The Luck of the Bodkins

by P. G. Wodehouse

  ‘No, no.'

  'Come right here to mother and be comforted,' repeated Miss Blossom firmly. 'The idea of anyone being so brutal as to make you work! The all-in champion of the lilies of the field. The king of the toil-not-nor-spinners. I never heard of such a thing. Why, it's enough to send you into a nervous decline. Come here, Reggie.'

  ‘I won't.’

  ‘‘I want to kiss the place and make it well.'

  'I dare say you do, but you bally well aren't going to. You don't understand the frightful trickiness of the position. Ambrose. ..'

  'What about Ambrose?'

  Having reached the door and got his fingers on the handle, Reggie felt a little easier.

  'When I heard that Ambrose was going to Hollywood,' he explained, 'I offered to give him a letter to you. I didn't know then that you and he were engaged.'

  'When did he tell you?'

  'Almost immediately,' said Reggie in a pale voice, 'after I had told him how you and I used to whoop it up together.' 'You mean he's jealous?'

  'He's as jealous as billy-o. Smear a bit of burnt cork on him, and he could step right on to any stage and play Othello without rehearsal. He's been following me all over the ship to see that I don't talk to you.’

  Reggie quivered. He was remembering that brotherly eye which had bitten into him like an acid. Miss Blossom, on the other hand, seemed pleased and flattered.

  'Dear old Ammie! He's been that way ever since the evening at Biarritz when I shyly murmured "Yes." Remind me to tell you some time what he did to a Spaniard there, just because ... but we're wandering from the point. A girl can kiss her future brother-in-law, can't she? Of course she can. Hoity-toity ! What next! Kindly step this way, please.'

  'Well, good-bye.' said Reggie.

  There was nothing dilatory in the manner in which he turned the handle and slid out. and there was still less that was dilatory in the leap which Miss Blossom made in the direction of his vanishing form. Her intentions might have been those of a mother yearning to comfort, but the general effect was more that of a tigress bounding upon a lamb. The next moment, Monty was alone in the state-room, leaning limply against the wall. He was a good deal unnerved. All this sort of thing, he presumed, would have been the merest commonplace of everyday life in Hollywood, but to one who, like himself, was mixing for the first time in motion-picture circles it was rather breathtaking. He felt as if he had been plunged into the foaming maelstrom of a two-reel educational comic.

  Dazedly, he listened to the noise of pursuit as it rolled along the corridor. What Reggie's emotions were he could only conjecture, but the lady herself was plainly in merry mood. He could hear her jolly laughter. He could, indeed, have heard it if he had been at the other end of the ship. Demure, even melancholy, on the screen, Lottie Blossom had a happy nature off it, and her lungs were good. When she laughed, she laughed.

  Suddenly, however, there was a dramatic change. The laughter ceased abruptly, to be succeeded by a confused uproar, unmistakably sinister in its general trend. Voices made themselves heard. He recognized the clear soprano of Miss Blossom, the light baritone of Reggie, and competing with these a deeper note which brought back to him childhood memories of being taken to the Zoo to see the lions fed.

  Then silence, and a few moments after that footsteps outside. Miss Blossom came in and sat down on the bed. Her face was flushed. She was breathing quickly. It was plain that she had been passing through some emotional experience,

  'Did you hear all that?' she asked.

  'I did,' said Monty.

  That,' said Miss Blossom, "was Ambrose.’

  Monty had divined as much, and he waited with no little interest for further details. It was not immediately that these came, for his companion was busy with her thoughts and a powder-puff. Presently, however, she spoke:

  'He came on us round the corner.'

  'Oh?'

  'Yes. I had caught Reggie and was kissing him.' ‘I see.'

  'And I heard a noise like a tyre exploding, and there was Ambrose.' ‘Ah.'

  Miss Blossom gave her nose a final dab, and put away the puff.

  'Ambrose took it rather big.'

  'I fancied I heard him taking it quite fairly big.’

  'He called me some most unpleasant names, and I'm going to have a word with him about it later. Love's love,' said Miss Blossom with spirit, 'but I'm not proposing to let any bimbo come the man of chilled steel over me just because I happen to kiss an old friend. Would you?'

  ‘Would I what?’

  'I mean, wouldn't you?'

  ‘Wouldn't I which?'

  'Bawl Ambrose out for making such a boob of himself.’ ‘Oh, ah.'

  'What do you mean, "Oh, ah"?'

  Monty was not quite sure what he had meant, beyond wishing to convey in a general sort of way that he would prefer, if it could be avoided, not to become embroiled in what was so obviously a purely personal misunderstanding. Fortunately, before he was obliged to state and define, she continued:

  'The trouble with writers is, they're all loopy. I remember the fellow who did the dialogue for Shadows on the Wall stopping rehearsal once to tell me that when I said "Oh!" on finding the corpse in the cabin-trunk I must let the word come slowly out in the shape of a pear. Well, I ask you, And Ambrose is loopier than that’

  ‘Yes?'

  ‘Yes, sir. You should have seen him at Biarritz.’ ‘What did he do at Biarritz?'

  ‘What didn't he do at Biarritz! Just because he pinched my leg.'

  'Ambrose pinched your leg?'

  'No, a Spaniard that I met at the Casino did, and by the time Ambrose had finished with him I guess he must have thought he'd been in a bull-fight It wouldn't surprise me if he wasn't running yet. It's only two months ago.’

  This revelation of the novelist's sterner side came as no surprise to Monty.

  'Reggie tells me that Ambrose has always been a pretty hard egg.'

  'Yes, and up to a point that's fine. A girl likes to feel she's going around with a fellow that she knows any moment he can sasshay up to Spaniards if they get fresh - and, mind you, Spaniards do get fresh - and ask them what the hell. But when he starts in behaving like King Kong purely because I was saying "Hello" to his young brother Reggie, that's not so good. I shall certainly have a word with Ambrose. I'm not standing for that sort of thing. Am I a serf?’ Monty said no, she was not a serf.

  'You're just about right, too, I'm not a serf,’ agreed Miss Blossom. 'No, sir!"

  Women are subject to swift and sudden changes of mood. Up to this point, nobody could have been more firm and resolute than this injured girl. Her lips were tight, her eyes aglow. But now, abruptly, those lips began to quiver, those eyes to film over, and with acute discomfort Monty became aware that, her case stated, she was about to have a good cry.

  'I say!' he said, concerned. ‘I say!'

  'Oomph,' whimpered Miss Blossom. 'Oomph.'

  There are practically no good things to say to a girl who is moaning 'Oomph' in your state-room. The finest vocabulary will not serve a man here. It becomes a matter for the gentle pat and nothing but the gentle pat. You can administer it on the head, or you can administer it on the shoulder, but you must administer it somewhere. Monty selected the head, because it was nearest. Bowed in her hands, it offered a gleaming invitation.

  'There, there,' he said.

  She continued to moan. He continued to pat. And for some moments matters proceeded along these lines.

  But there is one rather bad snare in this patting business, which should be pointed out for the benefit of those who may some day find themselves having to do it. Unless you are very careful, after a while you forget to take your hand off. You just stand there resting it on the subject's head, and that is apt to cause people who see you to purse their lips.

  Gertrude Butterwick did. She came in just as Monty fell into this error. After patting for perhaps a minute and a quarter, he stood there in the attitude described. A sharp sound rather like a cat choking on a
fishbone caused him to look round, and there in the doorway was Gertrude Butterwick pursing her lips.

  Chapter 12

  It was a moment fraught with embarrassment, and Monty recognized it as such. His first action was to remove his hand from Miss Blossom's hair with a swiftness which he could scarcely have excelled had that hair been as red hot as it looked; his second to utter a careless laugh. Finding, however, that this was coming out more like a death-rattle than the jolly guffaw for which he had intended it, he switched it off in its early stages and a silence fell upon the state-room. He looked at Gertrude. Gertrude looked at him. Then she looked at Miss Blossom, then at him again. After that, she took the Mickey Mouse from under her arm and placed it on the settee. Her manner in doing this was that of one laying a wreath on the grave of an old friend.

  Monty found speech.

  'Oh, there you are!' he said.

  ‘Yes,' said Gertrude. 'Here I am.'

  What a pity,' said Monty, moistening his lips slightly with the tip of the tongue, as if he were going to have his photograph taken, 'you didn't come earlier. You missed Reggie.'

  ‘Oh?'

  The way in which she spoke this favourite word of hers would not have commended itself to Miss Blossom's friend, the author of the dialogue of Shadows on the Wall. It did not come out slowly in the shape of a pear but with a rather horrifying abruptness, and Monty was compelled to moisten his lips again.

  'Yes,' he said, ‘you missed Reggie. He was here. He's only just left. And Ambrose. He was here. He's only just left. And the steward - he's only just left - he was here, too, a very pleasant, well-informed fellow of the name of Peasemarch,

  And Ambrose. And Reggie. And this chap Peasemarch. We were quite a crowd.' 'Oh?'

  'Yes. Quite a crowd we were. By the way, I don't think you know one another, do you? This is Miss Lotus Blossom, the film star.'

  ‘Oh?'

  'We saw her in that picture, you recall.’

  'Yes. I remember,' said Gertrude, 'that you admired Miss Blossom very much.’

  Lottie Blossom started like a war-horse at the sound of the bugle.

  'What picture was that?' 'Lovers in Brooklyn’

  'You should have caught me in Storm over Flatbush’ Tell us all about Storm over Flatbush,' said Monty. 'I don't want to hear about Storm over Flatbush’ said Gertrude.

  Embarrassment supervened once more. Its ugly shadow was still brooding over State-room C25 when a large mop came in, followed by Albert Peasemarch.

  'I've brought the mop, sir,' said Albert.

  Then take it away again.'

  ‘I was under the impression that you desired a mop, sir.’ 'Well, I don't.'

  'Very good, sir,' said Albert Peasemarch stiffly. 'I was put to some considerable trouble to procure it, but if you now instruct me to take it back again, very good.'

  Ignoring Monty in a pointed manner, he turned to Lottie Blossom.

  'Might I have a word with you, Miss?’

  Lottie Blossom gazed at him wearily. She was not feeling en rapport with this man. It seemed to her that what the world wanted was fewer and better Peasemarches.

  'You wouldn't,' she said, endeavouring to clothe this thought in speech, 'consider getting to hell out of here, would you, steward?’

  'In one moment, miss, after I've had this word to which I allude. It's with ref. to that alligator of yours. Are you aware, miss, that the reptile is navigating at the rate of knots along the corridor and may at any moment begin scaring the day’ lights out of nervous people and invalids?'

  Lottie Blossom uttered a bereaved cry.

  'Didn't you fasten the lid of its basket?'

  'No, miss. In answer to your question, I did not fasten the lid of its basket. When a lady instructs me to open a wicker-work basket and I find inside a young alligator which if it had aimed half an inch more to the left would have took the top of my thumb off, I don't hang about fastening lids. It would be nearing the main companion-way by now, I fancy, and if you wish for my opinion, miss, I think it should be overtook and fetched by some responsible party.'

  The prospect thus held out of getting rid of Miss Blossom enchanted Monty. It was not that he was actually looking forward to being left alone with Gertrude, but there could be no doubt that the situation would be greatly eased if that red hair was no longer there for the dear girl to stare at.

  'He's quite right,' he said. 'You'd better get after it immediately. Mustn't have alligators roaming the ship, what? Might annoy Scupperguts, eh, Peasemarch?'

  The matter,' said Albert Peasemarch coldly, 'would scarcely fall within Scupperguts's province.'

  'Well, the Dooser.’

  'Nor into that of the Dooser. It would be more a case for Jimmy the One.'

  'And we don't want to upset Jimmy the One, do we?' said Monty heartily. ‘I should start now, if I were you.'

  Lottie Blossom moved to the door, muttering strange Beverly Hills expletives beneath her breath.

  'It's a wonder people wouldn't fasten lids,’ she said querulously.

  'You fail to appreciate my position, miss,' urged Albert Peasemarch, following her out. 'You don't, if I may venture to say so, quite seem able to understand my point of view. To have fastened that lid would have involved putting my hand a lot closer to the reptile's iron jaws than what I would have wished to put it. Use your intelligence, miss...'

  His voice died away in the distance, reasoning closely, and a gulp at his side told Monty that the committee of two, into which he and Gertrude had been formed, was about to go into session.

  He braced himself to play the man. That things were looking a trifle glutinous, he could not deny. Bodkins, from the days of the great crusader, Sieur Pharamond de Bodkyn, had done their bit in England's rough island story, running risks of which their insurance companies would not have approved, but not a Bodkin on the list, he felt, had ever been in a tougher spot than that in which their twentieth-century representative now found himself. For what is a jab from a Paynim lance or a bullet through the leg at Fontenoy compared with the prospect of having one's life's happiness laid in ruins?

  Gertrude's eyes were cold, her lips set. Her whole aspect was that of a girl who has been doing a lot of hard thinking about butterflies.

  ‘Well?' she said.

  Monty cleared his throat, and endeavoured with his tongue to correct a certain dryness of the mouth. 'That,' he said, 'was Miss Blossom.' 'Yes. You introduced us.'

  'So - I did. Yes. She's a bit disappointing, don't you think?' 'In what way?'

  'Off the screen, I mean. Not so pretty as one would have expected.'

  'You did not think her pretty?'

  'No. No. By no means. Not at all. Quite the reverse."

  ‘Oh?' said Gertrude, employing in her utterance of the word that rising inflection which he liked least.

  He applied first-aid treatment to his palate once more.

  'You were doubtless surprised,' he said, 'to find her in here.’

  ‘I was.’

  ‘You wondered, no doubt, what she was doing?’ 'I could see what she was doing. She was letting you stroke her head.'

  'Quite, quite,' said Monty hastily. 'Or, rather, not quite. You don't get what I mean. I mean, you wondered, no doubt, what her motive was in coming in here. I will tell you. And I wasn't stroking her head, I was patting it. Her motive in coming in here was to see Ambrose.' 'Ambrose?'

  ‘Ambrose. Your cousin Ambrose. That was her motive in coming in here. To see him. She wanted to see Ambrose, you understand, and she thought this was his state-room.'

  ‘Oh?'

  There was apparently some confusion in the passenger list.’ ‘Oh?'

  ‘Yes. Some confusion.’

  ‘And what has she got to do with Ambrose?’

  "Why, they're engaged.'

  ‘Engaged?'

  'Yes. Didn't you know? I suppose they kept it dark - like us. Few people,' Monty reminded her, 'know of our engagement.'

  ‘I'm not at all sure that there is an
engagement for them to know of.' 'Gertrude!'

  ‘I'm trying to make up my mind. I find you in here, stroking this woman's head -'

  'Not stroking. Patting. Any man with a heart would have done it. She was in trouble, poor thing. She had just had a row with Ambrose. All through Reggie, the silly ass.'

  ‘Reggie?'

  Something seemed to go off in Monty's head like a spring. There was a ringing in his ears, and the state-room flickered about him. The sensation was entirely novel to him, but what had happened was that he had had an inspiration. It was as if the mention of Reggie's name had released a flood of light, illuminating the perilous path along which he had been timorously picking his way.

  For the first time since she had come into the room, he found himself facing the situation with an uplifted heart. His Voice, as he spoke, had a strange, new ring of confidence.

  ‘Reggie,' he said primly, 'has been behaving very badly. I was just coming to look for you, to tell you about it. I want to talk to you about Reggie.'

  ‘I came to talk to you about Reggie.’

  ‘Did you? Have you heard, then? About him and Ambrose and Miss Blossom?' 'What do you mean?'

  Monty's face took on an almost Peasemarchian expression of disapproval. He looked like an aunt.

  'I think,' he said, even more primly than before, 'that you ought to have a word with Reggie. Or somebody ought. I mean to say, that sort of thing may be amusing from his point of view, but, as I told him, it's not quite playing the game. I hate these practical jokes. I can't see anything funny in them.'

  'What are you talking about?'

  'I'm talking about what Reggie's been doing. What he doesn't realize - mere thoughtlessness, of course, but what he doesn't realize —’

  'But what has Reggie done?'

  'I'm telling you. You know what he is - one of the biggest liars in London -' 'He isn't.'

  'Pardon me, yes. And on top of that he's got this distorted sense of humour. So what happens? The silly ass goes to Miss Blossom and fills her up with a lot of rot about what a devil Ambrose is and how she's a mug if she trusts him an inch, and so on and so forth. A nice thing, what? I can tell you I was pretty terse with him. I didn't like it, and I let him see that I didn't like it. As I told him, jokes of that sort may so easily lead to trouble and unpleasantness. Well, take this case. Miss Blossom won't speak to him. To Ambrose, I mean. She took it all in, like a chump, and went off the deep end. You saw how she was crying just now.'