Indiscretions of Archie P. G. Wodehouse (the beach read .txt) 📖

sound of his own voice and liked exercising it on the subject of himself, had been telling Archie a few anecdotes about his professional past. From these the latter had conceived a picture of Roscoe Sherriff’s life as a prismatic thing of energy and adventure and well-paid withal⁠—just the sort of life, in fact, which he would have enjoyed leading himself. He wished that he, too, like the press agent, could go about the place “slipping things over” and “putting things across.” Daniel Brewster, he felt, would have beamed upon a son-in-law like Roscoe Sherriff.

“The more I see of America,” sighed Archie, “the more it amazes me. All you birds seem to have been doing things from the cradle upwards. I wish I could do things!”

“Well, why don’t you?”

Archie flicked the ash from his cigarette into the finger-bowl.

“Oh, I don’t know, you know,” he said, “Somehow, none of our family ever have. I don’t know why it is, but whenever a Moffam starts out to do things he infallibly makes a bloomer. There was a Moffam in the Middle Ages who had a sudden spasm of energy and set out to make a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, dressed as a wandering friar. Rum ideas they had in those days.”

“Did he get there?”

“Absolutely not! Just as he was leaving the front door his favourite hound mistook him for a tramp⁠—or a varlet, or a scurvy knave, or whatever they used to call them at that time⁠—and bit him in the fleshy part of the leg.”

“Well, at least he started.”

“Enough to make a chappie start, what?”

Roscoe Sherriff sipped his coffee thoughtfully. He was an apostle of Energy, and it seemed to him that he could make a convert of Archie and incidentally do himself a bit of good. For several days he had been, looking for someone like Archie to help him in a small matter which he had in mind.

“If you’re really keen on doing things,” he said, “there’s something you can do for me right away.”

Archie beamed. Action was what his soul demanded.

“Anything, dear boy, anything! State your case!”

“Would you have any objection to putting up a snake for me?”

“Putting up a snake?”

“Just for a day or two.”

“But how do you mean, old soul? Put him up where?”

“Wherever you live. Where do you live? The Cosmopolis, isn’t it? Of course! You married old Brewster’s daughter. I remember reading about it.”

“But, I say, laddie, I don’t want to spoil your day and disappoint you and so forth, but my jolly old father-in-law would never let me keep a snake. Why, it’s as much as I can do to make him let me stop on in the place.”

“He wouldn’t know.”

“There’s not much that goes on in the hotel that he doesn’t know,” said Archie, doubtfully.

“He mustn’t know. The whole point of the thing is that it must be a dead secret.”

Archie flicked some more ash into the finger-bowl.

“I don’t seem absolutely to have grasped the affair in all its aspects, if you know what I mean,” he said. “I mean to say⁠—in the first place⁠—why would it brighten your young existence if I entertained this snake of yours?”

“It’s not mine. It belongs to Mme. Brudowska. You’ve heard of her, of course?”

“Oh yes. She’s some sort of performing snake female in vaudeville or something, isn’t she, or something of that species or order?”

“You’re near it, but not quite right. She is the leading exponent of highbrow tragedy on any stage in the civilized world.”

“Absolutely! I remember now. My wife lugged me to see her perform one night. It all comes back to me. She had me wedged in an orchestra-stall before I knew what I was up against, and then it was too late. I remember reading in some journal or other that she had a pet snake, given her by some Russian prince or other, what?”

“That,” said Sherriff, “was the impression I intended to convey when I sent the story to the papers. I’m her press agent. As a matter of fact, I bought Peter⁠—its name’s Peter⁠—myself down on the East Side. I always believe in animals for press agent stunts. I’ve nearly always had good results. But with Her Nibs I’m handicapped. Shackled, so to speak. You might almost say my genius is stifled. Or strangled, if you prefer it.”

“Anything you say,” agreed Archie, courteously, “But how? Why is your what-d’you-call-it what’s-its-named?”

“She keeps me on a leash. She won’t let me do anything with a kick in it. If I’ve suggested one rip-snorting stunt, I’ve suggested twenty, and every time she turns them down on the ground that that sort of thing is beneath the dignity of an artist in her position. It doesn’t give a fellow a chance. So now I’ve made up my mind to do her good by stealth. I’m going to steal her snake.”

“Steal it? Pinch it, as it were?”

“Yes. Big story for the papers, you see. She’s grown very much attached to Peter. He’s her mascot. I believe she’s practically kidded herself into believing that Russian prince story. If I can sneak it away and keep it away for a day or two, she’ll do the rest. She’ll make such a fuss that the papers will be full of it.”

“I see.”

“Wow, any ordinary woman would work in with me. But not Her Nibs. She would call it cheap and degrading and a lot of other things. It’s got to be a genuine steal, and, if I’m caught at it, I lose my job. So that’s where you come in.”

“But where am I to keep the jolly old reptile?”

“Oh, anywhere. Punch a few holes in a hatbox, and make it up a shakedown inside. It’ll be company for you.”

“Something in that. My wife’s away just now and it’s a bit lonely in the evenings.”

“You’ll never be lonely with Peter around. He’s a great scout. Always merry and bright.”

“He doesn’t bite, I suppose, or sting or whatnot?”

“He may whatnot occasionally. It depends on the weather. But, outside of that, he’s