The Adventures of Sally

by P. G. Wodehouse

  Produced by Tim Barnett

  THE ADVENTURES OF SALLY

  By P. G. Wodehouse

  CHAPTER I. SALLY GIVES A PARTY

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  Sally looked contentedly down the long table. She felt happy at last.Everybody was talking and laughing now, and her party, rallying after anuncertain start, was plainly the success she had hoped it would be. Thefirst atmosphere of uncomfortable restraint, caused, she was only toowell aware, by her brother Fillmore's white evening waistcoat, hadworn off; and the male and female patrons of Mrs. Meecher's selectboarding-house (transient and residential) were themselves again.

  At her end of the table the conversation had turned once more to thegreat vital topic of Sally's legacy and what she ought to do with it.The next best thing to having money of one's own, is to dictate thespending of somebody else's, and Sally's guests were finding a good dealof satisfaction in arranging a Budget for her. Rumour having put thesum at their disposal at a high figure, their suggestions had certainspaciousness.

  "Let me tell you," said Augustus Bartlett, briskly, "what I'd do, ifI were you." Augustus Bartlett, who occupied an intensely subordinateposition in the firm of Kahn, Morris and Brown, the Wall Street brokers,always affected a brisk, incisive style of speech, as befitted a manin close touch with the great ones of Finance. "I'd sink a couple ofhundred thousand in some good, safe bond-issue--we've just put one outwhich you would do well to consider--and play about with the rest. WhenI say play about, I mean have a flutter in anything good that crops up.Multiple Steel's worth looking at. They tell me it'll be up to a hundredand fifty before next Saturday."

  Elsa Doland, the pretty girl with the big eyes who sat on Mr. Bartlett'sleft, had other views.

  "Buy a theatre. Sally, and put on good stuff."

  "And lose every bean you've got," said a mild young man, with a deepvoice across the table. "If I had a few hundred thousand," said themild young man, "I'd put every cent of it on Benny Whistler for theheavyweight championship. I've private information that Battling Tukehas been got at and means to lie down in the seventh..."

  "Say, listen," interrupted another voice, "lemme tell you what I'd dowith four hundred thousand..."

  "If I had four hundred thousand," said Elsa Doland, "I know what wouldbe the first thing I'd do."

  "What's that?" asked Sally.

  "Pay my bill for last week, due this morning."

  Sally got up quickly, and flitting down the table, put her arm round herfriend's shoulder and whispered in her ear:

  "Elsa darling, are you really broke? If you are, you know, I'll..."

  Elsa Doland laughed.

  "You're an angel, Sally. There's no one like you. You'd give your lastcent to anyone. Of course I'm not broke. I've just come back from theroad, and I've saved a fortune. I only said that to draw you."

  Sally returned to her seat, relieved, and found that the company had nowdivided itself into two schools of thought. The conservative and prudentelement, led by Augustus Bartlett, had definitely decided on threehundred thousand in Liberty Bonds and the rest in some safe real estate;while the smaller, more sporting section, impressed by the mild youngman's inside information, had already placed Sally's money on BennyWhistler, doling it out cautiously in small sums so as not to spoil themarket. And so solid, it seemed, was Mr. Tuke's reputation with thosein the inner circle of knowledge that the mild young man was confidentthat, if you went about the matter cannily and without precipitation,three to one might be obtained. It seemed to Sally that the time hadcome to correct certain misapprehensions.

  "I don't know where you get your figures," she said, "but I'm afraidthey're wrong. I've just twenty-five thousand dollars."

  The statement had a chilling effect. To these jugglers withhalf-millions the amount mentioned seemed for the moment almost toosmall to bother about. It was the sort of sum which they had beenmentally setting aside for the heiress's car fare. Then they managed toadjust their minds to it. After all, one could do something even with apittance like twenty-five thousand.

  "If I'd twenty-five thousand," said Augustus Bartlett, the first torally from the shock, "I'd buy Amalgamated..."

  "If I had twenty-five thousand..." began Elsa Doland.

  "If I'd had twenty-five thousand in the year nineteen hundred," observeda gloomy-looking man with spectacles, "I could have started a revolutionin Paraguay."

  He brooded sombrely on what might have been.

  "Well, I'll tell you exactly what I'm going to do," said Sally. "I'mgoing to start with a trip to Europe... France, specially. I've heardFrance well spoken of--as soon as I can get my passport; and after I'veloafed there for a few weeks, I'm coming back to look about and findsome nice cosy little business which will let me put money into it andkeep me in luxury. Are there any complaints?"

  "Even a couple of thousand on Benny Whistler..." said the mild youngman.

  "I don't want your Benny Whistler," said Sally. "I wouldn't have him ifyou gave him to me. If I want to lose money, I'll go to Monte Carlo anddo it properly."

  "Monte Carlo," said the gloomy man, brightening up at the magic name."I was in Monte Carlo in the year '97, and if I'd had another fiftydollars... just fifty... I'd have..."

  At the far end of the table there was a stir, a cough, and the gratingof a chair on the floor; and slowly, with that easy grace which actorsof the old school learned in the days when acting was acting, Mr.Maxwell Faucitt, the boarding-house's oldest inhabitant, rose to hisfeet.

  "Ladies," said Mr. Faucitt, bowing courteously, "and..." ceasing to bowand casting from beneath his white and venerable eyebrows a quellingglance at certain male members of the boarding-house's younger set whowere showing a disposition towards restiveness, "... gentlemen. I feelthat I cannot allow this occasion to pass without saying a few words."

  His audience did not seem surprised. It was possible that life, alwaysprolific of incident in a great city like New York, might some dayproduce an occasion which Mr. Faucitt would feel that he could allow topass without saying a few words; but nothing of the sort had happened asyet, and they had given up hope. Right from the start of the meal theyhad felt that it would be optimism run mad to expect the old gentlemanto abstain from speech on the night of Sally Nicholas' farewelldinner party; and partly because they had braced themselves to it, butprincipally because Miss Nicholas' hospitality had left them with agenial feeling of repletion, they settled themselves to listenwith something resembling equanimity. A movement on the part of theMarvellous Murphys--new arrivals, who had been playing the Bushwick withtheir equilibristic act during the preceding week--to form a party ofthe extreme left and heckle the speaker, broke down under a cold lookfrom their hostess. Brief though their acquaintance had been, both ofthese lissom young gentlemen admired Sally immensely.

  And it should be set on record that this admiration of theirs was notmisplaced. He would have been hard to please who had not been attractedby Sally. She was a small, trim, wisp of a girl with the tiniest handsand feet, the friendliest of smiles, and a dimple that came and wentin the curve of her rounded chin. Her eyes, which disappeared when shelaughed, which was often, were a bright hazel; her hair a soft mass ofbrown. She had, moreover, a manner, an air of distinction lacking in themajority of Mrs. Meecher's guests. And she carried youth like a banner.In approving of Sally, the Marvellous Murphys had been guilty of nolapse from their high critical standard.

  "I have been asked," proceeded Mr. Faucitt, "though I am aware thatthere are others here far worthier of such a task--Brutuses comparedwith whom I, like Marc Antony, am no orator--I have been asked topropose the health..."

  "Who asked you?" It was the smaller of the Marvellous Murphys who spoke.He was an unpleasant youth, snub-nosed and spotty. Still, he c
ouldbalance himself with one hand on an inverted ginger-ale bottle whilerevolving a barrel on the soles of his feet. There is good in all of us.

  "I have been asked," repeated Mr. Faucitt, ignoring the unmannerlyinterruption, which, indeed, he would have found it hard to answer, "topropose the health of our charming hostess (applause), coupled with thename of her brother, our old friend Fillmore Nicholas."

  The gentleman referred to, who sat at the speaker's end of the table,acknowledged the tribute with a brief nod of the head. It was a nod ofcondescension; the nod of one who, conscious of being hedged about bysocial inferiors, nevertheless does his best to be not unkindly. AndSally, seeing it, debated in her mind for an instant the advisabilityof throwing an orange at her brother. There was one lying ready to herhand, and his glistening shirt-front offered an admirable mark; butshe restrained herself. After all, if a hostess yields to her primitiveimpulses, what happens? Chaos. She had just frowned down the exuberanceof the rebellious Murphys, and she felt that if, even with the highestmotives, she began throwing fruit, her influence for good in thatquarter would be weakened.

  She leaned back with a sigh. The temptation had been hard to resist. Ademocratic girl, pomposity was a quality which she thoroughly disliked;and though she loved him, she could not disguise from herself that,ever since affluence had descended upon him some months ago, her brotherFillmore had become insufferably pompous. If there are any young menwhom inherited wealth improves, Fillmore Nicholas was not one of them.He seemed to regard himself nowadays as a sort of Man of Destiny. Toconverse with him was for the ordinary human being like being receivedin audience by some more than stand-offish monarch. It had taken Sallyover an hour to persuade him to leave his apartment on Riverside Driveand revisit the boarding-house for this special occasion; and, when hehad come, he had entered wearing such faultless evening dress that hehad made the rest of the party look like a gathering of tramp-cyclists.His white waistcoat alone was a silent reproach to honest poverty,and had caused an awkward constraint right through the soup and fishcourses. Most of those present had known Fillmore Nicholas as animpecunious young man who could make a tweed suit last longer than onewould have believed possible; they had called him "Fill" and helped himin more than usually lean times with small loans: but to-night they hadeyed the waistcoat dumbly and shrank back abashed.

  "Speaking," said Mr. Faucitt, "as an Englishman--for though I have longsince taken out what are technically known as my 'papers' it was as asubject of the island kingdom that I first visited this great country--Imay say that the two factors in American life which have always madethe profoundest impression upon me have been the lavishness of Americanhospitality and the charm of the American girl. To-night we have beenprivileged to witness the American girl in the capacity of hostess, andI think I am right in saying, in asseverating, in committing myself tothe statement that this has been a night which none of us present herewill ever forget. Miss Nicholas has given us, ladies and gentlemen, abanquet. I repeat, a banquet. There has been alcoholic refreshment. Ido not know where it came from: I do not ask how it was procured, but wehave had it. Miss Nicholas..."

  Mr. Faucitt paused to puff at his cigar. Sally's brother Fillmoresuppressed a yawn and glanced at his watch. Sally continued to leanforward raptly. She knew how happy it made the old gentleman to delivera formal speech; and though she wished the subject had been different,she was prepared to listen indefinitely.

  "Miss Nicholas," resumed Mr. Faucitt, lowering his cigar, "... But why,"he demanded abruptly, "do I call her Miss Nicholas?"

  "Because it's her name," hazarded the taller Murphy.

  Mr. Faucitt eyed him with disfavour. He disapproved of the marvellousbrethren on general grounds because, himself a resident of yearsstanding, he considered that these transients from the vaudeville stagelowered the tone of the boarding-house; but particularly because the onewho had just spoken had, on his first evening in the place, addressedhim as "grandpa."

  "Yes, sir," he said severely, "it is her name. But she has another name,sweeter to those who love her, those who worship her, those who havewatched her with the eye of sedulous affection through the three yearsshe has spent beneath this roof, though that name," said Mr. Faucitt,lowering the tone of his address and descending to what might almost betermed personalities, "may not be familiar to a couple of dud acrobatswho have only been in the place a week-end, thank heaven, and are offto-morrow to infest some other city. That name," said Mr. Faucitt,soaring once more to a loftier plane, "is Sally. Our Sally. For threeyears our Sally has flitted about this establishment like--I choose thesimile advisedly--like a ray of sunshine. For three years she hasmade life for us a brighter, sweeter thing. And now a sudden access ofworldly wealth, happily synchronizing with her twenty-first birthday, isto remove her from our midst. From our midst, ladies and gentlemen,but not from our hearts. And I think I may venture to hope, toprognosticate, that, whatever lofty sphere she may adorn in the future,to whatever heights in the social world she may soar, she will stillcontinue to hold a corner in her own golden heart for the comrades ofher Bohemian days. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you our hostess, MissSally Nicholas, coupled with the name of our old friend, her brotherFillmore."

  Sally, watching her brother heave himself to his feet as the cheers diedaway, felt her heart beat a little faster with anticipation. Fillmorewas a fluent young man, once a power in his college debating society,and it was for that reason that she had insisted on his coming heretonight.

  She had guessed that Mr. Faucitt, the old dear, would say all sorts ofdelightful things about her, and she had mistrusted her ability tomake a fitting reply. And it was imperative that a fitting reply shouldproceed from someone. She knew Mr. Faucitt so well. He looked on theseoccasions rather in the light of scenes from some play; and, sustaininghis own part in them with such polished grace, was certain to be painedby anything in the nature of an anti-climax after he should have ceasedto take the stage. Eloquent himself, he must be answered with eloquence,or his whole evening would be spoiled.

  Fillmore Nicholas smoothed a wrinkle out of his white waistcoat; andhaving rested one podgy hand on the table-cloth and the thumb of theother in his pocket, glanced down the table with eyes so haughtilydrooping that Sally's fingers closed automatically about her orange, asshe wondered whether even now it might not be a good thing...

  It seems to be one of Nature's laws that the most attractive girlsshould have the least attractive brothers. Fillmore Nicholas had notworn well. At the age of seven he had been an extraordinarily beautifulchild, but after that he had gone all to pieces; and now, at the age oftwenty-five, it would be idle to deny that he was something of a mess.For the three years preceding his twenty-fifth birthday, restrictedmeans and hard work had kept his figure in check; but with money therehad come an ever-increasing sleekness. He looked as if he fed too oftenand too well.

  All this, however, Sally was prepared to forgive him, if he would onlymake a good speech. She could see Mr. Faucitt leaning back in his chair,all courteous attention. Rolling periods were meat and drink to the oldgentleman.

  Fillmore spoke.

  "I'm sure," said Fillmore, "you don't want a speech... Very good of youto drink our health. Thank you."

  He sat down.

  The effect of these few simple words on the company was marked, but notin every case identical. To the majority the emotion which they broughtwas one of unmixed relief. There had been something so menacing, so easyand practised, in Fillmore's attitude as he had stood there that thegloomier-minded had given him at least twenty minutes, and even theoptimists had reckoned that they would be lucky if they got off withten. As far as the bulk of the guests were concerned, there wasno grumbling. Fillmore's, to their thinking, had been the idealafter-dinner speech.

  Far different was it with Mr. Maxwell Faucitt. The poor old man waswearing such an expression of surprise and dismay as he might haveworn had somebody unexpectedly pulled the chair from under him. He wasfeeling the sick shock which comes to those who t
read on a non-existentlast stair. And Sally, catching sight of his face, uttered a sharpwordless exclamation as if she had seen a child fall down and hurtitself in the street. The next moment she had run round the table andwas standing behind him with her arms round his neck. She spoke acrosshim with a sob in her voice.

  "My brother," she stammered, directing a malevolent look at theimmaculate Fillmore, who, avoiding her gaze, glanced down his noseand smoothed another wrinkle out of his waistcoat, "has not saidquite--quite all I hoped he was going to say. I can't make a speech,but..." Sally gulped, "... but, I love you all and of course I shallnever forget you, and... and..."

  Here Sally kissed Mr. Faucitt and burst into tears.

  "There, there," said Mr. Faucitt, soothingly. The kindest critic couldnot have claimed that Sally had been eloquent: nevertheless Mr. MaxwellFaucitt was conscious of no sense of anti-climax.

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