“Hallo,” he said.
“Hallo,” I replied.
He was a smallish, freckled kid with aeroplane ears. In my Rogues Gallery of repulsive small boys I suppose he would come about third—not quite so bad as my Aunt Agatha’s son, Young Thos., or Mr Blumenfeld’s Junior.
After staring at me for a moment, he spoke.
“You’re to come to lunch.”
“Is Chuffy back, then?”
“Yes.”
Well, of course, if Chuffy had returned, I was at his disposal. I shouted over the hedge to Brinkley that I would be absent from the midday meal and climbed into the car and we rolled off.
“When did he get back?”
“Last night.”
“Shall we be lunching alone?”
“No.”
“Who’s going to be there?”
“Mother and me and some people.”
“A party? I’d better go back and put on another suit.”
“No.”
“You think this one looks all right?”
“No, I don’t. I think it looks rotten. But there isn’t time.”
Then he gave me some local gossip.
“Mother and I are living at the Hall again.”
“What!”
“Yes. There’s a smell at the Dower House.”
“Even though you’ve left it?”
He was not amused.
“You needn’t try to be funny. If you really want to know, I think it’s my mice.”
“Your what?”
“I’ve started breeding mice and puppies. And, of course, they stink a bit. Can you give me five shillings?”
“Five shillings?”
“Five shillings.”
“What do you mean, five shillings?”
“I mean five shillings.”
“But why? We were discussing mice, and you said about five shillings.”
“I want five shillings.”
“Maybe. But why should I give it to you?”
“For protection.”
“What!”
“Protection.”
“What from?”
“Just protection.”
“You don’t get any five shillings out of me.”
“Oh, all right.”
He sat silent.
“Something happens to guys that don’t give me their protection money,” he said dreamily.
And on this note of mystery the conversation concluded, for we were moving up the drive of the Hall and on the steps I perceived Chuffy standing. I went out.
“Hallo, Bertie,” said Chuffy.
“Welcome to Chuffnell Hall,” I replied. I looked round. The kid had vanished. “I say, Chuffy,” I said, “young blighted Seabury. What about him?”
“What about him?”
“Well, if you ask me, he’s just been trying to get five shillings out of me and babbling about protection.”
Chuffy laughed heartily.
“Oh, that. That’s his latest idea.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s been seeing gangster films.”
“He thinks he is a racketeer?”
“Yes. Rather amusing. He goes round collecting protection money from everybody. Makes a good profit. I’d pay up[42] if I were you. As for me, I gave him some coins.”
I was shocked. Chuffy was exhibiting this attitude of tolerance! Strange. Usually, when you meet him, he is talking about his poor financial situation. I sensed a mystery.
“How is your Aunt Myrtle?”
“She’s fine.”
“Living at the Hall now, I hear.”
“Yes.”
It was enough.
One of the things, I must mention, which have always made poor old Chuffy’s life so hard is his aunt’s attitude towards him. Seabury, you see, was not the son of Chuffy’s late uncle, the fourth Baron: she got him in the course of a former marriage. Consequently, when the fourth Baron died, it was Chuffy who inherited the title and estates. And Chuffy’s aunt would clasp Seabury in her arms and look reproachfully at Chuffy as if he had robbed her and her child. She looked like a woman who had been the victim of a swindler.
So Lady Chuffnell was not one of Chuffy’s best friends. Their relations had always been definitely strained, and when you mention her name, a look of pain comes into Chuffy’s face and he winces a little.
Now he was actually smiling. Even that remark of mine about her living at the Hall had not jarred him. Obviously, there were mysteries here.
“Chuffy,” I said, “what does this mean?”
“What does what mean?”
“This cheeriness. You can’t deceive me. Not old Wooster. What is all the happiness about?”
He hesitated.
“Can you keep a secret?”
“No.”
“Well, it doesn’t much matter, because it’ll be in the Morning Post[43] in a day or two. Bertie,” said Chuffy, in a hushed voice, “do you know what’s happened? Aunt Myrtle will leave me this season.”
“You mean somebody wants to marry her?”
“I do.”
“Who is this half-wit[44]?”
“Your old friend, Sir Roderick Glossop.”
I was stupefied.
“What!”
“I was surprised, too.”
“But old Glossop can’t marry!”
“Why not? He’s been a widower more than two years.”
“Well, I’m dashed!”
“Yes.”
“Well, there’s one thing, Chuffy, old man. This means that little Seabury will get a devilish stepfather and old Glossop is just the stepson I could have wished him!”
“You know, this Glossop is not very bad, Bertie.”
I could not accept this.
“But would you really say there was good in the old pest? Remember all the stories I’ve told you about him from time to time. They show him in a very dubious light.”
“Well, he’s doing me a bit of good, anyway. Do you know what it was he wanted to see me about so urgently that day in London?”
“What?”
“He’s found an American he thinks he can sell the Hall to.”
“Really?”
“Yes. If all goes well, I shall at last get rid of it and have a bit of money in my pocket. Thanks to Uncle Roderick, as I like to think of him. So Bertie, you must learn to love Uncle Roddie for my sake[45].”
I shook my head.
“No, Chuffy, I fear I can’t.”
“Well, go to hell, then,” said Chuffy agreeably. “Personally, I regard him as a life-saver.”
“But are you sure this thing is going to be? What would this fellow do with the Hall?”
“Oh, it is simple enough. He’s a great pal of old Glossop’s and the idea is that he will let Glossop run the house as a sort of country club for his nerve patients.”
“Why doesn’t old Glossop simply rent it from you?”
“What sort of state do you suppose the place is in these days? Most of the rooms haven’t been used for forty years. I need at least fifteen thousand to put it in repair. Besides new furniture, fittings and so on.”
“Oh, he’s a millionaire, is he?”
“Yes. All I’m worrying about is getting his signature. Well, he’s coming to lunch today, and it’s going to be a good one too. He will like it.”
“Unless he’s got dyspepsia. Many American millionaires have. This man of yours may be one of those fellows who can’t get outside more than a glass of milk and a dog biscuit[46].”
Chuffy laughed jovially.
“Not much. Not old Stoker.” He suddenly began to leap about like a lamb in the springtime. “Hallo-hallo-hallo!”
A car had drawn up at the steps. Passenger A was J. Washburn Stoker. Passenger B was his daughter, Pauline. Passenger C was his young son, Dwight[47]. And Passenger D was Sir Roderick Glossop.
4
Pauline Stoker Asks for Help
Chuffy was the genial host.
“Hallo-allo-allo! Here you all are. How are you, Mr Stoker? How are you, Sir Roderick? Hallo, Dwight. Er—good morning, Miss Stoker. May I introduce my friend, Bertie Wooster? Mr Stoker, my friend, Bertie Wooster. Dwight, my friend, Bertie Wooster. Miss Stoker, my friend, Bertie Wooster. Sir Roderick Glossop, my friend, Bertie—Oh, but you know each other already, don’t you?”
I surveyed the mob. Old Stoker was glaring at me. Old Glossop was glaring at me. Young Dwight was staring at me. Only Pauline appeared to find no awkwardness in the situation. She was as cool as an oyster on the plate. She bounded forward, full of speech, and grabbed my hand warmly.
“Well, well, well! Old Colonel Wooster in person! To find you here, Bertie! I called you up in London, but they told me you had left.”
“Yes. I came down here.”
“I see you did. Well, sir, this has certainly made my day. You’re looking fine, Bertie. Don’t you think he’s looking lovely, father?”
Old Stoker made a noise like a pig swallowing half a cabbage. Sir Roderick had turned purple.
At this moment, however, the Lady Chuffnell came out. Before I knew where I was, the whole gang had gone indoors, and I was alone with Chuffy. He was staring at me.
“I didn’t know you knew these people, Bertie.”
“I met them in New York.”
“You saw Miss Stoker there?”
“A little.”
“Only a little?”
“Quite a little.”
“I thought her manner seemed rather warm.”
“Oh, no. About normal.”
“I thought you were great friends.”
“Oh, no. She talks like that with everyone.”
“She does?”
“Oh, yes. Big-hearted, you see.”
“She has got a delightful, impulsive, generous, spontaneous, genuine nature, hasn’t she?”
“Absolutely.”
“Beautiful girl, Bertie.”
“Oh, very.”
“And charming.”
“Oh, most.”
“In fact, attractive.”
“Oh, quite.”
“I saw her in London.”
“Yes?”
“We went to the Zoo and Madame Tussaud’s[48] together.”
“Tell me,” I said, “how do the prospects look?”
“Sometimes good. Sometimes not.”
“I see.”
“Uncertain.”
“I understand.”
“This Stoker makes me nervous. He’s friendly enough as a general rule, but at any moment he may fly off. You can’t tell me if there are any special subjects to avoid when talking to him, can you?”
“Special subjects?”
“Well, you know how it is with a stranger. You say it’s a fine day, and he goes all white and tense, because you’ve reminded him that it was on a fine day that his wife eloped with the chauffeur.”
I considered.
“Well, if I were you,” I said, “I wouldn’t harp too much on the topic of B. Wooster. He doesn’t like me.”
“Why not?”
“Just one of these unreasonable antipathies. And I was thinking, old man, it might be better if I didn’t join the throng at the luncheon table. You can tell your aunt I’ve got a headache.”
“Well, I’m glad you told me. You had better go away.”
“I will.”
“And I suppose I ought to join the others.”
He went indoors, and I went down the gravel. I was glad to be alone.
I am a man who can read faces. Chuffy’s expression, as he spoke of Pauline, showed that he was in love with her. Well, if it was so, it was all right with me. As far as I was concerned, Pauline Stoker could marry anyone she liked. I could still see that she was one of the most beautiful girls I had ever met, but of the ancient fire which had caused me to bung my heart at her feet[49] there remained not a trace.
Analysing this, if analysing is the word I want, I came to the conclusion that this was due to the fact that she was so dynamic. Pauline Stoker was one of those girls who want you to come and swim a mile before breakfast.
But Chuffy is very dynamic himself. He rides, swims, shoots, chivvies foxes with loud cries. He and this P. Stoker would make the perfect pair.
So when I saw Pauline coming out of the house and going to me, I greeted her. The last thing I really wanted was to be close with this girl. The first shock of meeting her was over, but I did not like the prospect of a heart-to-heart talk.
“How perfectly extraordinary finding you here, Bertie,” she began. “What are you doing in these parts[50]?”
“I am temporarily in retirement,” I replied. “I needed a place where I could play the banjolele in solitude, and I took this cottage.”
“What cottage?”
“I’ve got a cottage down by the harbour.”
“You must have been surprised to see us.”
“I was.”
“More surprised than pleased, eh?”
“Well, of course, I’m always delighted to meet you, but when it comes to your father and old Glossop…”
“He’s not one of your greatest admirers, is he? But you saw father’s face when he noticed you. He’s convinced that I’m still in love with you.”
“You don’t mean that?”
“I do, honestly.”
“But, dash it—”
“It’s true, I tell you. He looks on himself as the stern Victorian father who has parted the young lovers and must keep them from getting together again. He does not know that you never had a happier moment in your life than when you got my letter.”
“No, I say!”
“Bertie, be honest. You were delighted.”
“I wouldn’t say that. I always esteemed you most highly.”
“You did what? Where do you pick up these expressions?”
“Well, I suppose from Jeeves, mostly. He had a fine vocabulary.”
“Where is he now?”
“He’s left me. He didn’t like me playing the banjolele. He is now with Chuffy.”
“Chuffy?”
“Lord Chuffnell.”
“Oh?”
There was a pause. She sat listening for a moment to a couple of birds who were having an argument in a nearby tree.
“Have you known Lord Chuffnell long?” she asked.
“Oh, rather.”
“You’re great friends?”
“Yes, we are.”
“Good. I hoped you were. I wanted to talk to you about him. I can confide in you, can’t I, Bertie?”
“Of course.”
“I knew I could. Tell me about Marmaduke[51].”
“I don’t think I know him.”
“Lord Chuffnell, idiot.”
“Is his name Marmaduke? Really? Well, well! What? Marmaduke!” I said, laughing heartily. “I remember he was always evasive and secretive about it at school.”
She seemed annoyed.
“It’s a beautiful name!”
I looked at her. This, I felt, must mean something. Nobody would say Marmaduke was a beautiful name wantonly and without good reason.
“Hallo!” I said. “Hallo, hallo, hallo! Hallo! You love this… ha, ha! Excuse me… this Marmaduke?”
“I’m crazy about him.”
“Good! Well, if what you say is really so, be prepared. He is deeply enamoured of you.”
She wiggled her shoulder impatiently.
“I know that, you chump. Do you think a girl can’t tell?”
I was frankly surprised.
“Well, if he loves you and you love him, I can’t understand what you want more.”
“Why, can’t you understand? He’s obviously in love about me, but he is silent.”
“He does not speak?”
“Not a syllable.”
“Well, why would—Naturally he wouldn’t say anything yet. Give the man a chance. He’s only known you five days.”
“I sometimes feel that he was a king in Babylon when I was a Christian slave.”
“What makes you think that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, you know best, of course. Very doubtful, I should have said myself. And, anyway, what do you want me to do about it?”
“Well, you’re a friend of his. You could give him a hint. You could tell him there’s no need for coldness—”
“It is not coldness. It is delicacy. We men have our code in these matters. We are gentle knights. We—”
“What utter nonsense! You asked me to marry you after you had known me two weeks.”
“Ah, but there you were dealing with one of the Wild Woosters.”
“Well, I can’t see—”
“Yes?” I said. “Proceed.”
But she was looking past me at something to the south-east; and, turning, I perceived that we were no longer alone. There, standing in an attitude of respectful courtliness, was Jeeves.
5
Bertie Takes Things in Hand
I nodded affably. I am always debonair.
“Ah, Jeeves.”
“Good afternoon, sir.”
Pauline appeared interested.
“Is this Jeeves?”
“This is Jeeves.”
“So you don’t like Mr Wooster’s banjolele?”
“No, miss.”
I preferred that this delicate matter be not discussed.
“Well, Jeeves? What is it?”
“Mr Stoker, sir. He is inquiring after Miss Stoker’s whereabouts.”
“You’d better go,” said I to Pauline.
“I suppose so. You won’t forget what I said?”
“Never,” I assured her.
She went away, and Jeeves and I were alone together in the great solitude.
“Well, Jeeves.”
“Sir?”
“I mean to say, we meet again.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I hope you’re getting on all right with Chuffy?”
“Everything is most pleasant, sir. I trust your new personal attendant is giving satisfaction?”
“Oh, quite. A wonderful fellow.”
“I am extremely gratified to hear it, sir.”
There was a pause.
“Er, Jeeves,” I said.
“Sir?”
“I should rather like, if you have a moment to spare, to split a word with you.”
“Certainly, sir.”
“I wish to canvass your views regarding old Chuffy.”
“Very good, sir.”
I hesitated no longer.
“You will agree with me that something’s got to be done about the fifth Baron.”
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
“Come, come, Jeeves. You know what I mean as well as I do.”
“Am I correct in supposing, sir, that you are alluding to his lordship’s feelings towards Miss Stoker?”
“Exactly.”
“I am, of course, aware that his lordship is experiencing for the young lady a sentiment deeper and warmer than that of ordinary friendship, sir.”
“Very well, then. Now, mark this. She, too, loves, Jeeves.”
“Indeed, sir?”
“She was telling me so when you came along. And she’s very upset, poor girl. Extremely upset. Her feminine intuition has enabled her to read his secret. She detects the lovelight in his eyes. And what is worrying her is that he does not tell his love. So, he loves her. She loves him. So what’s more? I know Chuffy. A swift performer. Yet now look at him. Why?”
“His lordship is a gentleman, sir, and he feels that he has not the right to propose marriage to a young lady as wealthy as Miss Stoker.”
“But, dash it, she isn’t very rich.”
“No, sir. Mr Stoker’s fortune amounts to as much as fifty million dollars.”
“What! You’re talking through your hat, Jeeves.”
“No, sir. I understand that that was the sum which he inherited recently under the will of the late Mr George Stoker.”