The Intrusion of Jimmy by P. G. Wodehouse (if you liked this book TXT) 📖

Good-bye. Two-fifteen at Paddington. Meet you there. Take a ticket for Dreever if you're there before me."

"Eight. Good-bye."

Jimmy returned to the dining-room. Spike, who was examining as much as he could of himself in the glass, turned round with his wonted grin.

"Say, who's de gazebo, boss? Ain't he de mug youse was wit' last night?"

"That's the man. We're going down with him to the country to-day, Spike, so be ready."

"On your way, boss. What's dat?"

"He has invited us to his country house, and we're going."

"What? Bot'of us?"

"Yes. I told him you were my servant. I hope you aren't offended."

"Nit. What's dere to be raw about, boss?"

"That's all right. Well, we'd better be packing. We have to be at the station at two."

"Sure."

"And, Spike!"

"Yes, boss?"

"Did you get any other clothes besides what you've got on?"

"Nit. What do I want wit more dan one dude suit?"

"I approve of your rugged simplicity," said Jimmy, "but what you're wearing is a town suit. Excellent for the Park or the Marchioness's Thursday crush, but essentially metropolitan. You must get something else for the country, something dark and quiet. I'll come and help you choose it, now."

"Why, won't dis go in de country?"

"Not on your life, Spike. It would unsettle the rustic mind. They're fearfully particular about that sort of thing in England."

"Dey's to de bad," said the baffled disciple of Beau Brummel, with deep discontent.

"And there's just one more thing, Spike. I know you'll excuse my mentioning it. When we're at Dreever Castle, you will find yourself within reach of a good deal of silver and other things. Would it be too much to ask you to forget your professional instincts? I mentioned this before in a general sort of way, but this is a particular case."

"Ain't I to get busy at all, den?" queried Spike.

"Not so much as a salt-spoon," said Jimmy, firmly. "Now, we'll whistle a cab, and go and choose you some more clothes."

Accompanied by Spike, who came within an ace of looking almost respectable in new blue serge ("Small Gent's"—off the peg), Jimmy arrived at Paddington Station with a quarter of an hour to spare. Lord Dreever appeared ten minutes later, accompanied by a man of about Jimmy's age. He was tall and thin, with cold eyes and tight, thin lips. His clothes fitted him in the way clothes do fit one man in a thousand. They were the best part of him. His general appearance gave one the idea that his meals did him little good, and his meditations rather less. He had practically no conversation.

This was Lord Dreever's friend, Hargate. Lord Dreever made the introductions; but, even as they shook hands, Jimmy had an impression that he had seen the man before. Yet, where or in what circumstances he could not remember. Hargate appeared to have no recollection of him, so he did not mention the matter. A man who has led a wandering life often sees faces that come back to him later on, absolutely detached from their context. He might merely have passed Lord Dreever's friend on the street. But Jimmy had an idea that the other had figured in some episode which at the moment had had an importance. What that episode was had escaped him. He dismissed the thing from his mind. It was not worth harrying his memory about.

Judicious tipping secured the three a compartment to themselves. Hargate, having read the evening paper, went to sleep in the far corner. Jimmy and Lord Dreever, who sat opposite each other, fell into a desultory conversation.

After awhile, Lord Dreever's remarks took a somewhat intimate turn. Jimmy was one of those men whose manner invites confidences. His lordship began to unburden his soul of certain facts relating to the family.

"Have you ever met my Uncle Thomas?" he inquired. "You know Blunt's Stores? Well, he's Blunt. It's a company now, but he still runs it. He married my aunt. You'll meet him at Dreever."

Jimmy said he would be delighted.

"I bet you won't," said the last of the Dreevers, with candor. "He's a frightful man—the limit. Always fussing round like a hen. Gives me a fearful time, I can tell you. Look here, I don't mind telling you—we're pals—he's dead set on my marrying a rich girl."

"Well, that sounds all right. There are worse hobbies. Any particular rich girl?"

"There's always one. He sicks me on to one after another. Quite nice girls, you know, some of them; only, I want to marry somebody else, that girl you saw me with at the Savoy."

"Why don't you tell your uncle?"

"He'd have a fit. She hasn't a penny; nor have I, except what I get from him. Of course, this is strictly between ourselves."

"Of course."

"I know everybody thinks there's money attached to the title; but there isn't, not a penny. When my Aunt Julia married Sir Thomas, the whole frightful show was pretty well in pawn. So, you see how it is."

"Ever think of work?" asked Jimmy.

"Work?" said Lord Dreever, reflectively. "Well, you know, I shouldn't mind work, only I'm dashed if I can see what I could do. I shouldn't know how. Nowadays, you want a fearful specialized education, and so on. Tell you what, though, I shouldn't mind the diplomatic service. One of these days, I shall have a dash at asking my uncle to put up the money. I believe I shouldn't be half-bad at that. I'm rather a quick sort of chap at times, you know. Lots of fellows have said so."

He cleared his throat modestly, and proceeded.

"It isn't only my Uncle Thomas," he said. "There's Aunt Julia, too. She's about as much the limit as he is. I remember, when I was a kid, she was always sitting on me. She does still. Wait till you see her. Sort of woman who makes you feel that your hands are the color of tomatoes and the size of legs of mutton, if you know what I mean. And talks as if she were biting at you. Frightful!"

Having unburdened himself of these criticisms, Lord Dreever yawned, leaned back, and was presently asleep.

It was about an hour later that the train, which had been taking itself less seriously for some time, stopping at stations of quite minor importance and generally showing a tendency to dawdle, halted again. A board with the legend, "Dreever," in large letters showed that they had reached their destination.

The station-master informed Lord Dreever that her ladyship had come to meet the train in