Books: The Little Nugget
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P.G. Wodehouse >> The Little Nugget
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'Well, well, well, young man,' said Sam, eyeing me affectionately,
'it's pleasant to meet you again, under happier conditions than
last time. You certainly have all the luck, sonny, or you would
have been badly hurt that night. I was getting scared how the
thing would end. Buck's a plain roughneck, and his gang are as bad
as he is, and they had got mighty sore at you, mighty sore. If
they had grabbed you, there's no knowing what might not have
happened. However, all's well that ends well, and this little game
has surely had the happy ending. I shall get that job, sonny. Old
man Ford isn't a fool, and it won't take him long, when he gets to
thinking it over, to see that I'm right. He'll hire me.'
'Aren't you rather reckoning without your partner?' I said. 'Where
does Buck MacGinnis come in on the deal?'
Sam patted my shoulder paternally.
'He doesn't, sonny, he doesn't. It was a shame to do it--it was
like taking candy from a kid--but business is business, and I was
reluctantly compelled to double-cross poor old Buck. I sneaked the
Nugget away from him next day. It's not worth talking about; it
was too easy. Buck's all right in a rough-and-tumble, but when it
comes to brains he gets left, and so he'll go on through life,
poor fellow. I hate to think of it.'
He sighed. Buck's misfortunes seemed to move him deeply.
'I shouldn't be surprised if he gave up the profession after this.
He has had enough to discourage him. I told you about what
happened to him that night, didn't I? No? I thought I did. Why,
Buck was the guy who did the Steve Brodie through the roof; and,
when we picked him up, we found he'd broken his leg again! Isn't
that enough to jar a man? I guess he'll retire from the business
after that. He isn't intended for it.'
We were approaching the two automobiles now, and, looking back, I
saw Mr and Mrs Ford walking up the drive. Sam followed my gaze,
and I heard him chuckle.
'It's all right,' he said. 'They've fixed it up. Something in the
way they're walking tells me they've fixed it up.'
Mrs Drassilis was still sitting in the red automobile, looking
piqued but resigned. Mrs Ford addressed her.
'I shall have to leave you, Mrs Drassilis,' she said. 'Tell Jarvis
to drive you wherever you want to go. I am going with my husband
to see my boy Oggie.'
She stretched out a hand towards the millionaire. He caught it in
his, and they stood there, smiling foolishly at each other, while
Sam, almost purring, brooded over them like a stout fairy queen.
The two chauffeurs looked on woodenly.
Mr Ford released his wife's hand and turned to Sam.
'Fisher.'
'Sir?'
'I've been considering your proposition. There's a string tied to
it.'
'Oh no, sir, I assure you!'
'There is. What guarantee have I that you won't double-cross me?'
Sam smiled, relieved.
'You forget that I told you I was about to be married, sir. My
wife won't let me!'
Mr Ford waved his hand towards the automobile.
'Jump in,' he said briefly, 'and tell him where to drive to.
You're engaged!'
Chapter 18
'No manners!' said Mrs Drassilis. 'None whatever. I always said
so.'
She spoke bitterly. She was following the automobile with an
offended eye as it moved down the drive.
The car rounded the corner. Sam turned and waved a farewell. Mr
and Mrs Ford, seated close together in the tonneau, did not even
look round.
Mrs Drassilis sniffed disgustedly.
'She's a friend of Cynthia's. Cynthia asked me to come down here
with her to see you. I came, to oblige her. And now, without a
word of apology, she leaves me stranded. She has no manners
whatever.'
I offered no defence of the absent one. The verdict more or less
squared with my own opinion.
'Is Cynthia back in England?' I asked, to change the subject.
'The yacht got back yesterday. Peter, I have something of the
utmost importance to speak to you about.' She glanced at Jarvis
the chauffeur, leaning back in his seat with the air, peculiar to
chauffeurs in repose, of being stuffed. 'Walk down the drive with
me.'
I helped her out of the car, and we set off in silence. There was
a suppressed excitement in my companion's manner which interested
me, and something furtive which brought back all my old dislike of
her. I could not imagine what she could have to say to me that had
brought her all these miles.
'How _do_ you come to be down here?' she said. 'When Cynthia
told me you were here, I could hardly believe her. Why are you a
master at this school? I cannot understand it!'
'What did you want to see me about?' I asked.
She hesitated. It was always an effort for her to be direct. Now,
apparently, the effort was too great. The next moment she had
rambled off on some tortuous bypath of her own, which, though it
presumably led in the end to her destination, was evidently a long
way round.
'I have known you for so many years now, Peter, and I don't know of
anybody whose character I admire more. You are so generous--quixotic
in fact. You are one of the few really unselfish men I have ever
met. You are always thinking of other people. Whatever it cost you,
I know you would not hesitate to give up anything if you felt that
it was for someone else's happiness. I do admire you so for it.
One meets so few young men nowadays who consider anybody except
themselves.'
She paused, either for breath or for fresh ideas, and I took
advantage of the lull in the rain of bouquets to repeat my
question.
'What _did_ you want to see me about?' I asked patiently.
'About Cynthia. She asked me to see you.'
'Oh!'
'You got a letter from her.'
'Yes.'
'Last night, when she came home, she told me about it, and showed
me your answer. It was a beautiful letter, Peter. I'm sure I cried
when I read it. And Cynthia did, I feel certain. Of course, to a
girl of her character that letter was final. She is so loyal, dear
child.'
'I don't understand.'
As Sam would have said, she seemed to be speaking; words appeared
to be fluttering from her; but her meaning was beyond me.
'Once she has given her promise, I am sure nothing would induce
her to break it, whatever her private feelings. She is so loyal.
She has such character.'
'Would you mind being a little clearer?' I said sharply. 'I really
don't understand what it is you are trying to tell me. What do you
mean about loyalty and character? I don't understand.'
She was not to be hustled from her bypath. She had chosen her
route, and she meant to travel by it, ignoring short-cuts.
'To Cynthia, as I say, it was final. She simply could not see that
the matter was not irrevocably settled. I thought it so fine of
her. But I am her mother, and it was my duty not to give in and
accept the situation as inevitable while there was anything I
could do for her happiness. I knew your chivalrous, unselfish
nature, Peter. I could speak to you as Cynthia could not. I could
appeal to your generosity in a way impossible, of course, for her.
I could put the whole facts of the case clearly before you.'
I snatched at the words.
'I wish you would. What are they?'
She rambled off again.
'She has such a rigid sense of duty. There is no arguing with her.
I told her that, if you knew, you would not dream of standing in
her way. You are so generous, such a true friend, that your only
thought would be for her. If her happiness depended on your
releasing her from her promise, you would not think of yourself.
So in the end I took matters into my own hands and came to see
you. I am truly sorry for you, dear Peter, but to me Cynthia's
happiness, of course, must come before everything. You do
understand, don't you?'
Gradually, as she was speaking, I had begun to grasp hesitatingly
at her meaning, hesitatingly, because the first hint of it had
stirred me to such a whirl of hope that I feared to risk the shock
of finding that, after all, I had been mistaken. If I were
right--and surely she could mean nothing else--I was free, free
with honour. But I could not live on hints. I must hear this thing
in words.
'Has--has Cynthia--' I stopped, to steady my voice. 'Has Cynthia
found--' I stopped again. I was finding it absurdly difficult to
frame my sentence. 'Is there someone else?' I concluded with a
rush.
Mrs Drassilis patted my arm sympathetically.
'Be brave, Peter!'
'There is?'
'Yes.'
The trees, the drive, the turf, the sky, the birds, the house, the
automobile, and Jarvis, the stuffed chauffeur, leaped together for
an instant in one whirling, dancing mass of which I was the
centre. And then, out of the chaos, as it separated itself once
more into its component parts, I heard my voice saying, 'Tell me.'
The world was itself again, and I was listening quietly and with a
mild interest which, try as I would, I could not make any
stronger. I had exhausted my emotion on the essential fact: the
details were an anticlimax.
'I liked him directly I saw him,' said Mrs Drassilis. 'And, of
course, as he was such a friend of yours, we naturally--'
'A friend of mine?'
'I am speaking of Lord Mountry.'
'Mountry? What about him?' Light flooded in on my numbed brain.
'You don't mean--Is it Lord Mountry?'
My manner must have misled her. She stammered in her eagerness to
dispel what she took to be my misapprehension.
'Don't think that he acted in anything but the most honourable
manner. Nothing could be farther from the truth. He knew nothing
of Cynthia's engagement to you. She told him when he asked her to
marry him, and he--as a matter of fact, it was he who insisted on
dear Cynthia writing that letter to you.'
She stopped, apparently staggered by this excursion into honesty.
'Well?'
'In fact, he dictated it.'
'Oh!'
'Unfortunately, it was quite the wrong sort of letter. It was the
very opposite of clear. It can have given you no inkling of the
real state of affairs.'
'It certainly did not.'
'He would not allow her to alter it in any way. He is very
obstinate at times, like so many shy men. And when your answer
came, you see, things were worse than before.'
'I suppose so.'
'I could see last night how unhappy they both were. And when
Cynthia suggested it, I agreed at once to come to you and tell you
everything.'
She looked at me anxiously. From her point of view, this was the
climax, the supreme moment. She hesitated. I seemed to see her
marshalling her forces, the telling sentences, the persuasive
adjectives; rallying them together for the grand assault.
But through the trees I caught a glimpse of Audrey, walking on the
lawn; and the assault was never made.
'I will write to Cynthia tonight,' I said, 'wishing her
happiness.'
'Oh, Peter!' said Mrs Drassilis.
'Don't mention it,' said I.
Doubts appeared to mar her perfect contentment.
'You are sure you can convince her?'
'Convince her?'
'And--er--Lord Mountry. He is so determined not to do anything--
er--what he would call unsportsmanlike.'
'Perhaps I had better tell her I am going to marry some one else,'
I suggested.
'I think that would be an excellent idea,' she said, brightening
visibly. 'How clever of you to have thought of it.'
She permitted herself a truism.
'After all, dear Peter, there are plenty of nice girls in the
world. You have only to look for them.'
'You're perfectly right,' I said. 'I'll start at once.'
A gleam of white caught my eye through the trees by the lawn. I
moved towards it.
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