The Little Warrior by P. G. Wodehouse (accelerated reader books .TXT) 📖

In these days of rapid movement, when existence has become little more than a series of shocks of varying intensity, astonishment is the shortest-lived of all the emotions. The human brain has trained itself to elasticity and recovers its balance in the presence of the unforeseen with a speed almost miraculous. The man who says ‘I am surprised!’ really means ‘I was surprised a moment ago, but now I have adjusted myself to the situation.’ There was an instant in which Jill looked at Wally and Wally at Jill with the eye of total amazement, and then, almost simultaneously, each began—the process was sub-conscious—to regard this meeting not as an isolated and inexplicable event, but as something resulting from a perfectly logical chain of circumstances. Jill perceived that the presence in the apartment of that snap-shot of herself should have prepared her for the discovery that the place belonged to someone who had known her as a child, and that there was no reason for her to be stunned by the fact that this someone was Wally Mason. Wally, on his side, knew that Jill was in New York; and had already decided, erroneously, that she had found his address in the telephone directory and was paying an ordinary call. It was, perhaps, a little unusual that she should have got into the place without ringing the front door bell and that she should be in his sitting-room in the dark, but these were minor aspects of the matter. To the main fact, that here she was, he had adjusted his mind, and, while there was surprise in his voice when he finally spoke, it was not the surprise of one who suspects himself of seeing visions.

“Hello!” he said.

“Hullo!” said Jill.

It was not a very exalted note on which to pitch the conversation, but it had the merit of giving each of them a little more time to collect themselves.

“This is … I wasn’t expecting you!” said Wally.

“I wasn’t expecting you!” said Jill.

There was another pause, in which Wally, apparently examining her last words and turning them over in his mind found that they did not square with his preconceived theories.

“You weren’t expecting me?”

“I certainly was not!”

“But … but you knew I lived here?”

Jill shook her head. Wally reflected for an instant, and then put his finger, with a happy inspiration, on the very heart of the mystery.

“Then how on earth did you get here?”

He was glad he had asked that. The sense of unreality which had come to him in the first startling moment of seeing her and vanished under the influence of logic had returned as strong as ever. If she did not know he lived in this place, how in the name of everything uncanny had she found her way here? A momentary wonder as to whether all this was not mixed up with telepathy and mental suggestion and all that sort of thing came to him. Certainly he had been thinking of her all the time since their parting at the Savoy Hotel that night three weeks and more back … No, that was absurd. There must be some sounder reason for her presence. He waited for her to give it.

Jill for the moment felt physically incapable of giving it. She shrank from the interminable explanation which confronted her as a weary traveller shrinks from a dusty, far-stretching desert. She simply could not go into all that now. So she answered with a question.

“When did you land in New York?”

“This afternoon. We were supposed to dock this morning, but the boat was late.” Wally perceived that he was pushed away from the main point, and jostled his way to it. “But what are you doing here?”

“It’s such a long story.”

Her voice was plaintive. Remorse smote Wally. It occurred to him that he had not been sufficiently sympathetic. Not a word had he said on the subject of her change of fortunes. He had just stood and gaped and asked questions. After all, what the devil did it matter how she came to be here? He had anticipated a long and tedious search for her through the labyrinth of New York, and here Fate had brought her to his very door, and all he could do was to ask why, instead of being thankful. He perceived that he was not much of a fellow.

“Never mind,” he said. “You can tell me what you feel like it.” He looked at her eagerly. Time seemed to have wiped away that little misunderstanding under the burden of which they had parted. “It’s too wonderful finding you like this!” He hesitated. “I heard about—everything,” he said awkwardly.

“My—” Jill hesitated too. “My smash?”

“Yes. Freddie Rooke told me. I was terribly sorry.”

“Thank you,” said Jill.

There was a pause. They were both thinking of that other disaster which had happened. The presence of Derek Underhill seemed to stand like an unseen phantom between them. Finally Wally spoke at random, choosing the first words that came into his head in his desire to break the silence.

“Jolly place, this, isn’t it?”

Jill perceived that an opening for those tedious explanations had been granted her.

“Uncle Chris thinks so,” she said demurely.

Wally looked puzzled.

“Uncle Chris? Oh, your uncle?”

“Yes.”

“But—he has never been here.”

“Oh, yes. He’s giving a dinner party here tonight!”

“He’s … what did you say?”

“It’s all right. I only began at the end of the story instead of the beginning. I’ll tell you the whole thing, then … then I suppose you will be terribly angry and make a fuss.”

“I’m not much of a lad, as Freddie Rooke would say, for making fusses. And I can’t imagine being terribly angry with you.”

“Well, I’ll risk it. Though, if I wasn’t a brave girl, I should leave Uncle Chris to explain for himself and simply run away.”

“Anything is better than that. It’s a miracle meeting you like this, and I don’t want to be deprived of the fruits of it. Tell me anything, but don’t go.”

“You’ll be furious.”

“Not with you.”

“I should hope not with me. I’ve done nothing. I am the innocent heroine. But I’m afraid you will be very angry with Uncle Chris.”

“If he’s your uncle, that passes him. Besides, he once licked the stuffing out of me with a whangee. That forms a bond. Tell me all.”

Jill considered. She had promised to begin at the beginning, but it was difficult to know what was the beginning.

“Have you ever heard of Captain Kidd?” she asked at length.

“You’re wandering from the point, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m not. Have you heard of Captain Kidd?”

“The pirate? Of course.”

“Well, Uncle Chris is his direct lineal descendant. That really explains the whole thing.”

Wally looked at her enquiringly.

“Could you make it a little easier?” he said.

“I can tell you everything in half a dozen words, if you like. But it will sound awfully abrupt.”

“Go ahead.”

“Uncle Chris has stolen your apartment.”

Wally nodded slowly.

“I see. Stolen my apartment.”

“Of course you can’t possibly understand. I shall have to tell you the whole thing, after all.”

Wally listened with flattering attention as she began the epic of Major Christopher Selby’s doings in New York. Whatever his emotions, he certainly was not bored.

“So that’s how it all happened,” concluded Jill.

For a moment Wally said nothing. He seemed to be digesting what he had heard.

“I see,” he said at last. “It’s a variant of those advertisements they print in the magazines. ‘Why pay rent? Own somebody else’s home!’”

“That does rather sum it up,” said Jill.

Wally burst into a roar of laughter.

“He’s a corker!”

Jill was immensely relieved. For all her courageous bearing, she had not relished the task of breaking the news to Wally. She knew that he had a sense of humor, but a man may have a sense of humor and yet not see anything amusing in having his home stolen in his absence.

“I’m so glad you’re not angry.”

“Of course not.”

“Most men would be.”

“Most men are chumps.”

“It’s so wonderful that it happened to be you. Suppose it had been an utter stranger! What could I have done?”

“It would have been the same thing. You would have won him over in two minutes. Nobody could resist you.”

“That’s very sweet of you.”

“I can’t help telling the truth. Washington was just the same.”

“Then you don’t mind Uncle Chris giving his dinner-party here tonight?”

“He has my blessing.”

“You really are an angel,” said Jill gratefully. “From what he said, I think he looks on it as rather an important function. He has invited a very rich woman, who has been showing him a lot of hospitality,—a Mrs Peagrim …”

“Mrs Waddesleigh Peagrim?”

“Yes? Why, do you know her?”

“Quite well. She goes in a good deal for being Bohemian and knowing people who write and paint and act and so on. That reminds me. I gave Freddie Rooke a letter of introduction to her.”

“Freddie Rooke!”

“Yes. He suddenly made up his mind to come over. He came to me for advice about the journey. He sailed a couple of days before I did. I suppose he’s somewhere in New York by now, unless he was going on to Florida. He didn’t tell me what his plans were.”

Jill was conscious of a sudden depression. Much as she liked Freddie, he belonged to a chapter in her life which was closed and which she was trying her hardest to forget. It was impossible to think of Freddie without thinking of Derek, and to think of Derek was like touching an exposed nerve. The news that Freddie was in New York shocked her. New York had already shown itself a city of chance encounters. Could she avoid meeting Freddie?

She knew Freddie so well. There was not a dearer or a better-hearted youth in the world, but he had not that fine sensibility which pilots a man through the awkwardnesses of life. He was a blunderer. Instinct told her that, if she met Freddie, he would talk of Derek, and, if thinking of Derek was touching an exposed nerve, talking of him would like pressing on that nerve with a heavy hand. She shivered.

Wally was observant.

“There’s no need to meet him, if you don’t want to,” he said.

“No,” said Jill doubtfully.

“New York’s a large place. By the way,” he went on, “to return once more to the interesting subject of my lodger, does your uncle sleep here at nights, do you know?”

Jill looked at him gratefully. He was no blunderer. Her desire to avoid Freddie Rooke was, he gave her tacitly to understand, her business, and he did not propose to intrude on it. She liked him for dismissing the subject so easily.

“No, I think he told me he doesn’t.”

“Well, that’s something, isn’t it! I call that darned nice of him! I wonder if I could drop back here somewhere about eleven o’clock. Are the festivities likely to be over by then? If I know Mrs Peagrim, she will insist on going off to one of the hotels to dance directly after dinner. She’s a confirmed trotter.”

“I don’t know how to apologize,” began Jill remorsefully.

“Please don’t. It’s absolutely all right.” His eye wandered to the mantelpiece, as it had done once or twice during the conversation. In her hurry Jill had replaced the snapshot with its back to the room, and Wally had the fidgety air of a man whose most cherished possession is maltreated. He got up now and, walking across, turned the photograph round. He stood for a moment, looking at it.

Jill had forgotten the snapshot. Curiosity returned to her.

“Where did you get that?” she asked.

Wally turned.

“Oh, did you see this?”

“I was looking at it just before you nearly frightened me to death by appearing so unexpectedly.”

“Freddie Rooke sold it to me fourteen years ago.”

“Fourteen years ago!”

“Next July,” added Wally. “I gave him five shillings for it.”

“Five shillings! The little brute!” cried Jill indignantly “It must have been all the money you had in the world!”

“A trifle more, as a matter of fact.