The Jeeves Omnibus - Vol 3 (42 page)

I am able to supply this detailed record of the colour scheme because for some considerable time I stood submitting this son of toil to a close inspection. And the closer I inspected him, the less I found myself liking the fellow. Just as I had felt my spirit out of tune with the gasper-smoking housemaid of The Larches, so did I now look askance at the establishment’s gardener, feeling very strongly that what he needed was a pound and a half of dynamite exploded under his fat trouser seat.

Presently, unable to stand the sight of him any longer, I turned away and began to pace the room like some caged creature of the wild,
the
only difference being that whereas a caged creature of the wild would not have bumped into and come within a toucher of upsetting a small table with a silver cup, a golf ball in a glass case and a large framed photograph on it, I did. It was only by an outstanding feat of legerdemain that I succeeded in catching the photograph as it fell, thereby averting a crash which would have brought every inmate of the house racing to the spot. And having caught it, I saw that it was a speaking likeness of Madeline Bassett.

It was one of those full-face speaking likenesses. She was staring straight out of the picture with large, sad, saucerlike eyes, and the lips seemed to quiver with a strange, reproachful appeal. And as I gazed at those sad eyes and took a square look at those quivery lips, something went off inside my bean like a spring. I had had an inspiration.

Events were to prove that my idea, like about ninety-four per cent of Catsmeat’s, was just one of those that seem good at the time, but at the moment I was convinced that if I were to snitch this studio portrait and confront Gussie with it, bidding him drink it in and let conscience be his guide, all would be well. Remorse would creep in, his better self would get it up the nose, and all the old love and affection would come surging back. I believe this sort of thing frequently happens. Burglars, catching sight of photographs of their mothers, instantly turn in their tools and resolve to lead a new life, and the same is probably true of footpads, con men and fellows who have not paid their dog licence. I saw no reason to suppose that Gussie would be slower off the mark.

It was at this moment that I heard the sound of a Hoover being wheeled along the hall, and realized that the housemaid was on her way to do the room.

If there is anything that makes you feel more like a stag at bay than being in a room where you oughtn’t to be and hearing housemaids coming to do it, I don’t know what is. If you described Bertram Wooster at this juncture as all of a doodah, you would not be going far astray. I sprang to the window. The gardener was still there. I sprang back, and nearly knocked the table over again. Finally, thinking quick, I sprang sideways. My eye had been caught by a substantial sofa in the corner of the room, and I could have wished no more admirable cover. I was behind it with perhaps two seconds to spare.

To say that I now breathed freely again would be putting it perhaps too strongly. I was still far from being at my ease. But I did feel that in this little nook of mine I ought to be reasonably secure. One of the things you learn, when you have knocked about the world a bit, is that housemaids don’t sweep behind sofas. Having run the Hoover over the
exposed
portions of the carpet, they consider the day well spent and go off and have a cup of tea and a slice of bread and jam.

On the present occasion even the exposed portions of the carpet did not get their doing, for scarcely had the girl begun to ply the apparatus when she was called off the job by orders from up top.

‘Morning, Jane,’ said a voice, which from the fact that it was accompanied by a shrill bark such as could have proceeded only from a white, woolly dog I took to be that of the solid school friend. ‘Never mind about doing the room now.’

‘No, miss,’ said the housemaid, seeming well pleased with the idea, and pushed off, no doubt to have another gasper in the scullery. There followed a rustling of paper as the solid girl, seating herself on the sofa, skimmed through the morning journal. Then I heard her say ‘Oh, hallo, Madeline’, and was aware that the Bassett was with us.

‘Good morning, Hilda,’ said the Bassett in that soupy, treacly voice which had got her so disliked by all right-thinking men. ‘What a lovely, lovely morning.’

The solid girl said she didn’t see what was so particularly hot about it, adding that personally she found all mornings foul. She spoke morosely, and I could see that her disappointment in love had soured her, poor soul. I mourned for her distress, and had the circumstances been different, might have reached up and patted her on the head.

‘I have been gathering flowers,’ proceeded the Bassett. ‘Beautiful smiling flowers, all wet with the morning dew. How
happy
flowers seem, Hilda.’

The solid girl said why shouldn’t they, what had they got to beef about, and there was a pause. The solid girl said something about the prospects of the Surrey Cricket Club, but received no reply, and a moment later it was evident that Madeline Bassett’s thoughts had been elsewhere.

‘I have just been in the dining room,’ she said, and one spotted the tremor in the voice. ‘There was no letter from Gussie. I’m so worried, Hilda. I think I shall go down to Deverill by an earlier train.’

‘Suit yourself.’

‘I can’t help having an awful feeling that he is seriously injured. He said he had only sprained his wrist, but has he? That is what I ask myself. Suppose the horse knocked him down and trampled on him?’

‘He’d have mentioned it.’

‘But he wouldn’t. That’s what I mean. Gussie is so unselfish and considerate. His first thought would be to spare me anxiety. Oh, Hilda, do you think his spine is fractured?’

‘What rot! Spine fractured, my foot. If there isn’t a letter, all it means is that this other fellow – what’s his name – Wooster – has kicked at acting as an amanuensis. I don’t blame him. He’s dippy about you, isn’t he?’

‘He loves me very, very dearly. It’s a tragedy. I can’t describe to you, Hilda, the pathos of that look of dumb suffering in his eyes when we meet.’

‘Well, then, the thing’s obvious. If you’re dippy about a girl, and another fellow has grabbed her, it can’t be pleasant to sit at a writing table, probably with a rotten pen, sweating away while the other fellow dictates “My own comma precious darling period I worship you comma I adore you period How I wish comma my dearest comma that I could press you to my bosom and cover your lovely face with burning kisses exclamation mark”. I don’t wonder Wooster kicked.’

‘You’re very heartless, Hilda.’

‘I’ve had enough to make me heartless. I’ve sometimes thought of ending it all. I’ve got a gun in that drawer there.’

‘Hilda!’

‘Oh, I don’t suppose I shall. Lot of fuss and trouble. Have you seen the paper this morning? It says there’s some talk of altering the leg-before-wicket rule again. Odd how your outlook changes when your heart’s broken. I can remember a time when I’d have been all excited if they altered the leg-before-wicket rule. Now I don’t give a damn. Let ’em alter it, and I hope they have a fine day for it. What sort of a fellow is this Wooster?’

‘Oh, a dear.’

‘He must be, if he writes Gussie’s love letters for him. Either that or a perfect sap. If I were in your place, I’d give Gussie the air and sign up with him. Being a man, I presume he’s a louse, like all other men, but he’s rich, and money’s the only thing that matters.’

From the way Madeline said, ‘Oh, Hilda
darling
!’ – the wealth of reproach in the voice, I mean, and all that sort of thing – I could tell that these cynical words had got in amongst her, shocking her and wounding her finer feelings, and I found myself in complete accord with her attitude. I thoroughly disapproved of this girl and her whole outlook, and wished she wouldn’t say things like that. The position of affairs was black enough already, without having old school friends egging Madeline Bassett on to give Gussie the air and sign up with me.

I think that Madeline would have gone on to chide and rebuke,
but
at this point, instead of speaking, she suddenly uttered a squeal or wordless exclamation, and the solid girl said ‘Now what?’

‘My photograph!’

‘What about it?’

‘Where is it?’

‘On the table.’

‘But it’s not. It’s gone.’

‘Then I suppose Jane has smashed it. She always does smash everything that isn’t made of sheet-iron, and I see no reason why she should have made an exception in favour of your photograph. You’d better go and ask her.’

‘I will,’ said Madeline, and I heard her hurrying out.

A few moments passed, self inhaling fluff and the solid girl presumably scanning her paper for further facts about the leg-before-wicket rule, and then I heard her say ‘Sit still’, no doubt addressing the white, woolly dog, for shortly afterwards she said ‘Oh, all right, blast you, buzz off if you want to’, and there was a thud; not a dull, sickening thud but the sort of thud a white, woolly dog makes when landing on a carpet from a sofa of medium height. And it was almost immediately after this that there came a sound of sniffing in my vicinity, and with a considerable lowering of the already low morale I realized that the animal must have picked up the characteristic Wooster smell and was now in the process of tracking it to its source.

And so it proved. Glancing round, I suddenly found its face about six inches from mine, its demeanour that of a dog that can hardly believe its eyes. Backing away with a startled ‘Ooops!’ it retreated to the centre of the room and began barking.

‘What’s the matter, you silly ass?’ said the solid girl, and then there was a silence. On her part, that is. The white, woolly dog continued to strain its vocal cords.

Madeline Bassett re-entered.

‘Jane says –’ she began, then broke off with a piercing scream. ‘
Hilda!
Oh, Hilda,
what
are you doing with that pistol?’

The solid girl calmed her fears, though leaving mine in
status quo
.

‘Don’t get excited. I’m not going to shoot myself. Though it would be a pretty good idea, at that. There’s a man behind the sofa.’

‘Hilda!’

‘I’ve been wondering for some time where that curious, breathing sound was coming from. Percy spotted him. At-a-boy, Percy, nice work. Come on out of it, you.’

Rightly concluding that she meant me, I emerged, and Madeline uttered another of her piercing screams.

‘A dressy criminal, though shopsoiled,’ said the solid girl, scrutinizing me over the young cannon which she was levelling at my waistcoat. ‘One of those Mayfair men you read about, I suppose. Hallo, I see he’s got that photograph you were looking for. And probably half a dozen other things as well. I think the first move is to make him turn out his pockets.’

The thought that in one of those pockets lay Gussie’s letter caused me to reel and utter a strangled cry, and the solid girl said if I was going to have a fit, that was all right with her, but she would be obliged if I would step through the window and have it outside.

It was at this point that Madeline Bassett most fortunately found speech. During the preceding exchanges, if you can call it exchanges when one person has taken the floor and is doing all the talking, she had been leaning against the wall with a hand to her heart, giving an impersonation, and not at all a bad one either, of a cat with a herring-bone in its throat. She now made her first contribution to the dialogue.

‘Bertie!’ she cried.

The solid girl seemed puzzled.

‘Bertie?’

‘This is Bertie Wooster.’

‘The complete letter-writer? Well, what’s he doing here? And why has he swiped your photograph?’

Madeline’s voice sank to a tremulous whisper.

‘I think I know.’

‘Then you’re smarter than I am. Goofy, the whole proceeding strikes me as.’

‘Will you leave us, Hilda? I want to speak to Bertie … alone.’

‘Right ho. I’ll be shifting along to the dining room. I don’t suppose, feeling the way I do, there’s a dog’s chance of my being able to swallow a mouthful, but I can be counting the spoons.’

The solid girl pushed off, accompanied by the white, woolly dog, leaving us all set for a
tête-à-tête
which I for one would willingly have avoided. In fact, though it would, of course, have been a near thing with not much in it either way, I think I would have preferred a
tête-à-tête
with Dame Daphne Winkworth.

THE PROCEEDINGS OPENED
with one of those long, sticky silences which give you the same unpleasant feeling you get when you let them rope you in to play ‘Bulstrode, a butler’ in amateur theatricals and you go on and find you have forgotten your opening lines. She was standing gazing at me as if I had been a photographer about to squeeze the bulb and take a studio portrait in sepia and silver-grey wash, and after a while it seemed to me that it was about time one of us said something. The great thing on these occasions is to get the conversation going.

‘Nice day,’ I said. ‘I thought I’d look in.’

She enlarged the eyes a bit, but did not utter, so I proceeded.

‘It occurred to me that you might be glad to have the latest bulletin about Gussie, so I popped up on the milk train. Gussie, I am glad to say, is getting along fine. The wrist is still stiff, but the swelling is subsiding and there is no pain. He sends his best.’

She remained
sotto voce
as the silent tomb, and I carried on. I thought a word or two touching upon my recent activities might now be in order. I mean, you can’t just come bounding up from behind the furniture and let it go at that. You have to explain and clarify your motives. Girls like to know these things.

‘You are probably asking yourself,’ I said, ‘what I was doing behind that sofa. I parked myself there on a sudden whim. You know how one gets these sudden whims. And you may be thinking it a bit odd that I should be going around with this studio portrait in my possession. Well, I’ll tell you. I happened to see it on the table there, and I took it to give to Gussie. I thought he would like to have it, to buck him up in your absence. He misses you sorely, of course, and it occurred to me that it would be nice for him to shove it on the dressing table and study it from time to time. No doubt he already has several of these speaking likenesses, but a fellow can always do with one more.’