Something New by Pelham Grenville Wodehouse (rom com books to read .TXT) 📖
- Author: Pelham Grenville Wodehouse
Book online «Something New by Pelham Grenville Wodehouse (rom com books to read .TXT) 📖». Author Pelham Grenville Wodehouse
It Suggested This Visit To The Museum? Did You?"
"It Was At The Young Man's Express Desire That I Conducted Him,
Sir."
The Efficient Baxter Returned To The Museum Without A Word.
Ashe, Standing In The Middle Of The Room, Was Impressing The
Topography Of The Place On His Memory. He Was Unaware Of The
Piercing Stare Of Suspicion That Was Being Directed At Him From
Behind.
He Did Not See Baxter. He Was Not Even Thinking Of Baxter; But
Baxter Was On The Alert. Baxter Was On The Warpath. Baxter Knew!
Chapter 6 Pg 108
Among The Compensations Of Advancing Age Is A Wholesome
Pessimism, Which, Though It Takes The Fine Edge Off Of Whatever
Triumphs May Come To Us, Has The Admirable Effect Of Preventing
Fate From Working Off On Us Any Of Those Gold Bricks, Coins With
Strings Attached, And Unhatched Chickens, At Which Ardent Youth
Snatches With Such Enthusiasm, To Its Subsequent Disappointment.
As We Emerge From The Twenties We Grow Into A Habit Of Mind That
Looks Askance At Fate Bearing Gifts. We Miss, Perhaps, The
Occasional Prize, But We Also Avoid Leaping Light-Heartedly Into
Traps.
Ashe Marson Had Yet To Reach The Age Of Tranquil Mistrust; And
When Fate Seemed To Be Treating Him Kindly He Was Still Young
Enough To Accept Such Kindnesses On Their Face Value And Rejoice
Chapter 6 Pg 109At Them.
As He Sat On His Bed At The End Of His First Night In Castle
Blandings, He Was Conscious To A Remarkable Degree That Fortune
Was Treating Him Well. He Had Survived--Not Merely Without
Discredit, But With Positive Triumph--The Initiatory Plunge Into
The Etiquette Maelstrom Of Life Below Stairs. So Far From Doing
The Wrong Thing And Drawing Down On Himself The Just Scorn Of The
Steward's Room, He Had Been The Life And Soul Of The Party. Even
If To-Morrow, In An Absent-Minded Fit, He Should Anticipate The
Groom Of The Chambers In The March To The Table, He Would Be
Forgiven; For The Humorist Has His Privileges.
So Much For That. But That Was Only A Part Of Fortune's
Kindnesses. To Have Discovered On The First Day Of Their
Association The Correct Method Of Handling And Reducing To
Subjection His Irascible Employer Was An Even Greater Boon. A
Prolonged Association With Mr. Peters On The Lines In Which Their
Acquaintance Had Begun Would Have Been Extremely Trying. Now, By
Virtue Of A Fortunate Stand At The Outset, He Had Spiked The
Millionaire's Guns.
Thirdly, And Most Important Of All, He Had Not Only Made Himself
Familiar With The Locality And Surroundings Of The Scarab, But He
Had Seen, Beyond The Possibility Of Doubt, That The Removal Of It
And The Earning Of The Five Thousand Dollars Would Be The
Simplest Possible Task. Already He Was Spending The Money In His
Mind. And To Such Lengths Had Optimism Led Him That, As He Sat On
His Bed Reviewing The Events Of The Day, His Only Doubt Was
Whether To Get The Scarab At Once Or To Let It Remain Where It
Was Until He Had The Opportunity Of Doing Mr. Peters' Interior
Good On The Lines He Had Mapped Out In Their Conversation; For,
Of Course, Directly He Had Restored The Scarab To Its Rightful
Owner And Pocketed The Reward, His Position As Healer And Trainer
To The Millionaire Would Cease Automatically.
He Was Sorry For That, Because It Troubled Him To Think That A
Sick Man Would Not Be Made Well; But, On The Whole, Looking At It
From Every Aspect, It Would Be Best To Get The Scarab As Soon As
Possible And Leave Mr. Peters' Digestion To Look After Itself.
Being Twenty-Six And An Optimist, He Had No Suspicion That Fate
Might Be Playing With Him; That Fate Might Have Unpleasant
Surprises In Store; That Fate Even Now Was Preparing To Smite Him
In His Hour Of Joy With That Powerful Weapon, The Efficient
Baxter.
He Looked At His Watch. It Was Five Minutes To One. He Had No
Idea Whether They Kept Early Hours At Blandings Castle Or Not,
But He Deemed It Prudent To Give The Household Another Hour In
Which To Settle Down. After Which He Would Just Trot Down And
Collect The Scarab.
The Novel He Had Brought Down With Him From London Fortunately
Proved Interesting. Two O'clock Came Before He Was Ready For It.
Chapter 6 Pg 110He Slipped The Book Into His Pocket And Opened The Door.
All Was Still--Still And Uncommonly Dark. Along The Corridor On
Which His Room Was Situated The Snores Of Sleeping Domestics
Exploded, Growled And Twittered In The Air. Every Menial On The
List Seemed To Be Snoring, Some In One Key, Some In Another, Some
Defiantly, Some Plaintively; But The Main Fact Was That They Were
All Snoring Somehow, Thus Intimating That, So Far As This Side Of
The House Was Concerned, The Coast Might Be Considered Clear And
Interruption Of His Plans A Negligible Risk.
Researches Made At An Earlier Hour Had Familiarized Him With The
Geography Of The Place. He Found His Way To The Green-Baize Door
Without Difficulty And, Stepping Through, Was In The Hall, Where
The Remains Of The Log Fire Still Glowed A Fitful Red. This,
However, Was The Only Illumination, And It Was Fortunate That He
Did Not Require Light To Guide Him To The Museum.
He Knew The Direction And Had Measured The Distance. It Was
Precisely Seventeen Steps From Where He Stood. Cautiously, And
With Avoidance Of Noise, He Began To Make The Seventeen Steps.
He Was Beginning The Eleventh When He Bumped Into Somebody--
Somebody Soft--Somebody Whose Hand, As It Touched His, Felt Small
And Feminine.
The Fragment Of A Log Fell On The Ashes And The Fire Gave A Dying
Spurt. Darkness Succeeded The Sudden Glow. The Fire Was Out.
That Little Flame Had Been Its Last Effort Before Expiring, But
It Had Been Enough To Enable Him To Recognize Joan Valentine.
"Good Lord!" He Gasped.
His Astonishment Was Short-Lived. Next Moment The Only Thing That
Surprised Him Was The Fact That He Was Not More Surprised. There
Was Something About This Girl That Made The Most Bizarre
Happenings Seem Right And Natural. Ever Since He Had Met Her His
Life Had Changed From An Orderly Succession Of Uninteresting Days
To A Strange Carnival Of The Unexpected, And Use Was Accustoming
Him To It. Life Had Taken On The Quality Of A Dream, In Which
Anything Might Happen And In Which Everything That Did Happen Was
To Be Accepted With The Calmness Natural In Dreams.
It Was Strange That She Should Be Here In The Pitch-Dark Hall In
The Middle Of The Night; But--After All--No Stranger Than That He
Should Be. In This Dream World In Which He Now Moved It Had To Be
Taken For Granted That People Did All Sorts Of Odd Things From
All Sorts Of Odd Motives.
"Hello!" He Said.
"Don't Be Alarmed."
"No, No!"
Chapter 6 Pg 111
"I Think We Are Both Here For The Same Reason."
"You Don't Mean To Say--"
"Yes; I Have Come Here To Earn The Five Thousand Dollars, Too,
Mr. Marson. We Are Rivals."
In His Present Frame Of Mind It Seemed So Simple And Intelligible
To Ashe That He Wondered Whether He Was Really Hearing It The
First Time. He Had An Odd Feeling That He Had Known This All
Along.
"You Are Here To Get The Scarab?"
"Exactly."
Ashe Was Dimly Conscious Of Some Objection To This, But At First
It Eluded Him. Then He Pinned It Down.
"But You Aren't A Young Man Of Good Appearance," He Said.
"I Don't Know What You Mean. But Aline Peters Is An Old Friend Of
Mine. She Told Me Her Father Would Give A Large Reward To Whoever
Recovered The Scarab; So I--"
"Look Out!" Whispered Ashe. "Run! There's Somebody Coming!"
There Was A Soft Footfall On The Stairs, A Click, And Above
Ashe's Head A Light Flashed Out. He Looked Round. He Was Alone,
And The Green-Baize Door Was Swaying Gently To And Fro.
"Who's That? Who's There?" Said A Voice.
The Efficient Baxter Was Coming Down The Broad Staircase.
A General Suspicion Of Mankind And A Definite And Particular
Suspicion Of One Individual Made A Bad Opiate. For Over An Hour
Sleep Had Avoided The Efficient Baxter With An Unconquerable
Coyness. He Had Tried All The Known Ways Of Wooing Slumber, But
They Had Failed Him, From The Counting Of Sheep Downward. The
Events Of The Night Had Whipped His Mind To A Restless Activity.
Try As He Might To Lose Consciousness, The Recollection Of The
Plot He Had Discovered Surged Up And Kept Him Wakeful.
It Is The Penalty Of The Suspicious Type Of Mind That It Suffers
From Its Own Activity. From The Moment He Detected Mr. Peters In
The Act Of Rifling The Museum And Marked Down Ashe As An
Accomplice, Baxter's Repose Was Doomed. Nor Poppy Nor Mandragora,
Nor All The Drowsy Sirups Of The World, Could Ever Medicine Him
To That Sweet Sleep Which He Owed Yesterday.
But It Was The Recollection That On Previous Occasions Of
Wakefulness Hot Whisky And Water Had Done The Trick, Which Had
Chapter 6 Pg 112
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