Something New by Pelham Grenville Wodehouse (rom com books to read .TXT) 📖
- Author: Pelham Grenville Wodehouse
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Had Not Thought.
"I Don't Know," He Confessed.
"You Don't Know! Tell Me, Young Man, Are You Considered Pretty
Bright, As Englishmen Go?"
"I Am Not English. I Was Born Near Boston."
"Oh, You Were, Were You? You Blanked Bone-Headed, Bean-Eating
Boob!" Cried Mr. Peters, Frothing Over Quite Unexpectedly And
Waving His Arms In A Sudden Burst Of Fury. "Then If You Are An
American Why Don't You Show A Little More Enterprise? Why Don't
You Put Something Over? Why Do You Loaf About The Place As Though
You Were Supposed To Be An Ornament? I Want Results--And I Want
Them Quick!
"I'll Tell You How You Can Recognize My Scarab When You Get Into
The Museum. That Shameless Old Green-Goods Man Who Sneaked It
From Me Has Had The Gall, The Nerve, To Put It All By Itself,
With A Notice As Big As A Circus Poster Alongside Of It Saying
That It Is A Cheops Of The Fourth Dynasty, Presented"--Mr. Peters
Choked--"Presented By J. Preston Peters, Esquire! That's How
You're Going To Recognize It."
Ashe Did Not Laugh, But He Nearly Dislocated A Rib In His Effort
To Abstain From Doing So. It Seemed To Him That This Act On Lord
Emsworth's Part Effectually Disposed Of The Theory That Britons
Have No Sense Of Humor. To Rob A Man Of His Choicest Possession
And Then Thank Him Publicly For Letting You Have It Appealed To
Ashe As Excellent Comedy.
"The Thing Isn't Even In A Glass Case," Continued Mr. Peters.
"It's Lying On An Open Tray On Top Of A Cabinet Of Roman Coins.
Anybody Who Was Left Alone For Two Minutes In The Place Could
Take It! It's Criminal Carelessness To Leave A Valuable Scarab
Chapter 5 Pg 88About Like That. If Lord Jesse James Was Going To Steal My Cheops
He Might At Least Have Had The Decency To Treat It As Though It
Was Worth Something."
"But It Makes It Easier For Me To Get It," Said Ashe Consolingly.
"It's Got To Be Made Easy If You Are To Get It!" Snapped Mr.
Peters. "Here's Another Thing: You Say You Are Going To Try For
It Late At Night. Well, What Are You Going To Do If Anyone
Catches You Prowling Round At That Time? Have You Considered
That?"
"No."
"You Would Have To Say Something, Wouldn't You? You Wouldn't Chat
About The Weather, Would You? You Wouldn't Discuss The Latest
Play? You Would Have To Think Up Some Mighty Good Reason For
Being Out Of Bed At That Time, Wouldn't You?"
"I Suppose So."
"Oh, You Do Admit That, Do You? Well, What You Would Say Is This:
You Would Explain That I Had Rung For You To Come And Read Me To
Sleep. Do You Understand?"
"You Think That Would Be A Satisfactory Explanation Of My Being
In The Museum?"
"Idiot! I Don't Mean That You're To Say It If You're Caught
Actually In The Museum. If You're Caught In The Museum The Best
Thing You Can Do Is To Say Nothing, And Hope That The Judge Will
Let You Off Light Because It's Your First Offense. You're To Say
It If You're Found Wandering About On Your Way There."
"It Sounds Thin To Me."
"Does It? Well, Let Me Tell You That It Isn't So Thin As You
Suppose, For It's What You Will Actually Have To Do Most Nights.
Two Nights Out Of Three I Have To Be Read To Sleep. My
Indigestion Gives Me Insomnia." As Though To Push This Fact Home,
Mr. Peters Suddenly Bent Double. "Oof!" He Said. "Wow!" He
Removed The Cigar From His Mouth And Inserted A Digestive
Tabloid. "The Lining Of My Stomach Is All Wrong," He Added.
It Is Curious How Trivial Are The Immediate Causes That Produce
Revolutions. If Mr. Peters Had Worded His Complaint Differently
Ashe Would In All Probability Have Borne It Without Active
Protest. He Had Been Growing More And More Annoyed With This
Little Person Who Buzzed And Barked And Bit At Him, Yet The Idea
Of Definite Revolt Had Not Occurred To Him. But His Sufferings At
The Hands Of Beach, The Butler, Had Reduced Him To A State Where
He Could Endure No Further Mention Of Stomachic Linings. There
Comes A Time When Our Capacity For Listening To Detailed Data
About The Linings Of Other People's Stomachs Is Exhausted.
Chapter 5 Pg 89
He Looked At Mr. Peters Sternly. He Had Ceased To Be Intimidated
By The Fiery Little Man And Regarded Him Simply As A
Hypochondriac, Who Needed To Be Told A Few Useful Facts.
"How Do You Expect Not To Have Indigestion? You Take No Exercise
And You Smoke All Day Long."
The Novel Sensation Of Being Criticized--And By A Beardless Youth
At That--Held Mr. Peters Silent. He Started Convulsively, But He
Did Not Speak. Ashe, On His Pet Subject, Became Eloquent. In His
Opinion Dyspeptics Cumbered The Earth. To His Mind They Had The
Choice Between Health And Sickness, And They Deliberately Chose
The Latter.
"Your Sort Of Man Makes Me Angry. I Know Your Type Inside Out.
You Overwork And Shirk Exercise, And Let Your Temper Run Away
With You, And Smoke Strong Cigars On An Empty Stomach; And When
You Get Indigestion As A Natural Result You Look On Yourself As A
Martyr, Nourish A Perpetual Grouch, And Make The Lives Of
Everybody You Meet Miserable. If You Would Put Yourself Into My
Hands For A Month I Would Have You Eating Bricks And Thriving On
Them. Up In The Morning, Larsen Exercises, Cold Bath, A Brisk
Rubdown, Sharp Walk--"
"Who The Devil Asked Your Opinion, You Impertinent Young Hound?"
Inquired Mr. Peters.
"Don't Interrupt--Confound You!" Shouted Ashe. "Now You Have Made
Me Forget What I Was Going To Say."
There Was A Tense Silence. Then Mr. Peters Began To Speak:
"You--Infernal--Impudent--"
"Don't Talk To Me Like That!"
"I'll Talk To You Just--"
Ashe Took A Step Toward The Door. "Very Well, Then," He Said.
"I'll Quit! I'm Through! You Can Get Somebody Else To Do This Job
Of Yours For You."
The Sudden Sagging Of Mr. Peters' Jaw, The Look Of Consternation
That Flashed On His Face, Told Ashe He Had Found The Right
Weapon--That The Game Was In His Hands. He Continued With A
Feeling Of Confidence:
"If I Had Known What Being Your Valet Involved I Wouldn't Have
Undertaken The Thing For A Hundred Thousand Dollars. Just Because
You Had Some Idiotic Prejudice Against Letting Me Come Down Here
As Your Secretary, Which Would Have Been The Simple And Obvious
Thing, I Find Myself In A Position Where At Any Moment I May Be
Publicly Rebuked By The Butler And Have The Head Stillroom Maid
Chapter 5 Pg 90Looking At Me As Though I Were Something The Cat Had Brought In."
His Voice Trembled With Self-Pity.
"Do You Realize A Fraction Of The Awful Things You Have Let Me In
For? How On Earth Am I To Remember Whether I Go In Before The
Chef Or After The Third Footman? I Shan't Have A Peaceful Minute
While I'm In This Place. I've Got To Sit And Listen By The Hour
To A Bore Of A Butler Who Seems To Be A Sort Of Walking Hospital.
I've Got To Steer My Way Through A Complicated System Of
Etiquette.
"And On Top Of All That You Have The Nerve, The Insolence, To
Imagine That You Can Use Me As A Punching Bag To Work Your Bad
Temper Off! You Have The Immortal Rind To Suppose That I Will
Stand For Being Nagged And Bullied By You Whenever Your Suicidal
Way Of Living Brings On An Attack Of Indigestion! You Have The
Supreme Gall To Fancy That You Can Talk As You Please To Me!
"Very Well! I've Had Enough Of It. I Resign! If You Want This
Scarab Of Yours Recovered Let Somebody Else Do It. I've Retired
From Business."
He Took Another Step Toward The Door. A Shaking Hand Clutched At
His Sleeve.
"My Boy--My Dear Boy--Be Reasonable!"
Ashe Was Intoxicated With His Own Oratory. The Sensation Of
Bullyragging A Genuine Millionaire Was New And Exhilarating. He
Expanded His Chest And Spread His Feet Like A Colossus.
"That's All Very Well," He Said, Coldly Disentangling Himself
From The Hand. "You Can't Get Out Of It Like That. We Have Got To
Come To An Understanding. The Point Is That If I Am To Be
Subjected To Your--Your Senile Malevolence Every Time You Have A
Twinge Of Indigestion, No Amount Of Money Could Pay Me To Stop
On."
"My Dear Boy, It Shall Not Occur Again. I Was Hasty."
Mr. Peters, With Agitated Fingers, Relit The Stump Of His Cigar.
"Throw Away That Cigar!"
"My Boy!"
"Throw It Away! You Say You Were Hasty. Of Course You Were Hasty;
And As Long As You Abuse Your Digestion You Will Go On Being
Hasty. I Want Something Better Than Apologies. If I Am To Stop
Here We Must Get To The Root Of Things. You Must Put Yourself In
My Hands As Though I Were Your Doctor. No More Cigars. Every
Morning Regular Exercises."
Chapter 5 Pg 91
"No, No!"
"Very Well!"
"No; Stop! Stop! What Sort Of Exercises?"
"I'll Show You To-Morrow Morning. Brisk Walks."
"I Hate Walking."
"Cold Baths."
"No, No!"
"Very Well!"
"No; Stop! A Cold Bath Would Kill Me At My Age."
"It Would Put New Life Into You. Do You Consent To The Cold
Baths? No? Very Well!"
"Yes, Yes, Yes!"
"You Promise?"
"Yes, Yes!"
"All Right, Then."
The Distant Sound Of The Dinner Gong Floated In.
"We Settled That Just In Time," Said Ashe.
Mr. Peters Regarded Him Fixedly.
"Young Man," He Said Slowly, "If, After All This, You Fail To
Recover My Cheops For Me I'll--I'll--By George, I'll Skin You!"
"Don't Talk Like That," Said Ashe. "That's Another Thing You Have
Got To Remember. If My Treatment Is To Be Successful You
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