Short Fiction P. G. Wodehouse (good books to read in english .txt) 📖

they saw you win the Great Contest for the Love-r-ly Silver Cup which they offer later in the evening. Say, that Love-r-ly Cup’s a joke. I win it on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and Mabel Francis wins it on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. It’s all perfectly fair and square, of course. It’s purely a matter of merit who wins the Love-r-ly Cup. Anybody could win it. Only somehow they don’t. And the coincidence of the fact that Mabel and I always do has kind of got on the management’s nerves, and they don’t like us to tell people we’re employed there. They prefer us to blush unseen.

“It’s a great place,” said Mr. Ferris, “and New York’s a great place. I’d like to live in New York.”

“The loss is ours. Why don’t you?”

“Some city! But dad’s dead now, and I’ve got the drugstore, you know.”

He spoke as if I ought to remember reading about it in the papers.

“And I’m making good with it, what’s more. I’ve got push and ideas. Say, I got married since I saw you last.”

“You did, did you?” I said. “Then what are you doing, may I ask, dancing on Broadway like a gay bachelor? I suppose you have left your wife at Hicks’ Corners, singing ‘Where is my wandering boy tonight’?”

“Not Hicks’ Corners. Ashley, Maine. That’s where I live. My wife comes from Rodney.⁠ ⁠… Pardon me, I’m afraid I stepped on your foot.”

“My fault,” I said; “I lost step. Well, I wonder you aren’t ashamed even to think of your wife, when you’ve left her all alone out there while you come whooping it up in New York. Haven’t you got any conscience?”

“But I haven’t left her. She’s here.”

“In New York?”

“In this restaurant. That’s her up there.”

I looked up at the balcony. There was a face hanging over the red plush rail. It looked to me as if it had some hidden sorrow. I’d noticed it before, when we were dancing around, and I had wondered what the trouble was. Now I began to see.

“Why aren’t you dancing with her and giving her a good time, then?” I said.

“Oh, she’s having a good time.”

“She doesn’t look it. She looks as if she would like to be down here, treading the measure.”

“She doesn’t dance much.”

“Don’t you have dances at Ashley?”

“It’s different at home. She dances well enough for Ashley, but⁠—well, this isn’t Ashley.”

“I see. But you’re not like that?”

He gave a kind of smirk.

“Oh, I’ve been in New York before.”

I could have bitten him, the sawn-off little rube! It made me mad. He was ashamed to dance in public with his wife⁠—didn’t think her good enough for him. So he had dumped her in a chair, given her a lemonade, and told her to be good, and then gone off to have a good time. They could have had me arrested for what I was thinking just then.

The band began to play something else.

“This is the life!” said Mr. Ferris. “Let’s do it again.”

“Let somebody else do it,” I said. “I’m tired. I’ll introduce you to some friends of mine.”

So I took him off, and whisked him on to some girls I knew at one of the tables.

“Shake hands with my friend Mr. Ferris,” I said. “He wants to show you the latest steps. He does most of them on your feet.”

I could have betted on Charlie, the Debonair Pride of Ashley. Guess what he said? He said, “This is the life!”

And I left him, and went up to the balcony.

She was leaning with her elbows on the red plush, looking down on the dancing-floor. They had just started another tune, and hubby was moving around with one of the girls I’d introduced him to. She didn’t have to prove to me that she came from the country. I knew it. She was a little bit of a thing, old-fashioned looking. She was dressed in grey, with white muslin collar and cuffs, and her hair done simple. She had a black hat.

I kind of hovered for awhile. It isn’t the best thing I do, being shy; as a general thing I’m more or less there with the nerve; but somehow I sort of hesitated to charge in.

Then I braced up, and made for the vacant chair.

“I’ll sit here, if you don’t mind,” I said.

She turned in a startled way. I could see she was wondering who I was, and what right I had there, but wasn’t certain whether it might not be city etiquette for strangers to come and dump themselves down and start chatting. “I’ve just been dancing with your husband,” I said, to ease things along.

“I saw you.”

She fixed me with a pair of big brown eyes. I took one look at them, and then I had to tell myself that it might be pleasant, and a relief to my feelings, to take something solid and heavy and drop it over the rail on to hubby, but the management wouldn’t like it. That was how I felt about him just then. The poor kid was doing everything with those eyes except crying. She looked like a dog that’s been kicked.

She looked away, and fiddled with the string of the electric light. There was a hatpin lying on the table. She picked it up, and began to dig at the red plush.

“Ah, come on sis,” I said; “tell me all about it.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You can’t fool me. Tell me your troubles.”

“I don’t know you.”

“You don’t have to know a person to tell her your troubles. I sometimes tell mine to the cat that camps out on the wall opposite my room. What did you want to leave the country for, with summer coming on?”

She didn’t answer, but I could see it coming, so I sat still and waited. And presently she seemed to make up her mind that, even if it was no business of mine, it would be a relief to talk about it.

“We’re on our honeymoon. Charlie wanted to come to New York. I