Something New by Pelham Grenville Wodehouse (rom com books to read .TXT) 📖
- Author: Pelham Grenville Wodehouse
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Her--Quite Acid. "You--You Take Too Much For Granted."
George Was Contemplating The Landscape With A Conqueror's Eye.
"You Are Beginning To See That It Is Impossible--This Freddie
Foolishness."
"It Is Not Foolishness," Said Aline Pettishly, Tears Of Annoyance
In Her Eyes. "And I Wish You Wouldn't Call Him Freddie."
"He Asked Me To. He Asked Me To!"
Aline Stamped Her Foot.
"Well, Never Mind. Please Don't Do It."
"Very Well, Little Girl," Said George Softly. "I Wouldn't Do
Anything To Hurt You."
The Fact That It Never Even Occurred To George Emerson He Was
Being Offensively Patronizing Shows The Stern Stuff Of Which
These Supermen Are Made.
* * *
The Efficient Baxter Bicycled Broodingly To Market Blandings For
Tobacco. He Brooded For Several Reasons. He Had Just Seen Aline
Peters And George Emerson In Confidential Talk On The Upper
Terrace, And That Was One Thing Which Exercised His Mind, For He
Suspected George Emerson. He Suspected Him Nebulously As A Snake
In The Grass; As An Influence Working Against The Orderly
Progress Of Events Concerning The Marriage That Had Been Arranged
And Would Shortly Take Place Between Miss Peters And The
Honorable Frederick Threepwood.
It Would Be Too Much To Say That He Had Any Idea That George Was
Putting In Such Hard And Consistent Work In His Serpentine Role;
Indeed If He Could Have Overheard The Conversation Just Recorded
It Is Probable That Rupert Baxter Would Have Had Heart Failure;
But He Had Observed The Intimacy Between The Two As He Observed
Most Things In His Immediate Neighborhood, And He Disapproved Of
It. It Was All Very Well To Say That George Emerson Had Known
Aline Peters Since She Was A Child. If That Was So, Then In The
Opinion Of The Efficient Baxter He Had Known Her Quite Long
Enough And Ought To Start Making The Acquaintance Of Somebody
Else.
He Blamed The Honorable Freddie. If The Honorable Freddie Had
Been A More Ardent Lover He Would Have Spent His Time With Aline,
Chapter 7 Pg 126And George Emerson Would Have Taken His Proper Place As One Of
The Crowd At The Back Of The Stage. But Freddie's View Of The
Matter Seemed To Be That He Had Done All That Could Be Expected
Of A Chappie In Getting Engaged To The Girl, And That Now He
Might Consider Himself At Liberty To Drop Her For A While.
So Baxter, As He Bicycled To Market Blandings For Tobacco,
Brooded On Freddie, Aline Peters And George Emerson. He Also
Brooded On Mr. Peters And Ashe Marson. Finally He Brooded In A
General Way, Because He Had Had Very Little Sleep The Past Week.
The Spectacle Of A Young Man Doing His Duty And Enduring
Considerable Discomforts While Doing It Is Painful; But There Is
Such Uplift In It, It Affords So Excellent A Moral Picture, That
I Cannot Omit A Short Description Of The Manner In Which Rupert
Baxter Had Spent The Nights Which Had Elapsed Since His Meeting
With Ashe In The Small Hours In The Hall.
In The Gallery Which Ran Above The Hall There Was A Large Chair,
Situated A Few Paces From The Great Staircase. On This, In An
Overcoat--For The Nights Were Chilly--And Rubber-Soled Shoes, The
Efficient Baxter Had Sat, Without Missing A Single Night, From
One In The Morning Until Daybreak, Waiting, Waiting, Waiting. It
Had Been An Ordeal To Try The Stoutest Determination. Nature Had
Never Intended Baxter For A Night Bird. He Loved His Bed. He Knew
That Doctors Held That Insufficient Sleep Made A Man Pale And
Sallow, And He Had Always Aimed At The Peach-Bloom Complexion
Which Comes From A Sensible Eight Hours Between The Sheets.
One Of The King Georges Of England--I Forget Which--Once Said
That A Certain Number Of Hours' Sleep Each Night--I Cannot Recall
At The Moment How Many--Made A Man Something, Which For The Time
Being Has Slipped My Memory. Baxter Agreed With Him. It Went
Against All His Instincts To Sit Up In This Fashion; But It Was
His Duty And He Did It.
It Troubled Him That, As Night After Night Went By And Ashe, The
Suspect, Did Not Walk Into The Trap So Carefully Laid For Him, He
Found An Increasing Difficulty In Keeping Awake. The First Two Or
Three Of His Series Of Vigils He Had Passed In An Unimpeachable
Wakefulness, His Chin Resting On The Rail Of The Gallery And His
Ears Alert For The Slightest Sound; But He Had Not Been Able To
Maintain This Standard Of Excellence.
On Several Occasions He Had Caught Himself In The Act Of Dropping
Off, And The Last Night He Had Actually Wakened With A Start To
Find It Quite Light. As His Last Recollection Before That Was Of
An Inky Darkness Impenetrable To The Eye, Dismay Gripped Him With
A Sudden Clutch And He Ran Swiftly Down To The Museum. His
Relief On Finding That The Scarab Was Still There Had Been
Tempered By Thoughts Of What Might Have Been.
Baxter, Then, As He Bicycled To Market Blandings For Tobacco, Had
Good Reason To Brood. Having Bought His Tobacco And Observed The
Chapter 7 Pg 127Life And Thought Of The Town For Half An Hour--It Was Market Day
And The Normal Stagnation Of The Place Was Temporarily Relieved
And Brightened By Pigs That Eluded Their Keepers, And A Bull Calf
Which Caught A Stout Farmer At The Psychological Moment When He
Was Tying His Shoe Lace And Lifted Him Six Feet--He Made His Way
To The Emsworth Arms, The Most Respectable Of The Eleven Inns The
Citizens Of Market Blandings Contrived In Some Miraculous Way To
Support.
In English Country Towns, If The Public Houses Do Not Actually
Outnumber The Inhabitants, They All Do An Excellent Trade. It Is
Only When They Are Two To One That Hard Times Hit Them And Set
The Innkeepers To Blaming The Government.
It Was Not The Busy Bar, Full To Overflowing With Honest British
Yeomen--Many Of Them In A Similar Condition--That Baxter Sought.
His Goal Was The Genteel Dining-Room On The First Floor, Where A
Bald And Shuffling Waiter, Own Cousin To A Tortoise, Served
Luncheon To Those Desiring It. Lack Of Sleep Had Reduced Baxter
To A Condition Where The Presence And Chatter Of The House Party
Were Insupportable. It Was His Purpose To Lunch At The Emsworth
Arms And Take A Nap In An Armchair Afterward.
He Had Relied On Having The Room To Himself, For Market Blandings
Did Not Lunch To A Great Extent; But To His Annoyance And
Disappointment The Room Was Already Occupied By A Man In Brown
Tweeds.
Occupied Is The Correct Word, For At First Sight This Man Seemed
To Fill The Room. Never Since Almost Forgotten Days When He Used
To Frequent Circuses And Side Shows, Had Baxter Seen A Fellow
Human Being So Extraordinarily Obese. He Was A Man About Fifty
Years Old, Gray-Haired, Of A Mauve Complexion, And His General
Appearance Suggested Joviality.
To Baxter's Chagrin, This Person Engaged Him In Conversation
Directly He Took His Seat At The Table. There Was Only One Table
In The Room, As Is Customary In English Inns, And It Had The
Disadvantage That It Collected Those Seated At It Into One Party.
It Was Impossible For Baxter To Withdraw Into Himself And Ignore
This Person's Advances.
It Is Doubtful Whether He Could Have Done It, However, Had They
Been Separated By Yards Of Floor, For The Fat Man Was Not Only
Naturally Talkative But, As Appeared From His Opening Remarks,
Speech Had Been Dammed Up Within Him For Some Time By Lack Of A
Suitable Victim.
"Morning!" He Began; "Nice Day. Good For The Farmers. I'll Move
Up To Your End Of The Table If I May, Sir. Waiter, Bring My Beef
To This Gentleman's End Of The Table."
He Creaked Into A Chair At Baxter's Side And Resumed:
Chapter 7 Pg 128
"Infernally Quiet Place, This, Sir. I Haven't Found A Soul To
Speak To Since I Arrived Yesterday Afternoon Except Deaf-And-Dumb
Rustics. Are You Making A Long Stay Here?"
"I Live Outside The Town."
"I Pity You. Wouldn't Care To Do It Myself. Had To Come Here On
Business And Shan't Be Sorry When It's Finished. I Give You My
Word I Couldn't Sleep A Wink Last Night Because Of The Quiet. I
Was Just Dropping Off When A Beast Of A Bird Outside The Window
Gave A Chirrup, And It Brought Me Up With A Jerk As Though
Somebody Had Fired A Gun. There's A Damned Cat Somewhere Near My
Room That Mews. I Lie In Bed Waiting For The Next Mew, All Worked
Up.
"Heaven Save Me From The Country! It May Be All Right For You, If
You've Got A Comfortable Home And A Pal Or Two To Chat With After
Dinner; But You've No Conception What It's Like In This Infernal
Town--I Suppose It Calls Itself A Town. What A Hole! There's A
Church Down The Street. I'm Told It's Norman Or Something.
Anyway, It's Old. I'm Not Much Of A Man For Churches As A Rule,
But I Went And Took A Look At It.
"Then Somebody Told Me There Was A Fine View From The End Of High
Street; So I Went And Took A Look At That. And Now, So Far As I
Can Make Out, I've Done The Sights And Exhausted Every
Possibility Of Entertainment The Town Has To Provide--Unless
There's Another Church. I'm So Reduced That I'll Go And See The
Methodist Chapel, If There Is One."
Fresh Air, Want Of Sleep And The Closeness Of The Dining-Room
Combined To Make Baxter Drowsy. He Ate His Lunch In A Torpor,
Hardly Replying To His Companion's Remarks, Who, For His Part,
Did Not Seem To Wish Or To Expect Replies. It Was Enough For Him
To Be Talking.
"What Do People Do With Themselves In A Place Like This? When
They Want Amusement, I Mean. I Suppose It's Different If You've
Been Brought Up To It. Like Being Born Color-Blind Or Something.
You Don't Notice. It's The Visitor Who Suffers. They've No
Enterprise In This Sort Of Place. There's A Bit Of Land Just
Outside Here That Would Make A Sweet Steeplechase Course; Natural
Barriers; Everything. It Hasn't Occurred To 'Em To Do Anything
With It. It Makes You Despair Of Your Species--That Sort Of
Thing. Now If I--"
Baxter Dozed. With His Fork Still Impaling A Piece Of Cold Beef,
He Dropped Into That Half-Awake, Half-Asleep State Which Is
Nature's Daytime Substitute For The True Slumber Of The Night.
The Fat Man, Either Not Noticing Or Not Caring, Talked On. His
Voice Was A Steady Drone, Lulling Baxter To
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