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

happening on the stage, and somehow I must have given it a push with my foot.”

“I see,” said Archie, beginning to get the run of the plot. “You kicked her dog.”

“Pushed it. Accidentally. With my foot.”

“I understand. And when you brought off this kick⁠—”

“Push,” said Mr. Benham, austerely.

“This kick or push. When you administered this kick or push⁠—”

“It was more a sort of light shove.”

“Well, when you did whatever you did, the trouble started?”

Mr. Benham gave a slight shiver.

“She talked for a while, and then walked out, taking the dog with her. You see, this wasn’t the first time it had happened.”

“Good Lord! Do you spend your whole time doing that sort of thing?”

“It wasn’t me the first time. It was the stage manager. He didn’t know whose dog it was, and it came waddling on to the stage, and he gave it a sort of pat, a kind of flick⁠—”

“A slosh?”

“Not a slosh,” corrected Mr. Benham, firmly. “You might call it a tap⁠—with the promptscript. Well, we had a lot of difficulty smoothing her over that time. Still, we managed to do it, but she said that if anything of the sort occurred again she would chuck up her part.”

“She must be fond of the dog,” said Archie, for the first time feeling a touch of goodwill and sympathy towards the lady.

“She’s crazy about it. That’s what made it so awkward when I happened⁠—quite inadvertently⁠—to give it this sort of accidental shove. Well, we spent the rest of the day trying to get her on the phone at her apartment, and finally we heard that she had come here. So I took the next train, and tried to persuade her to come back. She wouldn’t listen. And that’s how matters stand.”

“Pretty rotten!” said Archie, sympathetically.

“You can bet it’s pretty rotten⁠—for me. There’s nobody else who can play the part. Like a chump, I wrote the thing specially for her. It means the play won’t be produced at all, if she doesn’t do it. So you’re my last hope!”

Archie, who was lighting a cigarette, nearly swallowed it.

“I am?”

“I thought you might persuade her. Point out to her what a lot hangs on her coming back. Jolly her along, you know the sort of thing!”

“But, my dear old friend, I tell you I don’t know her!”

Mr. Benham’s eyes opened behind their zareba of glass.

“Well, she knows you. When you came through the lobby just now she said that you were the only real human being she had ever met.”

“Well, as a matter of fact, I did take a fly out of her eye. But⁠—”

“You did? Well, then, the whole thing’s simple. All you have to do is to ask her how her eye is, and tell her she has the most beautiful eyes you ever saw, and coo a bit.”

“But, my dear old son!” The frightful programme which his friend had mapped out stunned Archie. “I simply can’t! Anything to oblige and all that sort of thing, but when it comes to cooing, distinctly Napoo!”

“Nonsense! It isn’t hard to coo.”

“You don’t understand, laddie. You’re not a married man. I mean to say, whatever you say for or against marriage⁠—personally I’m all for it and consider it a ripe egg⁠—the fact remains that it practically makes a chappie a spent force as a cooer. I don’t want to dish you in any way, old bean, but I must firmly and resolutely decline to coo.”

Mr. Benham rose and looked at his watch.

“I’ll have to be moving,” he said. “I’ve got to get back to New York and report. I’ll tell them that I haven’t been able to do anything myself, but that I’ve left the matter in good hands. I know you will do your best.”

“But, laddie!”

“Think,” said Mr. Benham, solemnly, “of all that depends on it! The other actors! The small-part people thrown out of a job! Myself⁠—but no! Perhaps you had better touch very lightly or not at all on my connection with the thing. Well, you know how to handle it. I feel I can leave it to you. Pitch it strong! Goodbye, my dear old man, and a thousand thanks. I’ll do the same for you another time.” He moved towards the door, leaving Archie transfixed. Halfway there he turned and came back. “Oh, by the way,” he said, “my lunch. Have it put on your bill, will you? I haven’t time to stay and settle. Goodbye! Goodbye!”

XIII Rallying Round Percy

It amazed Archie through the whole of a long afternoon to reflect how swiftly and unexpectedly the blue and brilliant sky of life can cloud over and with what abruptness a man who fancies that his feet are on solid ground can find himself immersed in Fate’s gumbo. He recalled, with the bitterness with which one does recall such things, that that morning he had risen from his bed without a care in the world, his happiness unruffled even by the thought that Lucille would be leaving him for a short space. He had sung in his bath. Yes, he had chirruped like a bally linnet. And now⁠—

Some men would have dismissed the unfortunate affairs of Mr. George Benham from their mind as having nothing to do with themselves, but Archie had never been made of this stern stuff. The fact that Mr. Benham, apart from being an agreeable companion with whom he had lunched occasionally in New York, had no claims upon him affected him little. He hated to see his fellow man in trouble. On the other hand, what could he do? To seek Miss Silverton out and plead with her⁠—even if he did it without cooing⁠—would undoubtedly establish an intimacy between them which, instinct told him, might tinge her manner after Lucille’s return with just that suggestion of Auld Lang Syne which makes things so awkward.

His whole being shrank from extending to Miss Silverton that inch which the female artistic temperament is so apt to turn into an ell; and when, just as he was about to go