went upstairs. I had a basket in the hall, whichhad belonged to Bob, the dog who had got poisoned. It was a comfortablebasket, but I was so excited at having met Fred again that I couldn'tsleep. Besides, there was a smell of mice somewhere, and I had to movearound, trying to place it.

  I was just sniffing at a place in the wall, when I heard a scratchingnoise. At first I thought it was the mice working in a different place,but, when I listened, I found that the sound came from the window.Somebody was doing something to it from outside.

  If it had been mother, she would have lifted the roof off right there,and so should I, if it hadn't been for what the man had taught me. Ididn't think it possible that this could be the man come back, for hehad gone away and said nothing about ever seeing me again. But I didn'tbark. I stopped where I was and listened. And presently the window cameopen, and somebody began to climb in.

  I gave a good sniff, and I knew it was the man.

  I was so delighted that for a moment I nearly forgot myself and shoutedwith joy, but I remembered in time how shy he was, and stopped myself.But I ran to him and jumped up quite quietly, and he told me to liedown. I was disappointed that he didn't seem more pleased to see me. Ilay down.

  It was very dark, but he had brought a lantern with him, and I couldsee him moving about the room, picking things up and putting them in abag which he had brought with him. Every now and then he would stop andlisten, and then he would start moving round again. He was very quickabout it, but very quiet. It was plain that he didn't want Fred or hisfather to come down and find him.

  I kept thinking about this peculiarity of his while I watched him. Isuppose, being chummy myself, I find it hard to understand thateverybody else in the world isn't chummy too. Of course, my experienceat the public-house had taught me that men are just as different fromeach other as dogs. If I chewed master's shoe, for instance, he used tokick me; but if I chewed Fred's, Fred would tickle me under the ear.And, similarly, some men are shy and some men are mixers. I quiteappreciated that, but I couldn't help feeling that the man carriedshyness to a point where it became morbid. And he didn't give himself achance to cure himself of it. That was the point. Imagine a man hatingto meet people so much that he never visited their houses till themiddle of the night, when they were in bed and asleep. It was silly.Shyness has always been something so outside my nature that I suppose Ihave never really been able to look at it sympathetically. I havealways held the view that you can get over it if you make an effort.The trouble with the man was that he wouldn't make an effort. He wentout of his way to avoid meeting people.

  I was fond of the man. He was the sort of person you never get to knowvery well, but we had been together for quite a while, and I wouldn'thave been a dog if I hadn't got attached to him.

  As I sat and watched him creep about the room, it suddenly came to methat here was a chance of doing him a real good turn in spite ofhimself. Fred was upstairs, and Fred, as I knew by experience, was theeasiest man to get along with in the world. Nobody could be shy withFred. I felt that if only I could bring him and the man together, theywould get along splendidly, and it would teach the man not to be sillyand avoid people. It would help to give him the confidence which heneeded. I had seen him with Bill, and I knew that he could be perfectlynatural and easy when he liked.

  It was true that the man might object at first, but after a while hewould see that I had acted simply for his good, and would be grateful.

  The difficulty was, how to get Fred down without scaring the man. Iknew that if I shouted he wouldn't wait, but would be out of the windowand away before Fred could get there. What I had to do was to go toFred's room, explain the whole situation quietly to him, and ask him tocome down and make himself pleasant.

  The man was far too busy to pay any attention to me. He was kneeling ina corner with his back to me, putting something in his bag. I seizedthe opportunity to steal softly from the room.

  Fred's door was shut, and I could hear him snoring. I scratched gently,and then harder, till I heard the snores stop. He got out of bed andopened the door.

  'Don't make a noise,' I whispered. 'Come on downstairs. I want you tomeet a friend of mine.'

  At first he was quite peevish.

  'What's the idea,' he said, 'coming and spoiling a man's beauty-sleep?Get out.'

  He actually started to go back into the room.

  'No, honestly, Fred,' I said, 'I'm not fooling you. There is a mandownstairs. He got in through the
window. I want you to meet him. He'svery shy, and I think it will do him good to have a chat with you.'

  'What are you whining about?' Fred began, and then he broke offsuddenly and listened. We could both hear the man's footsteps as hemoved about.

  Fred jumped back into the room. He came out, carrying something. Hedidn't say any more but started to go downstairs, very quiet, and Iwent after him.

  There was the man, still putting things in his bag. I was just going tointroduce Fred, when Fred, the silly ass, gave a great yell.

  I could have bitten him.

  'What did you want to do that for, you chump?' I said 'I told you hewas shy. Now you've scared him.'

  He certainly had. The man was out of the window quicker than you wouldhave believed possible. He just flew out. I called after him that itwas only Fred and me, but at that moment a gun went off with atremendous bang, so he couldn't have heard me.

  I was pretty sick about it. The whole thing had gone wrong. Fred seemedto have lost his head entirely. He was behaving like a perfect ass.Naturally the man had been frightened with him carrying on in that way.I jumped out of the window to see if I could find the man and explain,but he was gone. Fred jumped out after me, and nearly squashed me.

  It was pitch dark out there. I couldn't see a thing. But I knew the mancould not have gone far, or I should have heard him. I started to sniffround on the chance of picking up his trail. It wasn't long before Istruck it.

  Fred's father had come down now, and they were running about. The oldman had a light. I followed the trail, and it ended at a largecedar-tree, not far from the house. I stood underneath it and lookedup, but of course I could not see anything.

  'Are you up there?' I shouted. 'There's nothing to be scared at. It wasonly Fred. He's an old pal of mine. He works at the place where youbought me. His gun went off by accident. He won't hurt you.'

  There wasn't a sound. I began to think I must have made a mistake.

  'He's got away,' I heard Fred say to his father, and just as he said itI caught a faint sound of someone moving in the branches above me.

  'No he hasn't!' I shouted. 'He's up this tree.'

  'I believe the dog's found him, dad!'

  'Yes, he's up here. Come along and meet him.'

  Fred came to the foot of the tree.

  'You up there,' he said, 'come along down.'

  Not a sound from the tree.

  'It's all right,' I explained, 'he _is_ up there, but he's very shy. Askhim again.'

  'All right,' said Fred. 'Stay there if you want to. But I'm going toshoot off this gun into the branches just for fun.'

  And then the man started to come down. As soon as he touched the groundI jumped up at him.

  'This is fine!' I said 'Here's my friend Fred. You'll like him.'

  But it wasn't any good. They didn't get along together at all. Theyhardly spoke. The man went into the house, and Fred went after him,carrying his gun. And when they got into the house it was just thesame. The man sat in one chair, and Fred sat in another, and after along time some men came in a motor-car, and the man went away withthem. He didn't say good-bye to me.

  When he had gone, Fred and his father made a great fuss of me. Icouldn't understand it. Men are so odd. The man wasn't a bit pleasedthat I had brought him and Fred together, but Fred seemed as if hecouldn't do enough for me for having introduced him to the man.However, Fred's father produced some cold ham--my favourite dish--andgave me quite a lot of it, so I stopped worrying over the thing. Asmother used to say, 'Don't bother your head about what doesn't concernyou. The only thing a dog need concern himself with is thebill-of-fare. Eat your bun, and don't make yourself busy about otherpeople's affairs.' Mother's was in some ways a narrow outlook, but shehad a great fund of sterling common sense.