Ukridge Stories P. G. Wodehouse (jenna bush book club txt) 📖

hatbox was gone, and about six o’clock Ukridge appeared, so beaming and effervescent that I understood what had happened before he spoke. “Corky, my boy,” he said, vehemently, “this is the maddest, merriest day of all the glad New Year, and you can quote me as saying so!”

“Lady Lakenheath has given her consent?”

“Not merely given it, but bestowed it blithely, jubilantly.”

“It beats me,” I said.

“What beats you?” demanded Ukridge, sensitive to the jarring note.

“Well, I don’t want to cast any aspersions, but I should have thought the first thing she would have done would be to make searching enquiries about your financial position.”

“My financial position? What’s wrong with my financial position? I’ve got considerably over fifty quid in the bank, and I’m on the eve of making an enormous fortune out of this Peppo stuff.”

“And that satisfied Lady Lakenheath?” I said, incredulously.

Ukridge hesitated for a moment.

“Well, to be absolutely frank, laddie,” he admitted, “I have an idea that she rather supposes that in the matter of financing the venture my aunt will rally round and keep things going till I am on my feet.”

“Your aunt! But your aunt has finally and definitely disowned you.”

“Yes. To be perfectly accurate, she has. But the old lady doesn’t know that. In fact, I rather made a point of keeping it from her. You see, I found it necessary, as things turned out, to play my aunt as my ace of trumps.”

“You told me the parrot was your ace of trumps.”

“I know I did. But these things slip up at the last moment. She seethed with gratitude about the bird, but when I seized the opportunity to ask her for her blessing I was shocked to see that she put her ears back and jibbed. Got that nasty steely look in her eyes and began to talk about clandestine meetings and things being kept from her. It was an occasion for the swiftest thinking, laddie. I got an inspiration. I played up my aunt. It worked like magic. It seems the old lady has long been an admirer of her novels, and has always wanted to meet her. She went down and out for the full count the moment I introduced my aunt into the conversation, and I have had no trouble with her since.”

“Have you thought what is going to happen when they do meet? I can’t see your aunt delivering a striking testimonial to your merits.”

“That’s all right. The fact of the matter is, luck has stood by me in the most amazing way all through. It happens that my aunt is out of town. She’s down at her cottage in Sussex finishing a novel, and on Saturday she sails for America on a lecturing tour.”

“How did you find that out?”

“Another bit of luck. I ran into her new secretary, a bloke named Wassick, at the Savage smoker last Saturday. There’s no chance of their meeting. When my aunt’s finishing a novel, she won’t read letters or telegrams, so it’s no good the old lady trying to get a communication through to her. It’s Wednesday now, she sails on Saturday, she will be away six months⁠—why, damme, by the time she hears of the thing I shall be an old married man.”

It had been arranged between my employer and myself during the preliminary negotiations that I should give up my afternoons to the memoirs and that the most convenient plan would be for me to present myself at Thurloe Square daily at three o’clock. I had just settled myself on the following day in the ground-floor study when the girl Millie came in, carrying papers.

“My aunt asked me to give you these,” she said. “They are Uncle Rupert’s letters home for the year 1889.”

I looked at her with interest and something bordering on awe. This was the girl who had actually committed herself to the appalling task of going through life as Mrs. Stanley Featherstonehaugh Ukridge⁠—and, what is more, seemed to like the prospect. Of such stuff are heroines made.

“Thank you,” I said, putting the papers on the desk. “By the way, may I⁠—I hope you will⁠—What I mean is, Ukridge told me all about it. I hope you will be very happy.”

Her face fit up. She really was the most delightful girl to look at I had ever met. I could not blame Ukridge for falling in love with her.

“Thank you very much,” she said. She sat in the huge armchair, looking very small. “Stanley has been telling me what friends you and he are. He is devoted to you.”

“Great chap!” I said, heartily. I would have said anything which I thought would please her. She exercised a spell, this girl. “We were at school together.”

“I know. He is always talking about it.” She looked at me with round eyes exactly like a Persian kitten’s. “I suppose you will be his best man?” She bubbled with happy laughter. “At one time I was awfully afraid there wouldn’t be any need for a best man. Do you think it was very wrong of us to steal Aunt Elizabeth’s parrot?”

“Wrong?” I said, stoutly. “Not a bit of it. What an idea!”

“She was terribly worried,” argued the girl.

“Best thing in the world,” I assured her. “Too much peace of mind leads to premature old age.”

“All the same, I have never felt so wicked and ashamed of myself. And I know Stanley felt just like that, too.”

“I bet he did!” I agreed, effusively. Such was the magic of this Dresden china child that even her preposterous suggestion that Ukridge possessed a conscience could not shake me.

“He’s so wonderful and chivalrous and considerate.”

“The very words I should have used myself!”

“Why, to show you what a beautiful nature he has, he’s gone out now with my aunt to help her do her shopping.”

“You don’t say so!”

“Just to try to make it up to her, you see, for the anxiety we caused her.”

“It’s noble! That’s what it is. Absolutely noble!”

“And if there’s one thing in the world he loathes