Full Moon:

by P. G. Wodehouse

'Yes, stop. Desist. Put a sock in it. Gosh, it's like a tidal wave. I'm beginning to believe you about those conferences. You must be the life and soul of them.'

  Freddie straightened his tie.

  'The boys generally seem to wish to hear my views,' he admitted modestly.

  'And I'll bet they get their wish if you're within a mile of them.'

  'Was I raising my voice?'

  'You were yelling like a soul in torment.'

  'One gets carried away.'

  'You will be, by the constabulary, if you aren't careful. Do you mean to say you really are a success in business, Freddie?'

  'Well, considering that the Big Chief has entrusted me with the task of gingering up the English branch, I must be fairly ... Well, figure it out for yourself.'

  'And you had had no previous experience.'

  'None. It just seemed to come to me like a flash.'

  Prudence drew in her breath sharply.

  'Well, this settles it. If you can become a business man, anyone can.'

  'I wouldn't say that.'

  'I would. What a bit of luck, running in to you like this. You've provided me with just the crushing argument I needed. I can now squelch Bill properly.'

  'Bill?'

  'He won't have a leg to stand on. You see, it's so obvious what happened. There were you, a perfectly ordinary sort of ass—'

  'I beg your pardon?'

  '—and you go and get married, and immediately turn into a terrific tycoon. That was what did the trick, your getting married.'

  Freddie had no desire to contest this theory.

  'Yes,' he agreed, 'I think one may say that. I have never attempted to disguise the fact that I owe everything to the little wo—'

  'No man ever amounted to anything till he got married.'

  '—man, my best pal and sev—'

  'Look at Henry the Eighth.'

  '—erest critic.'

  'And Solomon. Once they started marrying, there was no holding them – you just sat back and watched their smoke. And it'll be the same with Bill. He keeps saying he wouldn't be any good at business, trying to come the dreamy artist over me, but that's all nonsense. Wait till you're married, I tell him, and then see how you'll blossom out. And now I'll be able to put you in as Exhibit A. "What price Freddie, Bill?" I shall say to him, and he won't know which way to look.'

  'Who is this William?'

  'A man I know. I met him through Uncle Gally. He's Uncle Gally's godson.' Prudence glanced cautiously about her; then, satisfied that no prying eyes intruded on their solitude, drew from the recesses of her costume a photograph. 'Here he is.'

  The face that gazed from the picture was not that of a strictly handsome man. It was, indeed, that of one who would have had to receive a considerable number of bisques to make it worth his while to enter even the most minor of beauty contests. The nose was broad, the ears prominent, the chin prognathous. This might, in fact, have been the photograph of a kindly gorilla. Kindly, because even in this amateur snapshot one could discern the pleasant honesty and geniality of the eyes.

  The body this face surmounted was very large and obviously a mass of the finest muscle. The whole, in short, was what a female novelist of the Victorian era would have called 'a magnificent ugly man', and Freddie's first feeling was a mild wonder that such a person should ever have consented to have his photograph taken.

  Then this emotion changed to interest. Screwing his monocle more tightly into his eye, he examined the picture closely.

  'Haven't I met this bird?'

  'You know best.'

  'Yes. I have met him.'

  'Where?'

  'At Oxford.'

  'Bill wasn't at Oxford. He went to an art school.'

  'I am not referring to the university of that name, but to a pub on the outskirts called the Mulberry Tree. I used to frequent it a good deal, and every time I went this bird was there. The story was that he was being paid to haunt the place.'

  'It belonged to his uncle.'

  'Did it? Then that explains why he was so glued to the premises. Well, what with him constantly being there and me constantly popping in for lunch, dinner, or possibly only a drink, we became close cronies. Lister was his name.'

  'It still is.'

  'Bill Lister. We used to call him Blister. And he was, as you say, an artist. I remember thinking it rummy. Somehow the life artistic didn't seem to go with a face like that.'

  'What do you mean, a face like that?'

  'Well, it is, isn't it?'

  'Your own dial, young Freddie,' said Prudence coldly, 'is nothing to write home about. I think Bill's lovely. How odd that you should be friends.'

  'Not at all. Blister was loved by all who knew him.'

  'I mean, how odd that you should have known him.'

  'Not in the least. You couldn't look in at the Mulberry Tree without bumping into him. He seemed to fill up all the available space. And having bumped into him, one naturally fraternized. So his uncle owns that joint, does he?'

  'Not now. He died the other day, and left it to Bill.'

  'Any dogs there?'

  'How on earth should I know?'

  A keen look had come into Freddie's eyes.

  'Ask Blister. And, if there are, put him in touch with me. Well,' said Freddie, returning to his breast pocket the notebook in which he had made a swift entry, 'this sounds like a bit of bunce for my old friend. Taking into consideration goodwill, fixtures, stock in cellar, and so forth, he should be able to sell out for a fairish sum.'

  'But that's just the point. I don't want him to sell out. I want him to chuck being an artist and run the Mulberry Tree. It's the most wonderful opportunity. He'll never get anywhere, muddling along with his painting, and we could make a fortune out of a place like that. It's just the right distance from Oxford, which gives us a ready-made clientele, and we could put in a squash court and a swimming pool and advertise it in the London papers, and it might become as popular as that place in Buckinghamshire that everybody goes to. Of course, we should need capital.'

  Except when exercised in the interests of the dog biscuits so ably manufactured by the father of his charming wife, Freddie Threepwood's was not a particularly alert mind, but a duller man than he, listening to this speech, would have been able to detect an oddness in his companion's choice of pronouns.

  'We?'

  'Bill and I are going to be married.'

  'Well, I'm blowed. You love this Blister?'

  'Madly.'

  'And he loves you?'

  'Frightfully.'

  'Well, I'm dashed. What does Aunt Dora think about it?'

  'She hasn't heard about it yet.'

  Freddie was looking grave. He was fond of this young peanut, and he feared for her happiness.

  'I doubt if she's going to clap her little hands much.'

  'No.'

  'I wouldn't say a word against Aunt Dora, so I won't call her England's leading snob.'

  'Mother's a darling.'

  'A darling, maybe, though I confess I've never seen that side of her. But you can't say she isn't a bit acutely alive to the existence of class distinctions. And what I feel is that when you inform her that il promessi sposi had an uncle who ran a pub ... But perhaps this uncle was just an unfortunate accident such as happens in the hottest families. Blister's father, you are possibly about to tell me, was of the noblesse?'

  'He was a sporting journalist. Uncle Gally met him in a pub.'

  'Pubs do seem to enter into this romance of yours, don't they? His mother?'

  'A Strong Woman on the music-hall stage. One of Uncle Gally's dearest friends. She's been dead for a good many years, but he tells me that when she was in her prime she could take the poker and tie it into a lover's knot with one hand.'

  'That's where Blister gets his physique?'

  'I suppose so.'

  Freddie removed his monocle and polished it. His face was graver than ever.

  'Totting up the score, then, the best we can credit Blis
ter with is a kind heart and a pub.'

  'Yes.'

  'For you, of course, that is enough. Kind hearts, you say to yourself, are more than coronets. But what of Aunt Dora? I have a feeling that the fact that Blister is Uncle Gally's godson won't carry much weight. I doubt if you can count on her blessing as an absolute snip.'

  'The very thought that crossed my mind,' said Prudence. 'That's why we are having a quiet wedding this morning at the Brompton Road Registry Office without telling her.'

  'What!'

  'Yes.'

  'Well, strike me pink!'

  'I've got the whole thing worked out. What I feel is that we must confront the family with a ... What's that French expression?'

  'Oo la la?'

  'Fait accompli. What I feel we need here is a fait accompli. When you confront people with fait accompli's you've got 'em cold. You see, as I was saying, in order to develop this pub of Bill's as it should be developed, we shall need quite a bit of capital. That will have to come from Uncle Clarence.'

  'You consider him the people's choice?'

  'Well, he's the head of the family. A head of a family can't let his niece down. He's practically got to rally round her. So what I feel is, dish out the fait accompli, and then go to Uncle Clarence and say: "Here's this wonderful business opportunity, needing only a mere fraction of your heaped-up wealth to turn it into a bonanza. I'm your niece. Bill's just become your nephew. Blood is thicker than water. So how about it?" It seems to me that we're doing the only sane, prudent thing in getting married at the Brompton Road Registry Office.'

  Her girlish enthusiasm had begun to infect Freddie. His, too, he could not but remember, had been a runaway match, and look what a ball of fire that had turned out. As he thought of the day when he and Niagara ('Aggie') Donaldson had skimmed around the corner and become man and wife, a wave of not unmanly sentiment poured over him.

  'I guess you're about right, at that.'

  'Oh, Freddie, you're a darling.' Prudence's blue eyes glowed with affection and gratitude for this cousinly support. She told herself that she had always been devoted to this prince of dog-biscuit pedlars, and a spasm of remorse shook her as she recalled that at the age of ten she had once knocked off his top hat with a well-directed half brick. 'Your sympathy and moral support mean so much to us. Are you doing anything this morning?'

  'Nothing special. I want to have this conference with Aunt Dora, and then I've got to look in at Aspinall's in Bond Street. Apart from that I'm fairly free.'

  'What are you doing at Aspinall's? Buying a birthday present for Vee?'

  'I thought of getting her a pendant there. But what I'm really looking in about is Aggie's necklace. A rather unfortunate situation has arisen. She left the damn thing with me to take to Aspinall's to be cleaned, and what with one thing and another it's kept slipping my mind. She needs it, it seems, for the various routs and revels into which she has been plunged since her arrival in the gay city, and she's been wiring about it a good deal. The communication which reached me this morning was rather a stinker, and left me with the impression that further delay might be fatal. Why did you ask if I was doing anything this morning? Do you want me to roll up?'

  'If you would. Bill's sure to forget to bring a witness. He's rather got the jumps, poor angel. And I don't want to have the driver of the taxi.'

  'I know what you mean. When Aggie and I were put through it, we had to fall back on the charioteer, and he spoiled the party. A bit too broadly jocular for my taste, besides wanting to muscle in on the wedding breakfast. But won't Uncle Gally be on the spot? He seems to have been more or less the sponsor of this binge.'

  'You don't expect Uncle Gally to be up by twelve, do you? He probably didn't get to bed till six or seven, poor lamb. No, it must be you. Do come, Freddie, my beautiful Freddie.'

  'I'll be there. We Threepwoods stand by our pals. I shall have to bring a guy named Plimsoll.'

  'Oh, why?'

  'Imperative. I'm taking him down to Blandings later in the day, and I daren't let him out of my sight during the luncheon hour or he might vanish on a jag. I've got a colossal deal pending with the man.'

  'Is he somebody special?'

  'You bet he's somebody special. He's Tipton's.'

  'What's that?'

  'Haven't you ever heard of Tipton's? Shows you've not been in America. Tipton's Stores have branches in every small town throughout the Middle West. They supply the local yokels with everything, including dog biscuits. I should estimate that the dog biscuits sold annually by Tipton's, if placed end to end, would reach from the rock-bound coast of Maine to the Everglades of Florida. Possibly further.'

  'And Plimsoll is really Tipton in disguise? When I meet him and say: "Hullo there, Plimsoll," will he tear off his whiskers and shout: "April Fool! I'm Tipton"?'

  Freddie was obliged to click his tongue once more.

  'Plimsoll owns the controlling interest in Tipton's,' he explained austerely. 'And my aim is to talk him into giving Donaldson's Inc. the exclusive dog-biscuit concession throughout his vast system of chain stores. If I can swing it, it will be about the biggest thing we've ever pulled off.'

  'Your father-in-law will be pretty bucked.'

  'He'll go capering about Long Island City like a nautch girl.'

  'I should think he would make you ... Is there anything higher than a vice-president?'

  'Well, as a matter of fact,' Freddie confessed, in a burst of candour, 'in most of these American concerns, as far as I've been able to make out, vice-president is about where you start. I fancy my guerdon ought to be something more on the lines of assistant sales manager.'

  'Well, good luck, anyway. How do the prospects look?'

  'Sometimes bright. Sometimes not so bright. You see, old Tippy only got control of his money a couple of months ago, and he has been celebrating almost without a break ever since.'

  'He sounds the sort of man Uncle Gally would like. Twin souls.'

  'And the difficulty I have had to contend with has been to catch him at the psychological moment for getting him to sign on the dotted line. He's either been too plastered to hold a pen, or else in the grip of the sort of hangover which makes a man lose interest in everything except bicarb of soda. That's why it's such a terrific strategic move having got him to let me take him to Blandings. He won't find the same facilities there as in London.'

  'And he won't be able to get away, when you corner him and start yelling about the broad Donaldson highroad.'

  'Exactly. I had omitted to take that into my calculations. Well, I mustn't stand talking to you all the morning, young dogface. Where did you say the fixture was?'

  'Brompton Road Registry Office. It's just beyond the Park Hotel.'

  'And the kick-off is timed for—?'

  'Twelve sharp.'

  'Fine. That will give me nice time to sow the good seed with Aunt Dora and go to the jewel bin. Then a quick phone call to Tippy, telling him where and when to meet me, and I'll be with you.'

  'Don't go dropping any incautious words to Mother.'

  'My dear child! You know me. On the subject of your romance I shall of course seal my lips completely. And when I seal my lips,' said Freddie, 'they stay sealed.'

  It was some twenty minutes later that he came out of Wiltshire House. When he did so, his face was grave and perplexed. The process of sowing the good seed with his aunt Dora had been attended by none of the success to which he had looked forward with such bright anticipation. True to his promise, he had sealed his lips regarding the forthcoming proceedings at the Brompton Road Registry Office, and it seemed to him that he might just as well have sealed them on the subject of dog biscuits.

  To say that he had actually been given the sleeve across the windpipe by his relative would perhaps be too much. But he had found her in strange mood, her manner distrait and preoccupied and with more than a suggestion in it of wishing to be alone. The best he had been able to achieve had been an undertaking on her part that, if sent a free sample, she w
ould give it a trial; and, as he returned to his headquarters after fulfilling his wife's commission and giving orders for Veronica's birthday present, he was realizing how those charmers must have felt who suffered from the sales resistance of the deaf adder.

  Arrived at his rooms, he established telephonic communication with that haunt of the gilded rich, Barribault's Hotel in Brook Street, and asked to be connected with Mr Plimsoll. And presently a rather hoarse and roopy voice came to him over the wire, the voice of one who at no distant date has been wandering long and far across the hot sands.

  'Hello?'

  'What ho, Tippy. This is Freddie.'

  'Oh, hello, Freddie. You caught me just in time. Another second, and I'd have been gone.'

  'Where are you off to?'

  'Going to see a doctor.'

  Freddie cooed sympathetically.

  'Feeling bad?'

  'No, as a matter of fact I'm feeling extraordinarily well. Most amazingly well. You would be astounded if you knew how well I'm feeling. But a number of light pink spots appear to have sprouted on my chest. Have you ever had pink spots on your chest?'

  'I don't think so.'

  'It isn't a question of thinking. You've either got 'em or you haven't. There is no middle course. Mine are a curious rosy colour, like the first flush of the sky on a summer morning. I thought it might be as well to have the medicine man cock an eye at them. I never had measles as a child.'

  'Why not?'

  'Ah, that's what we would all like to know. I dare say, if the truth came out, it would rock civilization.'

  'Well, can you meet me at twelve at the Brompton Road Registry Office? A pal of mine is getting married there.'

  'Now, there's a sap's game, if you like. However, I hope he'll be happy. I don't say he will, mind you. It's just a kindly hope. Okay. Brompton Road Registry Office, twelve o'clock.'

  'It's near the Park Hotel. I'll give you lunch there.'

  'Excellent.'

  'I'll come in the car, so bring your things. Then we can start straight off for Blandings afterwards.'

  'Blandings?'

  'I'd like to get there for dinner.'

  'Blandings,' said Mr Plimsoll. 'Of course, yes, Blandings. I knew there was something I wanted to tell you. I'm not coming to Blandings.'