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

CHAPTER XXXV

UNPLEASANTNESS IN THE SMALL HOURS

 

Jellicoe, that human encyclopaedia, consulted on the probable

movements of the enemy, deposed that Spiller, retiring at ten, would

make for Dormitory One in the same passage, where Robinson also had a

bed. The rest of the opposing forces were distributed among other and

more distant rooms. It was probable, therefore, that Dormitory One

would be the rendezvous. As to the time when an attack might be

expected, it was unlikely that it would occur before half-past eleven.

Mr. Outwood went the round of the dormitories at eleven.

 

“And touching,” said Psmith, “the matter of noise, must this business

be conducted in a subdued and sotto voce manner, or may we let

ourselves go a bit here and there?”

 

“I shouldn’t think old Outwood’s likely to hear you—he sleeps miles

away on the other side of the house. He never hears anything. We often

rag half the night and nothing happens.”

 

This appears to be a thoroughly nice, well-conducted establishment.

What would my mother say if she could see her Rupert in the midst of

these reckless youths!”

 

“All the better,” said Mike; “we don’t want anybody butting in and

stopping the show before it’s half started.”

 

“Comrade Jackson’s Berserk blood is up—I can hear it sizzling. I

quite agree these things are all very disturbing and painful, but it’s

as well to do them thoroughly when one’s once in for them. Is there

nobody else who might interfere with our gambols?”

 

“Barnes might,” said Jellicoe, “only he won’t.”

 

“Who is Barnes?”

 

“Head of the house—a rotter. He’s in a funk of Stone and Robinson;

they rag him; he’ll simply sit tight.”

 

“Then I think,” said Psmith placidly, “we may look forward to a very

pleasant evening. Shall we be moving?”

 

Mr. Outwood paid his visit at eleven, as predicted by Jellicoe,

beaming vaguely into the darkness over a candle, and disappeared

again, closing the door.

 

“How about that door?” said Mike. “Shall we leave it open for them?”

 

“Not so, but far otherwise. If it’s shut we shall hear them at it when

they come. Subject to your approval, Comrade Jackson, I have evolved

the following plan of action. I always ask myself on these occasions,

‘What would Napoleon have done?’ I think Napoleon would have sat in a

chair by his washhand-stand, which is close to the door; he would have

posted you by your washhand-stand, and he would have instructed

Comrade Jellicoe, directly he heard the door-handle turned, to give

his celebrated imitation of a dormitory breathing heavily in its

sleep. He would then–-”

 

“I tell you what,” said Mike, “how about tying a string at the top of

the steps?”

 

“Yes, Napoleon would have done that, too. Hats off to Comrade Jackson,

the man with the big brain!”

 

The floor of the dormitory was below the level of the door. There were

three steps leading down to it. Psmith lit a candle and they examined

the ground. The leg of a wardrobe and the leg of Jellicoe’s bed made

it possible for the string to be fastened in a satisfactory manner

across the lower step. Psmith surveyed the result with approval.

 

“Dashed neat!” he said. “Practically the sunken road which dished the

Cuirassiers at Waterloo. I seem to see Comrade Spiller coming one of

the finest purlers in the world’s history.”

 

“If they’ve got a candle–-”

 

“They won’t have. If they have, stand by with your water-jug and douse

it at once; then they’ll charge forward and all will be well. If they

have no candle, fling the water at a venture—fire into the brown!

Lest we forget, I’ll collar Comrade Jellicoe’s jug now and keep it

handy. A couple of sheets would also not be amiss—we will enmesh the

enemy!”

 

“Right ho!” said Mike.

 

“These humane preparations being concluded,” said Psmith, “we will

retire to our posts and wait. Comrade Jellicoe, don’t forget to

breathe like an asthmatic sheep when you hear the door opened; they

may wait at the top of the steps, listening.”

 

“You are a chap!” said Jellicoe.

 

Waiting in the dark for something to happen is always a trying

experience, especially if, as on this occasion, silence is essential.

Mike found his thoughts wandering back to the vigil he had kept with

Mr. Wain at Wrykyn on the night when Wyatt had come in through the

window and found authority sitting on his bed, waiting for him. Mike

was tired after his journey, and he had begun to doze when he was

jerked back to wakefulness by the stealthy turning of the door-handle;

the faintest rustle from Psmith’s direction followed, and a slight

giggle, succeeded by a series of deep breaths, showed that Jellicoe,

too, had heard the noise.

 

There was a creaking sound.

 

It was pitch-dark in the dormitory, but Mike could follow the invaders’

movements as clearly as if it had been broad daylight. They had opened

the door and were listening. Jellicoe’s breathing grew more asthmatic;

he was flinging himself into his part with the whole-heartedness of the

true artist.

 

The creak was followed by a sound of whispering, then another creak.

The enemy had advanced to the top step…. Another creak…. The

vanguard had reached the second step…. In another moment–-

 

CRASH!

 

And at that point the proceedings may be said to have formally opened.

 

A struggling mass bumped against Mike’s shins as he rose from his

chair; he emptied his jug on to this mass, and a yell of anguish

showed that the contents had got to the right address.

 

Then a hand grabbed his ankle and he went down, a million sparks

dancing before his eyes as a fist, flying out at a venture, caught him

on the nose.

 

Mike had not been well-disposed towards the invaders before, but now

he ran amok, hitting out right and left at random. His right missed,

but his left went home hard on some portion of somebody’s anatomy. A

kick freed his ankle and he staggered to his feet. At the same moment

a sudden increase in the general volume of noise spoke eloquently of

good work that was being put in