MONEY FOR NOTHING

Taranaki Daily News, 26 November 1934, Page 13

MONEY FOR NOTHING

By

P. G. Wodehouse

CHAPTER 24. John remained for a moment without speaking. He searched his mind for carefree, debonair remarks, and found it singularly short of them. “Hugo’s a splendid chap,” he contrived to say at length. “Yes—so bright!” ' “Yes.” “Nice-looking fellow.” “Yes.” “A thoroughly good chap!” “Yes.” John found that he had exhausted the subject of Hugo’s qualities. He relapsed into a grey silence, and. half thought of treading on an offensivelycheerful worm which had just appeared beside his shoe, and seemed to be asking for it. Pat stifled a little yawn. “Did you have a nice time yesterday?” f she asked carelessly. “Not so very fine,” said John. 1 1 dare say you heard that we had a burglary up at the Hall? I went off to catch the criminals, and they caught me!” “What!” • “I was fool enough to let myself be drugged, and when I woke up, I was locked in a room with bars on the windows. I only got out an hour or so ago.” “Johnnie!” . t “However, it all ended happily. „I ve got back the stuff that was stolen.” “But, Johnnie, I thought you had gone off picnicking with that Molloy girl! ’ “It may have been her idea of picnicking. She was one- of the, gang. Quite the leading spirit, I gather.” He had lowered his eyes, wondering once more whether it would not be judicious to put it across that worm after all, when an odd choking sound caused him to look Up. Pat’s mouth had opened, and she was staring at him wide-eyed. And if she had ever looked more utterly beautiful and marvellous, John could not remember the occasion. Something seemed to clutch at his throat, and the garden, seen indistinctly through a mist, danced, a few steps in a tentative sort of way, as, if it were trying out something new that had just come over from America. And then, as the mist cleared, John found that he and Pat were not, as he had supposed, alone. Standing beside him was a rugged and slightly-iinkempt person, clad in a bearskin, which had < obviously not been made to measure, in whom he recognised at once that Stone Age Ancestor of his who had given him a few words of advice the other night on the path leading to the boathouse. The Ancestor was looking at him re- , proachfully. In. appearance he was rather like Sergeant-major Flannery, and * when he spoke it was with that well-re-membered voice. . “00-er!” said’ the Ancestor, peevishly twiddling a flint axe in his powerful fingers. “Now, you see, young fellow, what’s happened or occurred,- or come about, if I may use the expression, through your not doing what I told you. Did I, or did I not, repeatedly urge and advise you to behave towards this girl in the manner which ’as been tested and proved the correct one by me and all the rest of your ancestors in the days when men were men and knew how, to .go about these matters? Now youve lost her, whereas if you’d done as I said—" . „ • “Stay!" said a quiet, saintly voice, and John perceived that another form had ranged itself beside him. “Still, maybe, it’s not too late even XIOW-* ** “No no,” said the newcomer, and John was now able to see that this was his Better Self, “I really must protest. Let us please,, be restrained and self-effac-jng. I deprecate. these counsels of violcnce!" > • “Tested and proved forrect . . inserted the Ancestor. “I’m giving mm good advice, that’s what Im doing. Im pointing out to ’im, as you may say, the proper method.” . “T consider your advice subversive to a degree,” said Better Self coldly, and I disapprove of your methods. The obviously correct thing for this young,man to do, in the circumstances in whicn he finds himself, is to accept the situation like a gentleman. This girl is engaged to another man, a good-looking bright young man, the heir to a great estate, and an excellent match—” “Mashed potatoes!” said the Stone Age Ancestor coarsely. “The ’ole thing ere, young fellow, is you just take this girl, and grab her, and ’old ’er in your arms, as the saying is, and never mind how many bright, good-looking young men she’s engaged to. ’Strbwth. When I was in me prime, you wouldnt have found me ’esitating. You do as I sayme lad,, and you won’t regret it. Just you spring smartly to attention, and grab ’er with both ’ands in a soldierly manner.” .. „ . j “Oh Johnnie, Johnnie!” said Pat, and her voice was a wail. Her eyes were bright with dismay, and her hands fluttered in a helpless swaying towards the methods of the good old days when cave-men were cave-men. John hesitated no longer. Hugo be blowed! His Better Self be blowed! Everything and everybody be blowed, except this really excellent old gentleman, who, though he might have been better tailored, was so obviously a mme of information on what a young man should know. Drawing a deep breath, and springing smartly to attention, he held out his arms in a soldierly manner, and Pat came into them hke a littlS boat sailing into a harbour after a storm. A faint, receding sigh told him that his Better Self had withdrawn discomfited, but the sigh was drowned by the triumphant approval of the Ancestor. “00-er!" boomed the Ancestor thunderU “£to this is how it feels!” said John to himself. “Oh, Johnnie!” said Pat. The garden had learned that dance now. It was simple once you got the hang of it. All you had to do, if you were a tree, was to jump up and down; while, if you were a lawn, you just went round and round. So the trees jumped up and down, and the lawn went round and round, and John stood still in the middle of it all, admiring it. “Oh, Johnnie,” said Pat. What on earth shall I do?” „ "Go on just like you are now. / “But about Hugo, I mean.” . Hugo? Hugo? John concentrated his mind. Yes, he recalled now, there had been some little difficulty about Hugo. What was it? Ah, yes! “Pat," he said, “I love you! Do you love me?” “Yes.” “Then, what on earth,” demanded John, “did you go and do a silly, thing 1 getting engaged to Hugo for. He spoke a little severely, for in some mysterious fashion all the awe. witn which this girl had inspired him for so many years lad left him His inferiority complex had gone completely. And it was due, he gathered, purely and solely to the fact that he was holding her in his arms and kissing her. At any moment during the last half-dozen years this childishly-simple remedy had been at his disposal, and he had not a * himself of it. He was astonished at nis remjssness, and his feeling of gratitude towards that Ancestor of his in the baggy bearskin, who had pointed out the way, became warmer’ than ever

“But I thought you didn’t care a bit for me,” wailed Pat, John stared. “Who, me?” “Yes.” “Didn’t, care for you?”

“Yes.” “You thought I didn't care for you?” “Well, you had promised to take me to Wenlock Edge, and you never turned up, and I found you had gone out in your car with that Molloy girl. Naturally, I thought—” “You shouldn’t have.”

“Well, I did! And so when Hugo's letter came ■ it seemed such a wonderful chance of showing you that I didn’t care. And now what am I to do? What can I say to Hugo?” It was a nuisance for John to have to detach his mind from what really mattered in life to trivialities like this absurd business of Hugo, but he supposed the thing, if only to ease Pat’s mind, would have to be given a little attention. “Hugo thinks he’s engaged to you?” “Yes.” “Well, he isn’t.”

“No.” “Then that,” said John, seeing the thing absolutely clearly, “is all we’ve got to tell him.” “You talk as if it were so simple! “So it is. What’s hard about it?” “I wish you had it to do instead of me!” “But, of course, I’ll do it,” said John. It astonished him that she should have contemplated any other course. Naturally, when the great, strong man becomes engaged to the timid, fluttering little girl, he takes over all her worries, and handles in his efficient maspulme way any problem that may be vexing her. “Would you really, Johnnie?

“Certainly.” “I don’t feel I can look him in the face.” . “You won’t miss much. Where is he’ “He tvent off in the direction of the village.” “Carmody Arms,” diagnosed John. “I’ll go and tell him at once!” And he strode down the garden with strong, masterful steps. Hugo was not in the* Carmody Arms. He was standing on the bridge over the Skirme, his elbows resting on the parapet, his eyes fixed on the flowing water. For a suitor recently accepted by—presumably—the girl of his heart, he looked oddly downcast. His eye, when he turned at the sound of his name, was the eye of a fish that has had trouble “Hallo, John, old man,” he said in a toneless voice. “I went back to Ronnie s flat to look up the trains to Budge. Are you aware, John, that this place has the rottenest train service in England? After the five-sixteen, which I’d missed,- there isn t anything till nine-twenty. And what with having all this on my mind, and getting a bit of dinner, and not keeping a proper eye on the clock, I missed that too! ’ In the end I had to take the three a.m. milk train. I won’t attempt to describe to you what a hell of a journey it was, but I got to Rudge at last, and, racing like a hare, rushed to. Pat’s house. I had a sort of idea I might intercept the postman and get him to give my letter back.” v> “He wouldn’t have done that!’ “He didn’t have to, as things turned out. Just as I got to the house, he was coming out, after delivering the letters. I think I must have gone to sleep then, standing up. At any rate I came to with a duece of a start, and I ’ was leaning against Pat's front gate, ana there was Pat, looking at me, and I said: ‘Hallo!’ and she said ‘Hallo!’ and then she said, in rather a rummy sort of voice, that she’d got my letter and read it and would be' delighted to marry me.

“And then?” “Oh, I said. ‘Thanks awfully, or words to that effect, and tooled off to the Carmody Arms to get a bit of breakfast. Which I sorely needed, old boy. Ana then I think I fell asleep again because the next thing I knew was old Judwm, the coffee-room waiter, trymg to haul my head out of the marmalade. After that I came here and stood on this bridge, thinking things over. And what I want to know from you, John, is wna, is to be done?” John reflected. n “It’s an awkward business. “Dashed awkward It’s inoperative that I oil out, and yet I dont want to break the poor girl’s heart.” “This will require extraordinarily careful handling.” “Yes.”

John reflected again. “Let me see,” he said suddenly. When did you say Pat got engaged to you. “It must have been around nine, I suppose.” “You’re sure?” , “Well, that would be the time the firs post, would be delivered, wouldnt it. ‘‘Yes, but you said you went to sle.p important. Well, look here, it was more than ten minutes ago, wasn t “Of course it was! John’s face cleared. “Then that’s all right, he said- -Because ten minutes ago'Pat got engaged breeze was blowing through the garden as John returned. It played with sunshine in Pat’s hair as she stood by the lavender hedge. “Well?” she said eagerly. “It’s all right,’ said John. “You told him?” There was a pause. The bees buzzed among the lavender. “Was he —” “Cut up?” “Yes.” . “Yes.” said John in a tow voice. But he took it like a sportsman. I left him almost cheerful. ’ . . He would have said more, but at this moment his attention was diverted by tickling sensation in his right leg. picion that one of the bees, wearying of lavender, was exploring the surface of his calf, came to John. But, .even as he raised a hand to swat the intruder Pat spoke again. “Johnnie!” "Hallo?” . “Oh, nothing. I was just thmkmgJohn’s suspicion grew. It felt like bee. He believed it was a bee. “Thinking? What about?

“You.” “Me?” “What were you thinking about me? “Only that you were the most wonderful thing in the world.”

“Pat!” “You are, you know,” said Pat, examining him gravely. “I don’t know what it is about you, and I can t imagine why I have been all these years finding it out, but you’re the dearest, sweetes, most angelic — . . “Tell me more, said John. . He took her in his arms, and time stood still“Pat!” whispered John. He was now positive that it was a bee, and almost as positive that it was merely choosing a suitable spot before stinging him. But he made no move. The moment was too sacred. After all, bee-stings were good for rheumatism! „ , The End.