They couldn’t have done it more neatly if they had been rehearsing for weeks.
19
* * *
Preparations for Handling Father
I ALWAYS MAINTAIN that it is by a chap’s behaviour on this sort of occasion that you can really weigh him in the balance and judge if he’s got the right chivalrous delicacy in him or not. It is the acid test. Come to me and say to me ‘Wooster, you know me pretty well. Tell me something. To settle a bet, would you consider that I was a preux chevalier, as the expression is?’ and I reply ‘My dear Bates, or Cuthbertson, or whatever the name may be, I shall be able to answer that question better if you will indicate what you would do if you happened to be in a room where two loving hearts, after a painful misunderstanding, were in the process of getting together again on a basis of chumminess and mutual esteem. Would you duck down behind the desk? Or would you stand there and drink the performance in with bulging eyes?’
My own views are rigid. When a lovers’ reconciliation is in progress, I do not remain goggling. As far as the conditions will permit, I withdraw and leave them to it.
But though, with the desk between us, I could not see these two, I could hear them, and most unpleasant it was. I have known Chuffy, as I saw, practically from childhood, and in the course of the years I have seen him in a variety of differing circumstances and in many moods. And I never would have believed him capable of the revolting slush which now proceeded from his lips at the rate of about two hundred and fifty words to the minute. When I tell you that the observation ‘There, there, little girl!’ was the only one I can bring myself to quote, you will be able to gather something of the ordeal to which I was subjected. And, to make matters worse, on an empty stomach, mind you.
Pauline, meanwhile, was contributing little or nothing to the dialogue. Until this moment I had considered that, in the matter of emotional reaction to my appearance, the scullerymaid had set a mark at which others who met me suddenly might shoot in vain. But Pauline eclipsed her completely. She remained in Chuffy’s arms gurgling like a leaky radiator, and it was only quite some little time later that she began to regain anything of a grip on her faculties. The girl seemed goofy.
I suppose the fact of the matter was that at the moment when I manifested myself she was undergoing a considerable mental strain, and that my appearance served, as it were, to put the tin hat on it. At any rate, she continued to give this radiator impersonation of hers so long that in the end it seemed to strike Chuffy that it was about time he switched off the murmured endearments and got down to first causes.
‘But, darling,’ I heard him say. ‘What was it, angel? What scared you, sweetheart? Tell me, precious. Did you see something, pet?’
It seemed to me that the moment had come to join the meeting. I rose above the top of the desk, and Pauline shied like a frightened horse. It annoyed me, I confess. Bertram Wooster is not accustomed to causing convulsions in the gentler sex. As a matter of fact, usually when girls see me, they incline rather to the amused smile, or, on occasion, to the weary sigh and the despairing ‘Oh, are you here again, Bertie?’ But better even that than this stark horror.
‘Hallo, Chuffy,’ I said. ‘Nice day.’
You might have thought that relief would have been the emotion uppermost in Pauline Stoker’s bosom on discovering that the cause of her panic was merely an old friend. But no. She absolutely glared at me.
‘You poor goof,’ she cried, ‘what’s the big idea, playing hide-and-seek like that and scaring people stiff? And I don’t know if you know it, but you’ve got a smut on your face.’
Nor was Chuffy behind hand in the recriminations.
‘Bertie!’ he said, in a sort of moaning way. ‘My God! I might have guessed it would be you. You really are without exception the most completely drivelling lunatic that was ever at large.’
I felt it was time to check this sort of thing pretty sharply.
‘I regret,’ I said, with a cold hauteur, ‘that I startled this young fathead, but my motives in concealing myself behind that desk were based on prudence and sound reasoning. And, talking of lunatics, Chuffnell, don’t forget that I was compelled to overhear what you have been saying for the last five minutes.’
I was pleased to see the blush of shame mantle his cheek. He shuffled uncomfortably.
‘You oughtn’t to have listened.’
‘You don’t imagine that I wanted to listen, do you?’
Something of defiance or bravado came into his manner.
‘And why the devil shouldn’t I talk like that? I love her, blast you, and I don’t care who knows it.’
‘Oh, quite,’ I said, with a scarcely veiled contempt.
‘She’s the most marvellous thing on earth.’
‘No, you are, darling,’ said Pauline.
‘No, you are, angel,’ said Chuffy.
‘No, you are, sweetness.’
‘No, you are, precious.’
‘Please,’ I said. ‘Please!’
Chuffy gave me a nasty look.
‘You were saying, Wooster?’
‘Oh nothing.’
‘I thought you made a remark.’
‘Oh, no.’
‘Good. You’d better not.’
The first nausea had worn off somewhat by this time, and it was a kindlier Bertram Wooster who now displayed himself. I am a broadminded man, and I reflected charitably that it was wrong to be hard on a fellow in Chuffy’s situation. After all, in the special circumstances he could scarcely be expected to preserve the decencies. I struck a conciliatory note.
‘Chuffy, old man,’ I said, ‘we must not allow ourselves to brawl. This is a moment for the genial eye and the affable smile. No one could be more delighted than myself that you and this old friend of mine have buried the dead past and started all square again together. I may look on myself as an old friend, may I not?’
She beamed in a cordial manner.
‘Well, I should hope so, you poor ditherer. Why, I knew you before I ever met Marmaduke.’
I turned to Chuffy.
‘This Marmaduke business. I want to take that up with you some time. Fancy you keeping that dark all these years.’
‘There’s nothing wrong in being christened Marmaduke, is there?’ said Chuffy, a little heatedly.
‘Nothing wrong, no. But we shall all have a good laugh about it at the Drones.’
‘Bertie,’ said Chuffy tensely, ‘if you breathe a word of it to those blighters at the Drones, I’ll track you to the ends of the earth and strangle you with my bare hands.’
‘Well, well, we must see, we must see. But, as I was saying, I am delighted that this reconciliation has taken place. Being, as I am, one of Pauline’s closest friends. We had some pretty good times together in the old days, didn’t we?’
‘You bet.’
‘That day at Piping Rock.’
‘Ah.’
‘And do you remember the night the car broke down and we were stranded for hours somewhere in the wilds of Westchester County in the rain?’
‘I should say so.’
‘Your feet got wet, and I very wisely took your stockings off.’
‘Here! said Chuffy.
‘Oh, it’s all right, old man. I conducted myself throughout with the nicest propriety. All I am trying to establish is that I am an old friend of Pauline’s and am consequently entitled to rejoice at the present situation. There are few more charming girls than this P. Stoker, and you are lucky to have won her, old man, in spite of the fact that she is handicapped by possessing a father who bears a striking resemblance to something out of the Book of Revelations.’
‘Father’s a good enough egg if you rub him the right way.’
‘You hear that, Chuffy? In rubbing this bally old thug, be sure to do it the right way.’
‘He is not a bally old thug.’
‘Pardon me. I appeal to Chuffy.’
Chuffy scratched his chin. Somewhat embarrassed.
‘I must say, angel,
he does strike me at times as a bit above the odds.’
‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘And never forget that he is resolved that Pauline shall marry me.’
‘What!’
‘Didn’t you know that? Oh, yes.’
Pauline was wearing a sort of Joan of Arc look.
‘I’m darned if I’ll marry you, Bertie.’
‘The right spirit,’ I said approvingly. ‘But can you preserve that intrepid attitude when you see Pop breathing flame through his nostrils and chewing broken bottles in the foreground? Will you not, if I may coin a phrase, be afraid of the big bad wolf?’
She wavered a bit.
‘We’re going to have a tough time with him, of course. I can see that. He’s pretty sore with you, angel, you know.’
Chuffy puffed out his chest.
‘I’ll attend to him!’
‘No,’ I said firmly, ‘I will attend to him. Leave the whole conduct of the affair to me.’
Pauline laughed. I didn’t like it. It seemed to me to have a derogatory ring.
‘You! Why, you poor lamb, you would run a mile if Father so much as said “Boo!” to you.’
I raised the eyebrows.
‘I anticipate no such contingency. Why should he say “Boo!” to me? I mean, a damn silly thing for anybody to say to anyone. And even if he did make that idiotic observation, the effects would not be such as you have outlined. That I was once a little on the nervous side in your parent’s presence, I admit. But no longer. Not any more. The scales have fallen from my eyes. Recently I have seen him in the space of something under three minutes reduced by Jeeves from a howling blizzard to a gentle breeze, and his spell is broken. When he comes, you may leave him to me with every confidence. I shall not be rough with him, but I shall be very firm.’
Chuffy looked a bit thoughtful.
‘Is he coming?’
Outside in the garden, footsteps had become audible. Also heavy breathing. I jerked a thumb at the window.
‘This, if I mistake not, Watson,’ I said, ‘is our client now.’
20
* * *
Jeeves Has News
AND SO IT was. A substantial form appeared against the summer sky. It entered. It took a seat. And, having taken a seat, it hauled out a handkerchief and started to mop the brow. A bit preoccupied, I divined, and my trained sense enabled me to recognize the symptoms. They were those of a man who had just been hobnobbing with Brinkley.
That this diagnosis was correct was proved a moment later when lowering the handkerchief for a space, he disclosed what had all the makings of a very sweetish black eye.
Pauline, sighting this, uttered a daughterly yip.
‘What on earth has been happening, Father?’
Old Stoker breathed heavily.
‘I couldn’t get at the fellow,’ he said, with a sort of wild regret in his voice.
‘What fellow?’
‘I don’t know who he was. Some lunatic in that Dower House. He stood there at the window, throwing potatoes at me. I had hardly knocked at the door, when he was there at the window, throwing potatoes. Wouldn’t come out like a man and let me get at him. Just stood at the window, throwing potatoes.’
I confess that, as I heard these words, a sort of reluctant admiration for this bloke Brinkley stole over me. We could never be friends, of course, but one had to admit that he was a man who could do the right and public-spirited thing when the occasion called. I took it that old Stoker’s banging on the knocker had roused him from a morning-after reverie to the discovery that he had a pretty nasty headache, and that he had instantly started to take steps through the proper channels. All most satisfactory.
‘You can consider yourself dashed lucky,’ I said, pointing out the bright side, ‘that the fellow elected to deal with you at long range. For close-quarters work he usually employs a carving knife or a chopper, and a good deal of clever footwork is called for.’
He had been so wrapped up in his own concerns till now that I don’t think he had got on to the fact that Bertram was with him once more. At any rate, he stared quite a bit.
‘Ah, Stoker,’ I said airily, to help him out.
He continued to goggle.
‘Are you Wooster?’ he asked, in what seemed to me a rather awed way.
‘Still Wooster, Stoker, old man,’ I said cheerily. ‘First, last, and all the time Bertram Wooster.’
He was looking from Chuffy to Pauline and back again almost pleadingly, as if seeking comfort and support.
‘What the devil has he done to his face?’
‘Sunburn,’ I said. ‘Well, Stoker,’ I proceeded, anxious to get the main business of the day settled, ‘it’s most convenient that you should have dropped in like this. I’ve been looking for you … well, that’s putting it a bit loosely, perhaps, but, anyway, I’m glad to see you now, because I’ve been wanting to tell you that that idea of yours about your daughter and me getting married is off. Forget it, Stoker. Abandon it. Wash it right out. Nothing to it, at all.’
It would be difficult to overpraise the magnificent courage and firmness with which I spoke. In fact, for a moment I rather wondered if I mightn’t have overdone it a little, because I caught Pauline’s eye and there was such a look of worshipping reverence in it that it seemed quite on the cards that, overcome by my glamour at this juncture, she might decide that I was her hero, after all, and switch back again from Chuffy to me. This thought caused me to go on a bit quickly to the next item on the agenda.
‘She’s going to marry Chuffy – Lord Chuffnell – him,’ I said, indicating C. with a wave of the hand.
‘What!’
‘Yes. All set.’
Old Stoker gave a powerful snort. He was deeply moved.
‘Is this true?’
‘Yes, Father.’
‘Oh! You intend to marry a man who calls your father a pop-eyed old swindler, do you?’
I was intrigued.
‘Did you call him a pop-eyed old swindler, Chuffy?’
Chuffy hitched up a lower jaw which had sagged a bit.
‘Certainly not,’ he said weakly.
‘You did,’ said Stoker. ‘When I told you I was not going to buy this house of yours.’
‘Oh, well,’ said Chuffy. ‘You know how it is.’
Pauline intervened. She seemed to be feeling that the point was being wandered from. Women like to stick to the practical issue.
‘Anyway, I’m going to marry him, Father.’
‘You are not.’
‘I am, too. I love him.’
‘And only yesterday you were in love with this damned sooty-faced imbecile here.’
I drew myself up. We Woosters can make allowances for a father’s chagrin, but there is a sharply defined limit.
‘Stoker,’ I said, ‘you forget yourself strangely. I must ask you to preserve the decencies of debate. And it isn’t soot – it’s boot polish.’
‘I wasn’t,’ cried Pauline.
‘You said you were.’
‘Well, I wasn’t.’
Old Stoker got off another of his snorts.
‘The fact of the matter is, you don’t know your own mind, and I’m going to make it up for you.’
‘I’m not going to marry Bertie, whatever you say.’
‘Well, you’re certainly not going to marry a fortune-hunting English lord.’
Chuffy took this fairly big.
‘What do you mean, a fortune-hunting English lord?’
‘I mean what I say. You haven’t a cent, and you’re trying to marry a girl in Pauline’s position. Why, darn it, you’re just like that fellow in that musical comedy I saw once … what was the name … Lord Wotwotleigh.’
An animal cry escaped Chuffy’s ashen lips.
‘Wotwotleigh!’
‘The living spit of him. Same sort of face, same expression, same way of talking. I’ve been wondering all along who it was you reminded me of, and now I know. Lord Wotwotleigh.’
Pauline charged in again.
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‘You’re talking perfect nonsense, Father. The whole trouble all along was that Marmaduke was so scrupulous and chivalrous that he wouldn’t ask me to marry him till he felt he had enough money. I couldn’t think what was the matter with him. And then you promised to buy Chuffnell Hall, and five minutes later he came bounding up to me and started proposing. If you didn’t mean to buy the hall you ought not to have said you would. And I don’t see why you won’t, either.’
‘I was planning to buy it because Glossop asked me to,’ said old Stoker. ‘The way I feel towards that guy now, I wouldn’t buy a peanut stand to please him.’
I felt impelled to put in a word.
‘Not a bad sort, old Glossop. I like him.’
‘You can have him.’
‘What first endeared him to me was the way he set about little Seabury last night. It seemed to me to argue the right outlook.’
Stoker was staring with his left eye. The other had now closed like some tired flower at nightfall. I couldn’t help feeling that Brinkley must have been a jolly good shot to have plugged him so squarely. It’s not the easiest thing in the world to hit a fellow in the eye with a potato at a longish range. I know, because I’ve tried it. The very nature of the potato, it being a rummy shape and covered with knobs, renders accurate aiming a tricky business.
‘What’s that you’re saying? Glossop soaked that boy?’
‘With a will, they tell me.’
‘Well, I’m darned!’
I don’t know if you’ve ever seen one of those films where the tough guy hears the old song his mother used to teach him at her knee and you get a close-up of his face working and before you know where you are he’s a melted man and off doing lots of good to all and sundry. A bit sudden I’ve always looked on it as, but you can take it from me that these lightning softenings do occur. Because now before our very eyes old Stoker was undergoing one of them.
One moment he had been absolutely the man of chilled steel. The next, he was practically human. He stared at me, speechless. Then he licked his lips.
The Jeeves Omnibus - Vol 1: (Jeeves & Wooster): No.1 Page 19