THE LUCK OF THE BODKINS

Dominion, Volume 29, Issue 93, 14 January 1936, Page 16

THE LUCK OF THE BODKINS

By

P. G. WODEHOUSE

28 Gertrude lingered uncertainly in the doorway. She had secured the handkerchief fur which she had come, but she was feeling that to go away and leave this sufferer alone with his grief would be inhuman. II was obvious that pain and anguish were racking

Albert I’easemaroll’s brow, and nobody who had studied the works of the poet Scott at .school could fail to be aware that in such circumstances a woman's duty was clear. Always kind-hearted, Gertrude Bntterwiek was to-night more than ever in the mood to play the role of ministering angel. As she stood hesitating the steward uttered a sudden loud moan. There was not mistaking the note of agony. Gertrude decided to remain and, though he had said that there was nothing that she could do, at least to offer first aid. “What did you say?” she asked as he emerged. “When, miss?” “I thought I heard you say something.” “In there in the bathroom.’” “Yes.” “Merely that I was the Bandollero, miss,” said Albert I’easemarch, still was that same inspissated gloom. Gertrude was perplexed. The word seemed somehow’ vaguely’ familiar, but she could not identify it. “The Bandollero?” “Yes, miss.” “What’s a Bandollero?” “There, miss, you have me. I’ve an idea it’s sort of Spanish brigand or bandit.” Enlightenment flooded upon Gertrude. “Oh, you moan the Bandolero? You were singing that song, “The Bandolero.’ I didn’t recognise it. It’s a favourite song of Mr. Bodkin’s. I know it well.” Albert Peasemarch’s face twisted with uncontrollable emotion. “I wish I did,” he said mournfully. “I keep forgetting the second verse.” Gertrude's perplexity returned. “But does Hint worry you?” “Yes, miss.” “I mean, why not just hum it?” “Humming is no good miss. It would not satisfy the public's demands. I’ve got to sing it.” t “In public, do you mean.' “Yes, miss. To-night, at the secondclass concert. This very night, as near ten o'clock as may be, I shall be standing up on that platform in the secondclass saloon, going through with it. And where am I going to get off if I can't even pronounce the word, let alone remember verse two? You say its not Bandollero. . . .”

“No. I know it's not Bandollero. 1 ’ “But liow are we to know whether it’s Bandol ero or Bandol-airo? ’ "Try it both ways.” Albert I’easemarch heaved another of his heavy’ sighs. “Have you ever considered the extraordinary’ workings of Fate, miss? Makes you think a bit, that does. Why am I in this position, faced with singing ’The Bandoll’—or rather ‘lero’ or Tairo’ at the second-class concert to-night Purely’ and simply liecau.se a gentleman named J. G. Garges took it into his head to travel on this -boat.” “I don’t understand.” “It’s intricket,” agreed Albert Peasemarch with a sort of moody satisfaction. “And yet at the same time, if you follow me, it’s not intricket at all. but quite simple. If Mr. J. G. Garges wasn't on board, I wouldn't be in the position what I am. And when you consider all the various things—the chain of circumstances, as you might call it—that had to happen to get him on board at this particular time . . . well, it just makes you realise what helpless prawns we all are in the clutches of a remorseless——” “Who is Mr. Garges?”

“One of tlie second-class passengers, miss. Beyond that I know nothing, him being merely a name to me. But here he is, travelling in the second cabin of this boat, and I want, you to look at how Fate lias brought, tlui.t about, miss. Take a simple aspect of the matter. J. G. Garges must have had eroup or measles or such like during his infancy as a child. . . . You concede that, miss?’’ “Yes, I suppose so." “Good. Well, then Suppose he had suei-umbed? Would he be on board this boat now? No. Well, would lie. miss?” "I uon't see how he could, quite. - ’ “Exactly. Or make it even simpler. Suppose, as might quite well have happened, he’d of become during his lifetime a sufferer from asthma or bronchitis or some oilier complaint which touches you in the wind. How about it then? Would lie be in a position to be singing tlie ‘Yeoman’s’ Wedding Song’ at the* second class concert tonight? No. You'll hardly dispute that, miss?” “No.” “Of course he wouldn’t. And why? Because he'd never of been able so much as to contemplate undertaking that line where you-have to stow away all tlie breath you’ve room for and just hang on. hoping for the best. Are you familiar with tlie ’Yeoman's Wedding Song. - miss? It goes like this.” Fixing Gertrude with an eye that reminded her of a fish she had once seen in an aquarium. Albert Peasemarch drew in great quantities of air, inflated his chest and sang in an odd. Tumbling voice, iike thunder over tlie hills, these

words 1 : “Ding dong, ding dong, Ding dong. I hurry along. For it is my wedding morning; And the bride so gay in bry-ut array For the da.v Is herself ador-OR-or-or-or-or-or-jiing." He paused anil seemed, as it were, to come to tlie surface. He gasped a little, like some strong swimmer in his agony. “You see what I mean, miss?” Gertrude saw. An asthmatic Garges could certainly never have managed that last. line. To her inllnmed fancy it had appeared to go on for about ten minutes.

‘■But I still don't understand.” she said. "Why do you object to Mr. Gorges singing that song?” Albert I’easeinarch’s brow darkened. It was plain that he was suffering from an intolerable sense of injustice. "Because it’s my song. miss. My special particular song, rendered by me al two out of everylhree .ship's concerts ever since 1 took office on this boat. It's come to be a regular item in the programme—Solo: ‘The Yeoman's Wedding Song'—A. E. I’easemarch. My mother looks forward to my giving her the programme at. the end of each trip. She pastes them in an album. Well, when I tell you that the purser himself once said to me —in a joking spirit, no doubt, and nothing derogatory really intended—'lf you'd do more hurrying along, I’easemarch, and less singing about, it,’ he said. ‘l'd be better pleased,’ he said. well, you can see how in a manner of speaking me and my ‘Yeoman's Wedding Song’ have sort of grown into quite a legend.” “I see.”

“So when .Jimmy the One sent for me this morning and told me off to render a number at the second-class concert, the voluntary talent having proved to lie short again, as usual, I said: ‘Yes. sir, very good, sir. The old “Y.W.5.,” ot' course, sir?’ and he said lie was afraid so. and every thing was comfortdbie and settled. Ami then, round about ar-parse lour it would have been, he sends for me again and you could have knocked me down with a feather, because he toid me the ‘Yeoman's Wedding Song’ was off. as far as me rendering it was concerned, on account of a passenger of the name of J. G. Garges having expressed a desire to sing it. And he hands me this blooming ‘Bandolero’ and says: ’Get that off your chest, cocky.’ And when I protested and said you couldn't ask an artist to change his act at the eleventh hour lik.e that, he threatened to dock me a day’s pay. So here I am. faced with this ‘Bandolero’ and only about an hour to go. Can you wonder, miss, that I’m all of a twitter?” Gertrude’s gentle heart was touched. It ached for the man. Hers had been tiil now tlie easy, sheltered life of the normal English girl, and she had come but rarely into contact with tragedy. “What a shame!”

“Thank you, miss. It’s kind of you to sympathise. I can do witli a bit of sympathy, ’*l don’t mind telling you. When I start voicing my grievance in the Glory Hole, all they do is throw things at me.” “But I wouldn’t worry,” urged Gertrude. “I’m sure you will be a tremendous success. ‘The Bandolero’ is a splendid -song. I always like hearing Mr. Bodkin sing it. It has such a swing.”

“It has got a swing,” admitted Albert Peasemarch. For a moment the cloud wrack lowering on his brow seemed about to lift But only for a moment. Then bis eyes, which had shown signs of brightening, glazed over again. . “But how about the words? Have you considered that, miss? Suppose I forget my words?” “Then I should just go on singing: ‘I am the Bandolero, yes, yes, oh yes, I am, I am the Bandolero,’ or something like that. ’Nobody will notice anything wrong. They won’t expect a Spanish song to make sense. They’ll think it’s atmosphere.” Albert Peasemarch started. It was plain that his companion had opened up a, new line of thought. “I am the band. I am the band,” he crooned tentatively. “That’s right. Mr. Bodkin often does that. And caramba, of course.” “Miss?”

“Caramba. It’s a Spanish word. Another is mamtnii. If you find yourself drying up, I should go on repeating those. I remember Mr. Bodkin singing ‘The Bandolero’ at our village concert last Christmas, and the second verse was practically all caramba and ■manana. He never weut better in his life.” Albert Peasemarch drew in a breath, as deep as any that had ever assisted him through the “Yeoman’s Wedding Song.” “Miss,” he said, his eyes doglike, “you've put a new heart into me.” "I’m so glad. I expect you’ll be the hit of the evening.” “I’ve a good quick ear for music and can generally get the hang of a chune, but it’s the words I’m always shaky on. Coo! I remember the first’Six limes I sang the ‘Y.AV.S.’ I used to get it wrong regular. I used to sing ‘ami the <lai/ so gay in bright array,’ which spoiled thl sense.” He paused. He hesitated. His fingers twiddled. “I wonder, miss. . . . Mark you, I think I’ll be all right now, what with all these carambas and all, but I wonder, miss. ... 1 wouldn’t, for the world take a lib., and no doubt you’ve got a hundred things to do. . . but I was wondering if by any chance ” “You would like me to come and help with the applause?” “That’s the very words I was trying to say, miss.” “Why, of course I will. When did you say you would be going on?” “I’m billed for ton o'clock precisely, miss.” “I'll be there.” Words failed Albert I’casenmreh. He could but gaze adoringly. * * ♦ In a self-centred world it is never easy for those in travail to realise that other people have their troubles, too, and if anybody had informed Albert Peasemarch at this difficult moment in his career as a vocalist that his was not the severest attack of stage fright on board tlie R.M.S. Atlantic, be would have been amazed and incredulous. lie might have said “Coo” or he might have said “Caramba,!” but lie would not have believed the statement. Yet such was undoubtedly the case.

The ordeal of waiting for ten o’clock, which we have seen afflicting tlie steward’s nervous system so sorely, had not left .Monty Bodkin unaffected. At twenty minutes to the hour, he, too. was all-of a twitter. Seated at a table in the smoking-room, he gazed before him with unseeing eyes. From time to time lie shuffled his feet, and from time to time lie plucked at his tie. There was whisky and soda before him. but such was his preoccu pat 101 l that he had searcelyatouched it.

What was worrying Monty was the very same haunting fear which had racked Albert I’easemarch. He was afraid that he was going to blow up in his words. When Reggie Tennyson had told him that all he had got to do was to hold Lottie Blossom in conversation for the space of a quarter of an hour on the second-class promenade deck while he, Reggie, thoroughly scoured her stateroom, the task had seemed a simple one. He had accepted it without a tremor. Only now, when he contem plated the possibility of failure, did he wonder what words he could select so magical as to keep a girl of Lotlie's impatient temperament hanging about on a draughty deck for a full fifteen minutes. It seemed to him in this dark hour of-self-distrust an assignment at which the most silver-tongued orator might well boggle.

His ease, of course, was far more delicate than flint of Albert I’easemarch. The latter, thanks to Gertrude’s kindly counsel, had the consolation of knowing that, it the worse occurred and he* found himself unequal to the situation, he could always till in with a few “niaiianits.” No such pleasant thought came to cheer Monty. Yes. to put it in a nutshell, he had no “maMinas” Not: only had he got Io make sense, he had got to bo interesting. And not: merely interesting—absorbing, gripping, spellbinding.

(To be continued.)