THE LUCK OF THE BODKINS

Dominion, Volume 29, Issue 102, 24 January 1936, Page 8

THE LUCK OF THE BODKINS

By

P. G. WODEHOUSE

37 Monty was gaping at her, aghast. He had never dreamed that the happiness of two lives depended on his falling in with Mr. Llewellyn’s wishes —hung, as it were, upon his whim. “You don’t mean that?” “Don’t mean what?” “When I said ‘You don’t mean that?’ 1 didn’t mean you didn’t mean it; I meant . . ■ well, what I mean to say is, this item of news has come as rather a sock on the jaw. I hadn’t an idea things were like that.” “They arc. Ambrose is as proud as the devil.” , „ T 1 “How perfectly foul for you! Why of course I’ll go to Llewellyn.”

“You will?” “Certainly. I’ve absolutely nothing on at the moment—l mean to say, no plans or anything. As a matter of fact, I was just thinking when you came up how footloose I was. Until the day before yesterday I was more o- less employed at a detective agency —the Argus—l don’t know if you have heard of it—telegraphic address, Pilgus, Piccy, London —but that was only because there were wheels within wheels. I had to have a job in order to marry Gertrude. But when Gertrude gave me the bird on that second-class promenade deck, there didn’t seem any point in carrying on, so I sent the agency crap a wireless, resigning my portfolio. Which leaves me absolutely free. I had been thinking, as I say, of going into a monastery, and I had also turned over in my mind South Sea islands, and Rocky .Mountains and what not, but I can just ai well go to Hollywood and become a production expert.” “I could kiss you!”

“Do if you like. Nothing matters now. I’ll secure a cab, shall I, and go and see this Llewellyn? ’Where do 1 find him?” “He’ll be at his office.” “Well, as soon as I’ve clocked in at my hotel ” “What hotel were you going to?” “The Piazza. Albert Peasemarch speaks well of it.” “How funny! I’m going to the Piazza, too. I’ll tell y° u ’"’hat let's do. I’ll drop you at Ikey’s and go on and engage you a room. ... Or do you millionaires like suites?” “A suite, I think.” “A suite, then. And I’ll wait in It till you come.” “Right-ho.” Lottie released Monty’s coat aud stepped back, eyeing him adoringly. “Brother Bodkin, you’re an angel!” “Oh, not at all.” “Yes, you are. You’ve saved my life. And Ambrose’s, too. And I’m sure you won’t regret it. I’ll bet you love Hollywood. What I mean, suppose this beasel ” “Not beasel.” “Suppose this Buttersplosh ” “ —wick.”

“Suppose this Bulterwick of yours has handed you your hat, what of it. Think of all the hundreds of girls you’ll meet in Hollywood!” Monty shook his head. “They will mean nothing to me. I shall always remain true to Gertrude.” “Well, there,” said . Miss Blossom, “you must use your own judgment. I’m only saying that, if you do feel like forgetting the dead past, you'll find all the facilities iu Hollywood. Hi, taxi! The Piazza.”

Ivor Llewellyn, meanwhile, a cigat in his mouth, contentment in his heart, and his hat on the side of his head, had reached the ornate premises of the corporation of which he was the honoured president. His interview with Lottie Blossom had left him ruffled, but it did not take him long to recover his spirits. There is a bracing quality about the streets of New York, and only a very dejected man can fail to be cheered and uplifted by a drive through them in an open taxi on a fine summer afternoon. Lottie and her importunities faded from Mr. Llewellyn’s mind, and while still several blocks from his destination he had begun to hum extracts from the musical scores of old S.-L. feature films. He was still humming as he got out and paid off the cab, and it was with a theme song on his lips that he entered the dear, familiar office. Ivor Llewellyn’s heart was in Southern California, but he loved his New York office, too. The sort of miniature civic welcome which motion picture corporations give returning presidents occupied a certain amount of time, but presently the last Yes-man had withdrawn aud he was alone with his thoughts again.

He could have desired no pleasanter company. At any moment now, he reflected, Reggio Tennyson would be calling to report, and the whole unpleasant affair of Grayce’s infernal necklace could be written off as finished. It was with a grunt of satisfaction that, reaching for the telephone on his desk some minutes later, he learned that a gentleman waited without, desirous of seeing him. “Send him right in,” he said, and leaned back in his chair, assembling on his face a smile of welcome.

The next moment the smile had disappeared. It was not Reggie Tennyson who stood before him, but the spy, Bodkiu. Mr. Llewellyn tilted his chair forward again, cocked his cigar at a militant angle, and looked at this Bodkin.

The difference between the way in which a motion picture magnate looks at a Customs spy when he is on an ocean liner and lias his wife’s fifty-thousaml-dollar necklace in his stateroom and the way in which he looks at him when he is in Ills office on shore and knows that the necklace is on shore too is subtle, but well-defined. In Mr. Llewellyn’s case more welldefined than subtle. He directed at Monty a glare so grim and hostile that even he was able to notice it. Preoccupied though he was with his broken heart, Monty perceived that something had wrought a change in the president of the Superba-Llewellyn. This was not the effervescent, chummy man who had buttonholed him in the .smoking-room of the R.M.S. Atlantic and complimented him so cordially on his technique in the difficult art of cigarette-lighting and whisky-drinking. The person before him looked like the bad brother of that man. lie felt a little damped. ‘‘Er—hullo,” he said tentatively. Mr. Llewellyn said: ‘‘'Well?’ “I—er—l thought I’d look in.” said Monty. Mr. Llewellyn said “Well?” again. “So—er—here I am.’ said Monty. “And what the hell,” inquired Mr. Llewellyn, “do you want here?” The question could have been more cordially worded. Even off-hand. Monty was able to think of several ways in which the speaker could have lent to it a greater suavity and polish But Hie main thing was that it had been asked, for it placed him in a position to get down to cases without further delay,.

“I’ve been thinking It over,” he said, “and I’ll sign that contract.’ Mr. Llewellyn switched his cigar across his face, starting in the lefthand corner and finishing in the righthand corner.

“Oh, yes?’ he said. “Well, I’ve been thinking it over, and you won’t sign any contracts iu my office.” “Well, where would you like me to sign it?’ asked Monty agreeably. Mr. Llewellyn’s cigar travelled back across his face, clipping a fraction of a second of its previous time. “Listen,” he said, “you can forget about contracts.” “Forget about them?”

“There ain’t going to be any contracts,” said Mr. Llewellyn, making his meaning clearer. Monty was at a loss. “I thought you said on the boat " “Never mind what I said on the boat.”

“I thought you wanted me to be a production expert.” "Well, I don’t." “You don’t want me to be a production expert?” "I don’t want you to be a dishwasher in the commissary—not the Superba-Llewellyn commissary.” Monty thought this over. He rubbed his nose. Sombre meditation had left his mind in rather a clouded state, but he was beginning to gather that the other was not in the market for his services.

“Oh?” he said. “No,” said Mr. Llewellyn. Monty scratched his chin. “I see.” “I’m glad you see.” Monty rubbed his nose, scratched his chin and. fingered his left ear. “Well, right ho,” he said. Mr. Llewellyn did not speak, merely looked at Monty as if he had been a beetle in the salad and sent his cigar off on another exercise gallop. “Well, right ho,” said Monty. “And how about Ambrose?” “Huh?” “Ambrose Tennyson.” “What about him?” . “Will you give him a job?” “Sure.” “That’s fine.” “He can go to th etop of the Empire State Building and jump off,” said Mr. Llewellyn. “I’ll pay him for his time.” “You mean you don’t want Ambrose either “I mean just that.” “I see.” Monty rubbed his nose, scratched his chin, fingered his left ear and rubbed the too of one shoe against the heel the other. “Well, in that case—er —pip-pip.” “You’ll find your way out,” said Mr. Llewellyn. “The door’s just behind you. You turn th handle.” The mechanics of getting out of the office of the president of the SuperbaLlewellyn proved to be just as simple and uncomplicated as its proprietor had stated, and Monty, though feeling ad if strong men had been hitting him on the head with eand-bags, had no difficulty in making his departure. After lie had gone, Mr. Llewellyn left his chair aud began to strut up and down the room, satisfaction iu every ripple of his chins. He felt as if he had just ground a rattlesnake under his heel, and nothing tones up the system like a brisk spell of rattlesnakegrinding. He was still strutting when Mabel Spence was announced, and not even the fact that Mabel had brought with her and proceeded immediately to submit to his attention a heavily scaled contract, drawn up by one partner iu New York’s hardest boiled legal firm and inspected and approved by two other partners, was able to take the sparkle out of his eyes aud the elasticity from his bearing. Given a choice, he would have preferred not to be compelled to commit himself so irrevocably to becoming Reginald Tennyson’s employer, but he had long since resigned himself to the fact that he wag not, given a choice. Reggie, he recognised, was the pill that went with the jam. Calmly, if not actually with a merry bonhomie, he attached his signature to the document. “Thanks,” said. Mabel, when the four witnesses on whose collaboration she had insisted had withdrawn. “Well, that fixes Reggie all right. For, though you’re a better man than most, Gunga Din, I’ll defy you to wriggle out of this one.” “Who wants to wriggle out of it?” demanded Mr. Llewellyn, with some indignation. “Oh, well, yon never know. All I’m saying is that it’s nice to feel you can’t. If ever you need good lawyers, Ikey, these are the people to go to. Most thorough and conscientious. You would have laughed at the way they kept thinking up penalty clauses. They didn’t seem able to stop. The way they had it by the time they were through, I believe Reggie’ll be able to soak you for substantial damages if you don’t give him a good-night kiss aud tuck him up in bed. Swell,” said Mabel, placing the document in her vanity-bag with a lighthearted gaiety which Mr. Llewellyn could not bring himself to share. "‘Well, Ikey, what’s the news? Seen Reggie yet?”

“No,” said Mr. Llewellyn querulously. “And I can’t think why. He ought to have been here half an hour ago.” “Oh, I know. O course. He stopped to talk to his cousin, Miss Butterwick.”

“What for? He’d no business ’’ “Well, it doesn’t matter, anyway. He got the necklace through.” “How do you know?” “I was with him when his baggage was examined, aud they let it by without a murmur.” “Where did he put the thing?” “He wouldn’t tell me. Very secretive he was.”

“Well, I wish ” His remark was interrupted by the ringing of the telephone. He took up the receiver.

“Is that Reggie?” said Mabel. Mr. Llewellyn nodded briefly. He was listening intently. Aud, as he listened, his eyes slowly protruded from his face ami his complexion took on that purple tinge which always made it so pretty to look at in times of great emotion. Presently lie began to splutter inc -berently, “What on earth is the matter, Ikey?” asked Mabel Spence in some alarm. She was not fond of her brother-in-law,

but when he showed signs of being about to perish of apoplexy in her presence she became concerned. Mr. Llewellyn replaced the receiver and sagged back in his chair. He breathed stertorously. “That was your Reggie!”

“Bless his heart!” “Blast his kidneys,” corrected Mr. Llewellyn. He spoke thickly: “Do you know what he’s done?” “Something clever?” Mr. Llewellyn quivered. His cigar, which during these moments had been clinging to his lower lip by a thread, relaxed its hold and fell into his lap. “Clever! Yes, darned clever. He says he thought and thought of the best way of getting that necklace through the Customs, and in the end he decided to put it in a brown plush Mickey Mouse belonging to that fellow Bodkiu. And Bodkin’s got it now!” (To be continued.)