Books: The Intrusion of Jimmy
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P. G. Wodehouse >> The Intrusion of Jimmy
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16 This Etext was prepared by Charles Franks and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team
THE INTRUSION OF JIMMY
BY
P.G. WODEHOUSE
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. JIMMY MAKES A BET
II. PYRAMUS AND THISBE
III. MR. MCEACHERN
IV. MOLLY
V. A THIEF IN THE NIGHT
VI. AN EXHIBITION PERFORMANCE
VII. GETTING ACQUAINTED
VIII. AT DREEVER
IX. FRIENDS, NEW AND OLD
X. JIMMY ADOPTS A LAME DOG
XI. AT THE TURN OF THE ROAD
XII. MAKING A START
XIII. SPIKE'S VIEWS
XIV. CHECK AND A COUNTER MOVE
XV. MR. McEACHERN INTERVENES
XVI. A MARRIAGE ARRANGED
XVII. JIMMY REMEMBERS SOMETHING
XVIII. THE LOCHINVAR METHOD
XIX. ON THE LAKE
XX. A LESSON IN PICQUET
XXI. LOATHSOME GIFTS
XXII. TWO OF A TRADE DISAGREE
XXIII. FAMILY JARS
XXIV. THE TREASURE-SEEKER
XXV. EXPLANATIONS
XXVI. STIRRING TIMES FOR SIR THOMAS
XXVII. A DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE
XXVIII. SPENNIE'S HOUR OF CLEAR VISION
XXIX. THE LAST ROUND
XXX. CONCLUSION
CHAPTER I
JIMMY MAKES A BET
The main smoking-room of the Strollers' Club had been filling for
the last half-hour, and was now nearly full. In many ways, the
Strollers', though not the most magnificent, is the pleasantest club
in New York. Its ideals are comfort without pomp; and it is given
over after eleven o'clock at night mainly to the Stage. Everybody is
young, clean-shaven, and full of conversation: and the conversation
strikes a purely professional note.
Everybody in the room on this July night had come from the theater.
Most of those present had been acting, but a certain number had been
to the opening performance of the latest better-than-Raffles play.
There had been something of a boom that season in dramas whose
heroes appealed to the public more pleasantly across the footlights
than they might have done in real life. In the play that had opened
to-night, Arthur Mifflin, an exemplary young man off the stage, had
been warmly applauded for a series of actions which, performed
anywhere except in the theater, would certainly have debarred him
from remaining a member of the Strollers' or any other club. In
faultless evening dress, with a debonair smile on his face, he had
broken open a safe, stolen bonds and jewelry to a large amount, and
escaped without a blush of shame via the window. He had foiled a
detective through four acts, and held up a band of pursuers with a
revolver. A large audience had intimated complete approval
throughout.
"It's a hit all right," said somebody through the smoke.
"These near-'Raffles' plays always are," grumbled Willett, who
played bluff fathers in musical comedy. "A few years ago, they would
have been scared to death of putting on a show with a crook as hero.
Now, it seems to me the public doesn't want anything else. Not that
they know what they DO want," he concluded, mournfully.
"The Belle of Boulogne," in which Willett sustained the role of
Cyrus K. Higgs, a Chicago millionaire, was slowly fading away on a
diet of paper, and this possibly prejudiced him.
Raikes, the character actor, changed the subject. If Willett once
got started on the wrongs of the ill-fated "Belle," general
conversation would become impossible. Willett, denouncing the
stupidity of the public, as purely a monologue artiste.
"I saw Jimmy Pitt at the show," said Raikes. Everybody displayed
interest.
"Jimmy Pitt? When did he come back? I thought he was in Italy."
"He came on the Lusitania, I suppose. She docked this morning."
"Jimmy Pitt?" said Sutton, of the Majestic Theater. "How long has he
been away? Last I saw of him was at the opening of 'The Outsider' at
the Astor. That's a couple of months ago."
"He's been traveling in Europe, I believe," said Raikes. "Lucky
beggar to be able to. I wish I could."
Sutton knocked the ash off his cigar.
"I envy Jimmy," he said. "I don't know anyone I'd rather be. He's
got much more money than any man except a professional 'plute' has
any right to. He's as strong as an ox. I shouldn't say he'd ever had
anything worse than measles in his life. He's got no relations. And
he isn't married."
Sutton, who had been married three times, spoke with some feeling.
"He's a good chap, Jimmy," said Raikes.
"Yes," said Arthur Mifflin, "yes, Jimmy is a good chap. I've known
him for years. I was at college with him. He hasn't got my
brilliance of intellect; but he has some wonderfully fine qualities.
For one thing, I should say he had put more deadbeats on their legs
again than half the men in New York put together."
"Well," growled Willett, whom the misfortunes of the Belle had
soured, "what's there in that? It's mighty easy to do the
philanthropist act when you're next door to a millionaire."
"Yes," said Mifflin warmly, "but it's not so easy when you're
getting thirty dollars a week on a newspaper. When Jimmy was a
reporter on the News, there used to be a whole crowd of fellows just
living on him. Not borrowing an occasional dollar, mind you, but
living on him--sleeping on his sofa, and staying to breakfast. It
made me mad. I used to ask him why he stood for it. He said there
was nowhere else for them to go, and he thought he could see them
through all right--which he did, though I don't see how he managed
it on thirty a week."
"If a man's fool enough to be an easy mark--" began Willett.
"Oh, cut it out!" said Raikes. "We don't want anybody knocking Jimmy
here."
"All the same," said Sutton, "it seems to me that it was mighty
lucky that he came into that money. You can't keep open house for
ever on thirty a week. By the way, Arthur, how was that? I heard it
was his uncle."
"It wasn't his uncle," said Mifflin. "It was by way of being a
romance of sorts, I believe. Fellow who had been in love with
Jimmy's mother years ago went West, made a pile, and left it to Mrs.
Pitt or her children. She had been dead some time when that
happened. Jimmy, of course, hadn't a notion of what was coming to
him, when suddenly he got a solicitor's letter asking him to call.
He rolled round, and found that there was about five hundred
thousand dollars just waiting for him to spend it."
Jimmy Pitt had now definitely ousted "Love, the Cracksman" as a
topic of conversation. Everybody present knew him. Most of them had
known him in his newspaper days; and, though every man there would
have perished rather than admit it, they were grateful to Jimmy for
being exactly the same to them now that he could sign a check for
half a million as he had been on the old thirty-a-week basis.
Inherited wealth, of course, does not make a young man nobler or
more admirable; but the young man does not always know this.
"Jimmy's had a queer life," said Mifflin. "He's been pretty much
everything in his time. Did you know he was on the stage before he
took up newspaper-work? Only on the road, I believe. He got tired of
it, and cut it out. That's always been his trouble. He wouldn't
settle down to anything. He studied law at Yale, but he never kept
it up. After he left the stage, he moved all over the States,
without a cent, picking up any odd job he could get. He was a waiter
once for a couple of days, but they fired him for breaking plates.
Then, he got a job in a jeweler's shop. I believe he's a bit of an
expert on jewels. And, another time, he made a hundred dollars by
staying three rounds against Kid Brady when the Kid was touring the
country after he got the championship away from Jimmy Garwin. The
Kid was offering a hundred to anyone who could last three rounds
with him. Jimmy did it on his head. He was the best amateur of his
weight I ever saw. The Kid wanted him to take up scrapping
seriously. But Jimmy wouldn't have stuck to anything long enough in
those days. He's one of the gypsies of the world. He was never
really happy unless he was on the move, and he doesn't seem to have
altered since he came into his money."
"Well, he can afford to keep on the move now," said Raikes. "I wish
I--"
"Did you ever hear about Jimmy and--" Mifflin was beginning, when
the Odyssey of Jimmy Pitt was interrupted by the opening of the door
and the entrance of Ulysses in person.
Jimmy Pitt was a young man of medium height, whose great breadth and
depth of chest made him look shorter than he really was. His jaw was
square, and protruded slightly; and this, combined with a certain
athletic jauntiness of carriage and a pair of piercing brown eyes
very much like those of a bull-terrier, gave him an air of
aggressiveness, which belied his character. He was not aggressive.
He had the good-nature as well as the eyes of a bull-terrier. Also,
he possessed, when stirred, all the bull-terrier's dogged
determination.
There were shouts of welcome.
"Hullo, Jimmy!"
"When did you get back?"
"Come and sit down. Plenty of room over here."
"Where is my wandering boy tonight?"
"Waiter! What's yours, Jimmy?"
Jimmy dropped into a seat, and yawned.
"Well," he said, "how goes it? Hullo, Raikes! Weren't you at 'Love,
the Cracksman'? I thought I saw you. Hullo, Arthur! Congratulate
you. You spoke your piece nicely."
"Thanks," said Mifflin. "We were just talking about you, Jimmy. You
came on the Lusitania, I suppose?"
"She didn't break the record this time," said Sutton.
A somewhat pensive look came into Jimmy's eyes.
"She came much too quick for me," he said. "I don't see why they
want to rip along at that pace," he went on, hurriedly. "I like to
have a chance of enjoying the sea-air."
"I know that sea-air," murmured Mifflin.
Jimmy looked up quickly.
"What are you babbling about, Arthur?"
"I said nothing," replied Mifflin, suavely.
"What did you think of the show tonight, Jimmy?" asked Raikes.
"I liked it. Arthur was fine. I can't make out, though, why all this
incense is being burned at the feet of the cracksman. To judge by
some of the plays they produce now, you'd think that a man had only
to be a successful burglar to become a national hero. One of these
days, we shall have Arthur playing Charles Peace to a cheering
house."
"It is the tribute," said Mifflin, "that bone-headedness pays to
brains. It takes brains to be a successful cracksman. Unless the
gray matter is surging about in your cerebrum, as in mine, you can't
hope--"
Jimmy leaned back in his chair, and spoke calmly but with decision.
"Any man of ordinary intelligence," he said, "could break into a
house."
Mifflin jumped up and began to gesticulate. This was heresy.
"My good man, what absolute--"
"_I_ could," said Jimmy, lighting a cigarette.
There was a roar of laughter and approval. For the past few weeks,
during the rehearsals of "Love, the Cracksman," Arthur Mifflin had
disturbed the peace at the Strollers' with his theories on the art
of burglary. This was his first really big part, and he had soaked
himself in it. He had read up the literature of burglary. He had
talked with men from Pinkerton's. He had expounded his views nightly
to his brother Strollers, preaching the delicacy and difficulty of
cracking a crib till his audience had rebelled. It charmed the
Strollers to find Jimmy, obviously of his own initiative and not to
be suspected of having been suborned to the task by themselves,
treading with a firm foot on the expert's favorite corn within five
minutes of their meeting.
"You!" said Arthur Mifflin, with scorn.
"I!"
"You! Why, you couldn't break into an egg unless it was a poached
one."
"What'll you bet?" said Jimmy.
The Strollers began to sit up and take notice. The magic word "bet,"
when uttered in that room, had rarely failed to add a zest to life.
They looked expectantly at Arthur Mifflin.
"Go to bed, Jimmy," said the portrayer of cracksmen. "I'll come with
you and tuck you in. A nice, strong cup of tea in the morning, and
you won't know there has ever been anything the matter with you."
A howl of disapproval rose from the company. Indignant voices
accused Arthur Mifflin of having a yellow streak. Encouraging voices
urged him not to be a quitter.
"See! They scorn you," said Jimmy. "And rightly. Be a man, Arthur.
What'll you bet?"
Mr. Mifflin regarded him with pity.
"You don't know what you're up against, Jimmy," he said. "You're
half a century behind the times. You have an idea that all a burglar
needs is a mask, a blue chin, and a dark lantern. I tell you he
requires a highly specialized education. I've been talking to these
detective fellows, and I know. Now, take your case, you worm. Have
you a thorough knowledge of chemistry, physics, toxicology--"
"Sure."
"--electricity and microscopy?"
"You have discovered my secret."
"Can you use an oxy-acetylene blow-pipe?"
"I never travel without one."
"What do you know about the administration of anaesthetics?"
"Practically everything. It is one of my favorite hobbies."
"Can you make 'soup'?"
"Soup?"
"Soup," said Mr. Mifflin, firmly.
Jimmy raised his eyebrows.
"Does an architect make bricks?" he said. "I leave the rough
preliminary work to my corps of assistants. They make my soup."
"You mustn't think Jimmy's one of your common yeggs," said Sutton.
"He's at the top of his profession. That's how he made his money. I
never did believe that legacy story."
"Jimmy," said Mr. Mifflin, "couldn't crack a child's money-box.
Jimmy couldn't open a sardine-tin."
Jimmy shrugged his shoulders.
"What'll you bet?" he said again. "Come on, Arthur; you're earning a
very good salary. What'll you bet?"
"Make it a dinner for all present," suggested Raikes, a canny person
who believed in turning the wayside happenings of life, when
possible, to his personal profit.
The suggestion was well received.
"All right," said Mifflin. "How many of us are there? One, two,
three, four--Loser buys a dinner for twelve."
"A good dinner," interpolated Raikes, softly.
"A good dinner," said Jimmy. "Very well. How long do you give me,
Arthur?"
"How long do you want?"
"There ought to be a time-limit," said Raikes. "It seems to me that
a flyer like Jimmy ought to be able to manage it at short notice.
Why not tonight? Nice, fine night. If Jimmy doesn't crack a crib
tonight, it's up to him. That suit you, Jimmy?"
"Perfectly."
Willett interposed. Willett had been endeavoring to drown his
sorrows all the evening, and the fact was a little noticeable in his
speech.
"See here," he said, "how's J-Jimmy going to prove he's done it?"
"Personally, I can take his word," said Mifflin.
"That be h-hanged for a tale. Wha-what's to prevent him saying he's
done it, whether he has or not?"
The Strollers looked uncomfortable. Nevertheless, it was Jimmy's
affair.
"Why, you'd get your dinner in any case," said Jimmy. "A dinner from
any host would smell as sweet."
Willett persisted with muddled obstinacy.
"Thash--thash not point. It's principle of thing. Have thish thing
square and 'bove board, _I_ say. Thash what _I_ say."
"And very creditable to you being able to say it," said Jimmy,
cordially. "See if you can manage 'Truly rural'."
"What _I_ say is--this! Jimmy's a fakir. And what I say is what's
prevent him saying he's done it when hasn't done it?"
"That'll be all right," said Jimmy. "I'm going to bury a brass tube
with the Stars and Stripes in it under the carpet."
Willett waved his hand.
"Thash quite sh'factory," he said, with dignity. "Nothing more to
say."
"Or a better idea," said Jimmy. "I'll carve a big J on the inside of
the front door. Then, anybody who likes can make inquiries next day.
Well, I'm off home. Glad it's all settled. Anybody coming my way?"
"Yes," said Arthur Mifflin. "We'll walk. First nights always make me
as jumpy as a cat. If I don't walk my legs off, I shan't get to
sleep tonight at all."
"If you think I'm going to help you walk your legs off, my lad,
you're mistaken. I propose to stroll gently home, and go to bed."
"Every little helps," said Mifflin. "Come along."
"You want to keep an eye on Jimmy, Arthur," said Sutton. "He'll
sand-bag you, and lift your watch as soon as look at you. I believe
he's Arsene Lupin in disguise."
CHAPTER II
PYRAMUS AND THISBE
The two men turned up the street. They walked in silence. Arthur
Mifflin was going over in his mind such outstanding events of the
evening as he remembered--the nervousness, the relief of finding
that he was gripping his audience, the growing conviction that he
had made good; while Jimmy seemed to be thinking his own private
thoughts. They had gone some distance before either spoke.
"Who is she, Jimmy?" asked Mifflin.
Jimmy came out of his thoughts with a start.
"What's that?"
"Who is she?"
"I don't know what you mean."
"Yes, you do! The sea air. Who is she?"
"I don't know," said Jimmy, simply.
"You don't know? Well, what's her name?"
"I don't know."
"Doesn't the Lusitania still print a passenger-list?"
"She does."
"And you couldn't find out her name in five days?"
"No."
"And that's the man who thinks he can burgle a house!" said Mifflin,
despairingly.
They had arrived now at the building on the second floor of which
was Jimmy's flat.
"Coming in?" said Jimmy.
"Well, I was rather thinking of pushing on as far as the Park. I
tell you, I feel all on wires."
"Come in, and smoke a cigar. You've got all night before you if you
want to do Marathons. I haven't seen you for a couple of months. I
want you to tell me all the news."
"There isn't any. Nothing happens in New York. The papers say things
do, but they don't. However, I'll come in. It seems to me that
you're the man with the news."
Jimmy fumbled with his latch-key.
"You're a bright sort of burglar," said Mifflin, disparagingly. "Why
don't you use your oxy-acetylene blow-pipe? Do you realize, my boy,
that you've let yourself in for buying a dinner for twelve hungry
men next week? In the cold light of the morning, when reason returns
to her throne, that'll come home to you."
"I haven't done anything of the sort," said Jimmy, unlocking the
door.
"Don't tell me you really mean to try it."
"What else did you think I was going to do?"
"But you can't. You would get caught for a certainty. And what are
you going to do then? Say it was all a joke? Suppose they fill you
full of bullet-holes! Nice sort of fool you'll look, appealing to
some outraged householder's sense of humor, while he pumps you full
of lead with a Colt."
"These are the risks of the profession. You ought to know that,
Arthur. Think what you went through tonight."
Arthur Mifflin looked at his friend with some uneasiness. He knew
how very reckless Jimmy could be when he had set his mind on
accomplishing anything, since, under the stimulus of a challenge, he
ceased to be a reasoning being, amenable to argument. And, in the
present case, he knew that Willett's words had driven the challenge
home. Jimmy was not the man to sit still under the charge of being a
fakir, no matter whether his accuser had been sober or drunk.
Jimmy, meanwhile, had produced whiskey and cigars. Now, he was lying
on his back on the lounge, blowing smoke-rings at the ceiling.
"Well?" said Arthur Mifflin, at length.
"Well, what?"
"What I meant was, is this silence to be permanent, or are you going
to begin shortly to amuse, elevate, and instruct? Something's
happened to you, Jimmy. There was a time when you were a bright
little chap, a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy.
Where be your gibes now; your gambols, your songs, your flashes of
merriment that were wont to set the table in a roar when you were
paying for the dinner? Yon remind me more of a deaf-mute celebrating
the Fourth of July with noiseless powder than anything else on
earth. Wake up, or I shall go. Jimmy, we were practically boys
together. Tell me about this girl--the girl you loved, and were
idiot enough to lose."
Jimmy drew a deep breath.
"Very well," said Mifflin complacently, "sigh if you like; it's
better than nothing."
Jimmy sat up.
"Yes, dozens of times," said Mifflin.
"What do you mean?"
"You were just going to ask me if I had ever been in love, weren't
you?"
"I wasn't, because I know you haven't. You have no soul. You don't
know what love is."
"Have it your own way," said Mifflin, resignedly.
Jimmy bumped back on the sofa.
"I don't either," he said. "That's the trouble."
Mifflin looked interested.
"I know," he said. "You've got that strange premonitory fluttering,
when the heart seems to thrill within you like some baby bird
singing its first song, when--"
"Oh, cut it out!"
"--when you ask yourself timidly, 'Is it? Can it really be?' and
answer shyly, 'No. Yes. I believe it is!' I've been through it
dozens of times; it is a recognized early symptom. Unless prompt
measures are taken, it will develop into something acute. In these
matters, stand on your Uncle Arthur. He knows."
"You make me sick," Jimmy retorted.
"You have our ear," said Mifflin, kindly. "Tell me all."
"There's nothing to tell."
"Don't lie, James."
"Well, practically nothing."
"That's better."
"It was like this."
"Good."
Jimmy wriggled himself into a more comfortable position, and took a
sip from his glass.
"I didn't see her until the second day out."
"I know that second day out. Well?"
"We didn't really meet at all."
"Just happened to be going to the same spot, eh?"
"As a matter of fact, it was like this. Like a fool, I'd bought a
second-class ticket."
"What? Our young Rockerbilt Astergould, the boy millionaire,
traveling second-class! Why?"
"I had an idea it would be better fun. Everybody's so much more
cheery in the second cabin. You get to know people so much quicker.
Nine trips out of ten, I'd much rather go second."
"And this was the tenth?"
"She was in the first-cabin," said Jimmy.
Mifflin clutched his forehead.
"Wait!" he cried. "This reminds me of something--something in
Shakespeare. Romeo and Juliet? No. I've got it--Pyramus and Thisbe."
"I don't see the slightest resemblance."
"Read your 'Midsummer Night's Dream.' 'Pyramus and Thisbe,' says the
story, 'did talk through the chink of a wall,'" quoted Mifflin.
"We didn't."
"Don't be so literal. You talked across a railing."
"We didn't."
"Do you mean to say you didn't talk at all?"
"We didn't say a single word."
Mifflin shook his head sadly.
"I give you up," he said. "I thought you were a man of enterprise.
What did you do?"
Jimmy sighed softly.
"I used to stand and smoke against the railing opposite the barber's
shop, and she used to walk round the deck."
"And you used to stare at her?"
"I would look in her direction sometimes," corrected Jimmy, with
dignity.
"Don't quibble! You stared at her. You behaved like a common rubber-
neck, and you know it. I am no prude, James, but I feel compelled to
say that I consider your conduct that of a libertine. Used she to
walk alone?"
"Generally."
"And, now, you love her, eh? You went on board that ship happy,
careless, heart-free. You came off it grave and saddened.
Thenceforth, for you, the world could contain but one--woman, and
her you had lost."
Mifflin groaned in a hollow and bereaved manner, and took a sip from
his glass to buoy him up.
Jimmy moved restlessly on the sofa.
"Do you believe in love at first sight?" he asked, fatuously. He was
in the mood when a man says things, the memory of which makes him
wake up hot all over for nights to come.
"I don't see what first sight's got to do with it," said Mifflin.
"According to your own statement, you stood and glared at the girl
for five days without letting up for a moment. I can quite imagine
that you might glare yourself into love with anyone by the end of
that time."
"I can't see myself settling down," said Jimmy, thoughtfully. "And,
until you feel that you want to settle down, I suppose you can't be
really in love."
"I was saying practically that about you at the club just before you
came in. My somewhat neat expression was that you were one of the
gypsies of the world."
"By George, you're quite right!"
"I always am."
"I suppose it's having nothing to do. When I was on the News, I was
never like this."
"You weren't on the News long enough to get tired of it."
"I feel now I can't stay in a place more than a week. It's having
this money that does it, I suppose."
"New York," said Mifflin, "is full of obliging persons who will be
delighted to relieve you of the incubus. Well, James, I shall leave
you. I feel more like bed now. By the way, I suppose you lost sight
of this girl when you landed?"
"Yes."
"Well, there aren't so many girls in the United States--only twenty
million. Or is it forty million? Something small. All you've got to
do is to search around a bit. Good-night."
"Good-night."
Mr. Mifflin clattered down the stairs. A minute later, the sound of
his name being called loudly from the street brought Jimmy to the
window. Mifflin was standing on the pavement below, looking up.
"Jimmy."
"What's the matter now?"
"I forgot to ask. Was she a blonde?"
"What?"
"Was she a blonde?" yelled Mifflin.
"No," snapped Jimmy.
"Dark, eh?" bawled Mifflin, making night hideous.
"Yes," said Jimmy, shutting the window.
"Jimmy!"
The window went up again.
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