Piccadilly Jim P. G. Wodehouse (great book club books .TXT) 📖

thinking of it, uncle Peter. You’re always a dear. But don’t worry about me. Do just as you want to. In any case I’m quite certain that you won’t be able to get him to come over here. You can see by the paper he’s having far too good a time in London. You can call Jimmy Crockers from the vasty deep, but will they come when you call for them?”

Mrs. Pett looked at the door as it closed behind her, then at her husband.

“What do you mean, Peter, about Ann? Why wouldn’t it be pleasant for her if this Crocker boy came to live with us?”

Mr. Pett hesitated.

“Well, it’s like this, Nesta. I hope you won’t tell her I told you. She’s sensitive about it, poor girl. It all happened before you and I were married. Ann was much younger then. You know what schoolgirls are, kind of foolish and sentimental. It was my fault really, I ought to have⁠ ⁠…”

“Good Heavens, Peter! What are you trying to tell me?”

“She was only a child.⁠ ⁠…”

Mrs. Pett rose in slow horror.

“Peter! Tell me! Don’t try to break it gently.”

“Ann wrote a book of poetry and I had it published for her.”

Mrs. Pett sank back in her chair.

“Oh!” she said⁠—it would have been hard to say whether with relief or disappointment. “Whatever did you make such a fuss for? Why did you want to be so mysterious?”

“It was all my fault, really,” proceeded Mr. Pett. “I ought to have known better. All I thought of at the time was that it would please the child to see the poems in print and be able to give the book to her friends. She did give it to her friends,” he went on ruefully, “and ever since she’s been trying to live it down. I’ve seen her bite a young fellow’s head off when he tried to make a grandstand play with her by quoting her poems which he’d found in his sister’s bookshelf.”

“But, in the name of goodness, what has all this to do with young Crocker?”

“Why, it was this way. Most of the papers just gave Ann’s book a mention among ‘Volumes Received,’ or a couple of lines that didn’t amount to anything, but the Chronicle saw a Sunday feature in it, as Ann was going about a lot then and was a well-known society girl. They sent this Crocker boy to get an interview from her, all about her methods of work and inspirations and whatnot. We never suspected it wasn’t the straight goods. Why, that very evening I mailed an order for a hundred copies to be sent to me when the thing appeared. And⁠—” pinkness came upon Mr. Pett at the recollection “it was just a josh from start to finish. The young hound made a joke of the poems and what Ann had told him about her inspirations and quoted bits of the poems just to kid the life out of them.⁠ ⁠… I thought Ann would never get over it. Well, it doesn’t worry her any more⁠—she’s grown out of the schoolgirl stage⁠—but you can bet she isn’t going to get up and give three cheers and a tiger if you bring young Crocker to live in the same house.”

“Utterly ridiculous!” said Mrs. Pett. “I certainly do not intend to alter my plans because of a trivial incident that happened years ago. We will sail on Wednesday.”

“Very well, my dear,” said Mr. Pett resignedly.

“Just as you say. Er⁠—just you and I?”

“And Ogden, of course.”

Mr. Pett controlled a facial spasm with a powerful effort of the will. He had feared this.

“I wouldn’t dream of leaving him here while I went away, after what happened when poor dear Elmer sent him to school in England that time.” The late Mr. Ford had spent most of his married life either quarrelling with or separated from his wife, but since death he had been canonised as “poor dear Elmer.” “Besides, the sea voyage will do the poor darling good. He has not been looking at all well lately.”

“If Ogden’s coming, I’d like to take Ann.”

“Why?”

“She can⁠—” he sought for a euphemism.

“Keep in order” was the expression he wished to avoid. To his mind Ann was the only known antidote for Ogden, but he felt it would be impolitic to say so. “⁠—look after him on the boat,” he concluded. “You know you are a bad sailor.”

“Very well. Bring Ann⁠—Oh, Peter, that reminds me of what I wanted to say to you, which this dreadful thing in the paper drove completely out of my mind. Lord Wisbeach has asked Ann to marry him!”

Mr. Pett looked a little hurt. “She didn’t tell me.” Ann usually confided in him.

“She didn’t tell me, either. Lord Wisbeach told me. He said Ann had promised to think it over, and give him his answer later. Meanwhile, he had come to me to assure himself that I approved. I thought that so charming of him.”

Mr. Pett was frowning.

“She hasn’t accepted him?”

“Not definitely.”

“I hope she doesn’t.”

“Don’t be foolish, Peter. It would be an excellent match.”

Mr. Pett shuffled his feet.

“I don’t like him. There’s something too darned smooth about that fellow.”

“If you mean that his manners are perfect, I agree with you. I shall do all in my power to induce Ann to accept him.”

“I shouldn’t,” said Mr. Pett, with more decision than was his wont. “You know what Ann is if you try to force her to do anything. She gets her ears back and won’t budge. Her father is just the same. When we were boys together, sometimes⁠—”

“Don’t be absurd, Peter. As if I should dream of trying to force Ann to do anything.”

“We don’t know anything of this fellow. Two weeks ago we didn’t know he was on the earth.”

“What do we need to know beyond his name?”

Mr. Pett said nothing, but he was not convinced. The Lord Wisbeach under discussion was a pleasant-spoken and presentable young man who had called at Mr. Pett’s office a short while before to consult him about investing some money. He had brought a letter of introduction from