A Gentleman of Leisure P. G. Wodehouse (list of ebook readers TXT) š
- Author: P. G. Wodehouse
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Oblivious, therefore, to the storm raging a yard away from him, he smoked on with great contentment, till suddenly it struck him that, for a presumably devout lover, jilted that very night, he was displaying too little emotion. He debated swiftly within himself whether he should have a dash at manly grief, but came to the conclusion that it could not be done. Melancholy on this maddest, merriest day of all the glad New Year, the day on which he had utterly routed the powers of evil, as represented by Sir Thomas, was impossible.
āIt wouldnāt have done, donāt you know,ā he said. āWe werenāt suited. What I mean to say is, Iām a bit of a dashed sort of silly ass in some ways, if you know what I mean. A girl like Miss McEachern couldnāt have been happy with me. She wants one of those capable, energetic fellers.ā
This struck him as a good beginningā āmodest but not grovelling. He continued, tapping quite a respectably deep vein of philosophy as he spoke.
āYou see, dear old topā āI mean sirā āyou see, itās like this. As far as women are concerned, fellers are divided into two classes. Thereās the masterful, capable Johnnies and theā āerā āthe other sort. Now, Iām the other sort. My idea of the happy married life is to beā āwell, not exactly downtrodden, butā āyou know what I meanā ākind of second fiddle. I want a wifeāā āhis voice grew soft and dreamyā āāwhoāll pet me a good deal, donāt you know, stroke my hair a lot, and all that. I havenāt it in me to do the master-in-my-own-house business. For me the silent-devotion touchā āsleepinā on the mat outside her door, donāt you know, when she wasnāt feeling well, and beinā found there in the morning, and being rather cosseted for my thoughtfulness. Thatās the sort of idea. Hard to put it quite OK, but you know the sort of thing I mean. A fellerās got to realise his jolly old limitations if he wants to be happy though married; what? Now, suppose Miss McEachern was to marry me! Great Scot, sheād be bored to death in a week! Honest. She couldnāt help herself. She wants a chap with the same amount of go in him that sheās got.ā
He lit another cigarette. He was feeling pleased with himself. Never before had ideas marshalled themselves in his mind in such long and well-ordered ranks. He felt that he could go on talking like this all night. He was getting brainier every minute. He remembered reading in some book somewhere of a girl (or chappie) who had had her (or his) āhour of clear vision.ā This was precisely what had happened now. Whether it was owing to the excitement of what had taken place that night, or because he had been keeping up his thinking powers with excellent dry champagne, he did not know. All he knew was that he felt on top of his subject. He wished he had had a larger audience. āA girl like Miss McEachern,ā he resumed, ādoesnāt want any of the hair-stroking business. Sheād simply laugh at a feller if he asked for it. She needs a chappie of the Get On or Get Out typeā āsomebody in the six-cylinder class. And as a matter of fact, between ourselves, I rather think sheās found him.ā
āWhat?ā
Mr. McEachern half rose from his chair. All his old fears had come surging back.
āWhat do you mean?ā
āFact,ā said his lordship, nodding. āMind you, I donāt know for certain. As the girl says in the song, I donāt know, but I guess. What I mean to say is, they seemed jolly friendly and all thatā ācalling each other by their Christian names, and so on.ā
āWho?ā
āPitt,ā said his lordship. He was leaning back, blowing a smoke ring at the moment, so did not see the look on the otherās face and the sudden grip of his fingers on the arms of his chair. He went on with some enthusiasm.
āJimmy Pitt!ā he said. āNow, thereās a feller. Full of oats to the brim, and fairly bursting with go and energy. A girl wouldnāt have a dull moment with a chap like that. You know,ā he proceeded confidentially, āthereās a lot in this idea of affinities. Take my word for it, dear oldā āsir. Thereās a girl up in London, for instance. Now, she and I hit it off most amazingly. Thereās hardly a thing we donāt think alike about. For instance, āThe Merry Widowā didnāt make a bit of a hit with her; nor did it with me, yet look at the millions of people who raved about it. And neither of us like oysters. Weāre affinitiesā āthatās why. You see the same sort of thing all over the place. Itās a jolly queer business. Sometimes makes me believe in reā āin-whatās-its-nameā āyou know what I mean. All that in the poem, you know. How does it go? āWhen you were a tiddley-om-pom and I was a thingummajig.ā Dashed brainy bit of work. I was reading it only the other day. Well, what I mean to say is, itās my belief that Jimmy Pitt and Miss McEachern are by way of being something in that line. Doesnāt it strike you that they are just the sort to get on together? You can see it with half an eye. You canāt help liking a feller like Jimmy Pitt. Heās a sport! I wish I could tell you some of the things heās done, but I canāt, for reasons; but you can take it from me heās a sport. You ought to cultivate him. Youād like him.ā āā ā¦ Oh, dash it! thereās the music! I must be off.
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