Mike by Pelham Grenville Wodehouse (dar e dil novel online reading .TXT) 📖

A SURPRISE FOR MR. APPLEBY

“You may not know it,” said Wyatt to Mike in the dormitory that night,

“but this is the maddest, merriest day of all the glad New Year.”

Mike could not help thinking that for himself it was the very reverse,

but he did not state his view of the case.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“Neville-Smith’s giving a meal at his place in honour of his getting

his first. I understand the preparations are on a scale of the utmost

magnificence. No expense has been spared. Ginger-beer will flow like

water. The oldest cask of lemonade has been broached; and a sardine is

roasting whole in the market-place.”

“Are you going?”

“If I can tear myself away from your delightful society. The kick-off

is fixed for eleven sharp. I am to stand underneath his window and

heave bricks till something happens. I don’t know if he keeps a dog.

If so, I shall probably get bitten to the bone.”

“When are you going to start?”

“About five minutes after Wain has been round the dormitories to see

that all’s well. That ought to be somewhere about half-past ten.”

“Don’t go getting caught.”

“I shall do my little best not to be. Rather tricky work, though,

getting back. I’ve got to climb two garden walls, and I shall probably

be so full of Malvoisie that you’ll be able to hear it swishing about

inside me. No catch steeple-chasing if you’re like that. They’ve no

thought for people’s convenience here. Now at Bradford they’ve got

studies on the ground floor, the windows looking out over the

boundless prairie. No climbing or steeple-chasing needed at all. All

you have to do is to open the window and step out. Still, we must make

the best of things. Push us over a pinch of that tooth-powder of

yours. I’ve used all mine.”

Wyatt very seldom penetrated further than his own garden on the

occasions when he roamed abroad at night. For cat-shooting the Wain

spinneys were unsurpassed. There was one particular dustbin where one

might be certain of flushing a covey any night; and the wall by the

potting-shed was a feline club-house.

But when he did wish to get out into the open country he had a special

route which he always took. He climbed down from the wall that ran

beneath the dormitory window into the garden belonging to Mr. Appleby,

the master who had the house next to Mr. Wain’s. Crossing this, he

climbed another wall, and dropped from it into a small lane which

ended in the main road leading to Wrykyn town.

This was the route which he took to-night. It was a glorious July

night, and the scent of the flowers came to him with a curious

distinctness as he let himself down from the dormitory window. At any

other time he might have made a lengthy halt, and enjoyed the scents

and small summer noises, but now he felt that it would be better not

to delay. There was a full moon, and where he stood he could be seen

distinctly from the windows of both houses. They were all dark, it is

true, but on these occasions it was best to take no risks.

He dropped cautiously into Appleby’s garden, ran lightly across it,

and was in the lane within a minute.

There he paused, dusted his trousers, which had suffered on the

two walls, and strolled meditatively in the direction of the town.

Half-past ten had just chimed from the school clock. He was in plenty

of time.

“What a night!” he said to himself, sniffing as he walked.

*

Now it happened that he was not alone in admiring the beauty of that

particular night. At ten-fifteen it had struck Mr. Appleby, looking

out of his study into the moonlit school grounds, that a pipe in the

open would make an excellent break in his night’s work. He had

acquired a slight headache as the result of correcting a batch of

examination papers, and he thought that an interval of an hour in the

open air before approaching the half-dozen or so papers which still

remained to be looked at might do him good. The window of his study

was open, but the room had got hot and stuffy. Nothing like a little

fresh air for putting him right.

For a few moments he debated the rival claims of a stroll in the

cricket-field and a seat in the garden. Then he decided on the latter.

The little gate in the railings opposite his house might not be

open, and it was a long way round to the main entrance. So he took a

deck-chair which leaned against the wall, and let himself out of the

back door.

He took up his position in the shadow of a fir-tree with his back to

the house. From here he could see the long garden. He was fond of his

garden, and spent what few moments he could spare from work and games

pottering about it. He had his views as to what the ideal garden

should be, and he hoped in time to tinker his own three acres up to

the desired standard. At present there remained much to be done. Why

not, for instance, take away those laurels at the end of the lawn, and

have a flowerbed there instead? Laurels lasted all the year round,

true, whereas flowers died and left an empty brown bed in the winter,

but then laurels were nothing much to look at at any time, and a

garden always had a beastly appearance in winter, whatever you did to

it. Much better have flowers, and get a decent show for one’s money in

summer at any rate.