Books: The Intrusion of Jimmy
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P. G. Wodehouse >> The Intrusion of Jimmy
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It was while sitting in the billiard-room one night after dinner,
watching his rival play a hundred up with the silent Hargate, that
Jimmy came definitely to this conclusion. He had stopped there to
watch, more because he wished to study his man at close range than
because the game was anything out of the common as an exposition of
billiards. As a matter of fact, it would have been hard to imagine a
worse game. Lord Dreever, who was conceding twenty, was poor, and
his opponent an obvious beginner. Again, as he looked on, Jimmy was
possessed of an idea that he had met Hargate before. But, once more,
he searched his memory, and drew blank. He did not give the thing
much thought, being intent on his diagnosis of Lord Dreever, who by
a fluky series of cannons had wobbled into the forties, and was now
a few points ahead of his opponent.
Presently, having summed his lordship up to his satisfaction and
grown bored with the game, Jimmy strolled out of the room. He paused
outside the door for a moment, wondering what to do. There was
bridge in the smoking-room, but he did not feel inclined for bridge.
From the drawing-room came sounds of music. He turned in that
direction, then stopped again. He came to the conclusion that he did
not feel sociable. He wanted to think. A cigar on the terrace would
meet his needs.
He went up to his room for his cigar-case. The window was open. He
leaned out. There was almost a full moon, and it was very light out
of doors. His eye was caught by a movement at the further end of the
terrace, where the shadow was. A girl came out of the shadow,
walking slowly.
Not since early boyhood had Jimmy descended stairs with such a rare
burst of speed. He negotiated the nasty turn at the end of the first
flight at quite a suicidal pace. Fate, however, had apparently
wakened again and resumed business, for he did not break his neck. A
few moments later, he was out on the terrace, bearing a cloak which,
he had snatched up en route in the hall.
"I thought you might be cold," he said, breathing quickly.
"Oh, thank you," said Molly. "How kind of you!" He put it round her
shoulders. "Have you. been running?"
"I came downstairs rather fast."
"Were you afraid the boogaboos would get you?" she laughed. "I was
thinking of when I was a small child. I was always afraid of them. I
used, to race downstairs when I had to go to my room in the dark,
unless I could persuade someone to hold my hand all the way there
and back."
Her spirits had risen with Jimmy's arrival. Things had been
happening that worried her. She had gone out on to the terrace to be
alone. When she heard his footsteps, she had dreaded the advent of
some garrulous fellow-guest, full of small talk. Jimmy, somehow, was
a comfort. He did not disturb the atmosphere. Little as they had
seen of each other, something in him--she could not say what--had
drawn her to him. He was a man whom she could trust instinctively.
They walked on in silence. Words were pouring into Jimmy's mind, but
he could not frame them. He seemed to have lost the power of
coherent thought.
Molly said nothing. It was not a night for conversation. The moon
had turned terrace and garden into a fairyland of black and silver.
It was a night to look and listen and think.
They walked slowly up and down. As they turned for the second time,
Molly's thoughts formed themselves into a question. Twice she was on
the point of asking it, but each time she checked herself. It was an
impossible question. She had no right to put it, and he had no right
to answer. Yet, something was driving her on to ask it.
It came out suddenly, without warning.
"Mr. Pitt, what do you think of Lord Dreever?"
Jimmy started. No question could have chimed in more aptly with his
thoughts. Even as she spoke, he was struggling to keep himself from
asking her the same thing.
"Oh, I know I ought not to ask," she went on. "He's your host, and
you're his friend. I know. But--"
Her voice trailed off. The muscles of Jimmy's back tightened and
quivered. But he could find no words.
"I wouldn't ask anyone else. But you're--different, somehow. I don't
know what I mean. We hardly know each other. But--"
She stopped again; and still he was dumb.
"I feel so alone," she said very quietly, almost to herself.
Something seemed to break in Jimmy's head. His brain suddenly
cleared. He took a step forward.
A huge shadow blackened the white grass. Jimmy wheeled round. It was
McEachern.
"I have been looking for you, Molly, my dear," he said, heavily. "I
thought you must have gone to bed."
He turned to Jimmy, and addressed him for the first time since their
meeting in the bedroom.
"Will you excuse us, Mr. Pitt?"
Jimmy bowed, and walked rapidly toward the house. At the door, he
stopped and looked back. The two were standing where he had left
them.
CHAPTER XVI
A MARRIAGE ARRANGED
Neither Molly nor her father had moved or spoken while Jimmy was
covering the short strip of turf that ended at the stone steps of
the house. McEachern stood looking down at her in grim silence. His
great body against the dark mass of the castle wall seemed larger
than ever in the uncertain light. To Molly, there was something
sinister and menacing in his attitude. She found herself longing
that Jimmy would come back. She was frightened. Why, she could not
have said. It was as if some instinct told her that a crisis in her
affairs had been reached, and that she needed him. For the first
time in her life, she felt nervous in her father's company. Ever
since she was a child, she had been accustomed to look upon him as
her protector; hut, now, she was afraid.
"Father!" she cried.
"What are you doing out here?"
His voice was tense and strained.
"I came out because I wanted to think, father, dear."
She thought she knew his moods, but this was one that she had never
seen. It frightened her.
"Why did he come out here?"
"Mr. Pitt? He brought me a wrap."
"What was he saying to you?"
The rain of questions gave Molly a sensation of being battered. She
felt dazed, and a little mutinous. What had she done that she should
be assailed like this?
"He was saying nothing," she said, rather shortly.
"Nothing? What do you mean? What was he saying? Tell me!"
Molly's voice shook as she replied.
"He was saying nothing," she repeated. "Do you think I'm not telling
the truth, father? He had not spoken a word for ever so long. We
just walked up and down. I was thinking, and I suppose he was, too.
At any rate, he said nothing. I--I think you might believe me."
She began to cry quietly. Her father had never been like this
before. It hurt her.
McEachern's manner changed in a flash. In the shock of finding Jimmy
and Molly together on the terrace, he had forgotten himself. He had
had reason, to be suspicious. Sir Thomas Blunt, from whom he had
just parted, had told him a certain piece of news which had
disturbed him. The discovery of Jimmy with Molly had lent an added
significance to that piece of news. He saw that he had been rough.
In a moment, he was by her side, his great arm round her shoulder,
petting and comforting her as he had done when she was a child. He
believed her word without question; and his relief made him very
tender. Gradually, the sobs ceased. She leaned against his arm.
"I'm tired, father," she whispered.
"Poor little girl. We'll sit down."
There was a seat at the end of the terrace. McEachern picked Molly
up as if she had been a baby, and carried her to it. She gave a
little cry.
"I didn't mean I was too tired to walk," she said, laughing
tremulously. "How strong you are, father! If I was naughty, you
could take me up and shake me till I was good, couldn't you?"
"Of course. And send you to bed, too. So, you, be careful, young
woman."
He lowered her to the seat. Molly drew the cloak closer round her,
and shivered.
"Cold, dear?"
"No."
"You shivered."
"It was nothing. Yes, it was," she went on quickly; "it was. Father,
will you promise me something?"
"Of course. What?"
"Don't ever be angry with me like that again, will you? I couldn't
bear it. Really, I couldn't. I know it's stupid of me, but it hurt.
You don't know how it hurt."
"But, my dear--"
"Oh, I know it's stupid. But--"
"But, my darling, it wasn't so. I was angry, but it wasn't with
you."
"With--? Were you angry with Mr. Pitt?"
McEachern saw that he had traveled too far. He had intended that
Jimmy's existence should be forgotten for the time being. He had
other things to discuss. But it was too late now. He must go
forward.
"I didn't like to see you out here alone with Mr. Pitt, dear," he
said. "I was afraid--"
He saw that he must go still further forward. It was more than,
awkward. He wished to hint at the undesirability of an entanglement
with Jimmy without admitting the possibility of it. Not being a man,
of nimble brain, he found this somewhat beyond his powers.
"I don't like him," he said, briefly. "He's crooked."
Molly's eyes opened wide. The color had gone from her face.
"Crooked, father?"
McEachern perceived that he had traveled very much too far, almost
to disaster. He longed to denounce Jimmy, but he was gagged. If
Molly were to ask the question, that Jimmy had asked in the bedroom-
-that fatal, unanswerable question! The price was too great to pay.
He spoke cautiously, vaguely, feeling his way.
"I couldn't explain to you, my dear. You wouldn't understand. You
must remember, my dear, that out in New York I was in a position to
know a great many queer characters--crooks, Molly. I was working
among them."
"But, father, that night at our house you didn't know Mr. Pitt. He
had to tell you his name."
"I didn't know him--then," said her father slowly, "but--but--" he
paused--"but I made inquiries," he concluded with a rush, "and found
out things."
He permitted himself a long, silent breath of relief. He saw his way
now.
"Inquiries?" said Molly. "Why?"
"Why?"
"Why did you suspect him?"
A moment earlier, the question might have confused McEachern, but
not now. He was equal to it. He took it in his stride.
"It's hard to say. my dear, A man who has had as much to do with
crooks as I have recognizes them when he sees them."
"Did you think Mr. Pitt looked--looked like that?" Her voice was
very small. There was a drawn, pinched expression on her face. She
was paler than ever.
He could not divine her thoughts. He could not know what his words
had done; how they had shown her in a flash what Jimmy was to her,
and lighted her mind like a flame, revealing the secret hidden
there. She knew now. The feeling of comradeship, the instinctive
trust, the sense of dependence--they no longer perplexed her; they
were signs which she could read.
And he was crooked!
McEachern proceeded. Belief made him buoyant.
"I did, my dear. I can read them like a book. I've met scores of his
sort. Broadway is full of them. Good clothes and a pleasant manner
don't make a man honest. I've run up against a mighty high-toned
bunch of crooks in my day. It's a long time since I gave up thinking
that it was only the ones with the low foreheads and the thick ears
that needed watching. It's the innocent Willies who look as if all
they could do was to lead the cotillon. This man Pitt's one of them.
I'm not guessing, mind you. I know. I know his line, and all about
him. I'm watching him. He's here on some game. How did he get here?
Why, he scraped acquaintance with Lord Dreever in a London
restaurant. It's the commonest trick on the list. If I hadn't
happened to be here when he came, I suppose he'd have made his haul
by now. Why, he came all prepared for it! Have you seen an ugly,
grinning, red-headed scoundrel hanging about the place? His valet.
So he says. Valet! Do you know who that is? That's one of the most
notorious yegg-men on the other side. There isn't a policeman in New
York who doesn't know Spike Mullins. Even if I knew nothing of this
Pitt, that would be enough. What's an innocent man going round the
country with Spike Mullins for, unless they are standing in together
at some game? That's who Mr. Pitt is, my dear, and that's why maybe
I seemed a little put out when I came upon you and him out here
alone together. See as little of him as you can. In a large party
like this, it won't be difficult to avoid him."
Molly sat staring out across the garden. At first, every word had
been a stab. Several times, she had been on the point of crying out
that she could bear it no longer. But, gradually, a numbness
succeeded the pain. She found herself listening apathetically.
McEachern talked on. He left the subject of Jimmy, comfortably
conscious that, even if there had ever existed in Molly's heart any
budding feeling of the kind he had suspected, it must now be dead.
He steered the conversation away until it ran easily among
commonplaces. He talked of New York, of the preparations for the
theatricals. Molly answered composedly. She was still pale, and a
certain listlessness in her manner might have been noticed by a more
observant man than Mr. McEachern. Beyond this, there was nothing to
show that her heart had been born and killed but a few minutes
before. Women have the Red Indian instinct; and Molly had grown to
womanhood in those few minutes.
Presently, Lord Dreever's name came up. It caused a momentary pause,
and McEachern took advantage of it. It was the cue for which he had
been waiting. He hesitated for a moment, for the conversation was
about to enter upon a difficult phase, and he was not quite sure of
himself. Then, he took the plunge.
"I have just been talking to Sir Thomas, my dear," he said. He tried
to speak casually, and, as a natural result, infused so much meaning
into his voice that Molly looked at him in surprise. McEachern
coughed confusedly. Diplomacy, he concluded, was not his forte. He
abandoned it in favor of directness. "He was telling me that you had
refused Lord Dreever this evening."
"Yes. I did," said Molly. "How did Sir Thomas know?"
"Lord Dreever told him."
Molly raised her eyebrows.
"I shouldn't have thought it was the sort of thing he would talk
about," she said.
"Sir Thomas is his uncle."
"Of course, so he is," said Molly, dryly. "I forgot. That would
account for it, wouldn't it?"
Mr. McEachern looked at her with some concern. There was a hard ring
in her voice which he did not altogether like. His greatest admirer
had never called him an intuitive man, and he was quite at a loss to
see what was wrong. As a schemer, he was perhaps a little naive. He
had taken it for granted that Molly was ignorant of the maneuvers
which had been going on, and which had culminated that afternoon in
a stammering proposal of marriage from Lord Dreever in the rose-
garden. This, however, was not the case. The woman incapable of
seeing through the machinations of two men of the mental caliber of
Sir Thomas Blunt and Mr. McEachern has yet to be born. For some
considerable time, Molly had been alive to the well-meant plottings
of that worthy pair, and had derived little pleasure from the fact.
It may be that woman loves to be pursued; but she does not love to
be pursued by a crowd.
Mr. McEachern cleared his throat, and began again.
"You shouldn't decide a question like that too hastily, my dear."
"I didn't--not too hastily for Lord Dreever, at any rate, poor
dear."
"It was in your power," said Mr. McEachern portentously, "to make a
man happy--"
"I did," said Molly, bitterly. "You should have seen his face light
up. He could hardly believe it was true for a moment, and then it
came home to him, and I thought he would have fallen on my neck. He
did his very best to look heart-broken--out of politeness--but it
was no good. He whistled most of the way back to the house--all
flat, but very cheerfully."
"My dear! What do you mean?"
Molly had made the discovery earlier in their conversation that her
father had moods whose existence she had not expected. It was his
turn now to make a similar discovery regarding herself.
"I mean nothing, father," she said. "I'm just telling you what
happened. He came to me looking like a dog that's going to be
washed--"
"Why, of course, he was nervous, my dear."
"Of course. He couldn't know that I was going to refuse him."
She was breathing quickly. He started to speak, but she went on,
looking straight before her. Her face was very white in the moon-
light.
"He took me into the rose-garden. Was that Sir Thomas's idea? There
couldn't have been a better setting, I'm sure. The roses looked
lovely. Presently, I heard him gulp, and I was so sorry for him I I
would have refused him then, and put him out of his misery, only I
couldn't very well till he had proposed, could I? So, I turned my
back, and sniffed at a rose. And, then, he shut his eyes--I couldn't
see him, but I know he shut his eyes--and began to say his lesson."
"Molly!"
She laughed, hysterically.
"He did. He said his lesson. He gabbled it. When he had got as far
as, 'Well, don't you know, what I mean is, that's what I wanted to
say, you know,' I turned round and soothed him. I said I didn't love
him. He said, 'No, no, of course not.' I said he had paid me a great
compliment. He said, 'Not at all,' looking very anxious, poor
darling, as if even then he was afraid of what might come next. But
I reassured him, and he cheered up, and we walked back to the house
together, as happy as could be."
McEachern put his hand round her shoulders. She winced, but let it
stay. He attempted gruff conciliation.
"My dear, you've been imagining things. Of course, he isn't happy.
Why, I saw the young fellow--"
Recollecting that the last time he had seen the young fellow--
shortly after dinner--the young fellow had been occupied in
juggling, with every appearance of mental peace, two billiard-balls
and a box of matches, he broke off abruptly.
Molly looked at him.
"Father."
"My dear?"
"Why do you want me to marry Lord Dreever?"
He met the attack stoutly.
"I think he's a fine young fellow," he said, avoiding her eyes.
"He's quite nice," said Molly, quietly.
McEachern had been trying not to say it. He did not wish to say it.
If it could have been hinted at, he would have done it. But he was
not good at hinting. A lifetime passed in surroundings where the
subtlest hint is a drive in the ribs with a truncheon does not leave
a man an adept at the art. He had to be blunt or silent.
"He's the Earl of Dreever, my dear."
He rushed on, desperately anxious to cover the nakedness of the
statement in a comfortable garment of words.
"Why, you see, you're young, Molly. It's only natural you shouldn't
look on these things sensibly. You expect too much of a man. You
expect this young fellow to be like the heroes of the novels you
read. When you've lived a little longer, my dear, you'll see that
there's nothing in it. It isn't the hero of the novel you want to
marry. It's the man who'll make you a good husband."
This remark struck Mr. McEachern as so pithy and profound that he
repeated it.
He went on. Molly was sitting quite still, looking into the
shrubbery. He assumed she was listening; but whether she was or not,
he must go on talking. The situation was difficult. Silence would
make it more difficult.
"Now, look at Lord Dreever," he said. "There's a young man with one
of the oldest titles in England. He could go anywhere and do what he
liked, and be excused for whatever he did because of his name. But
he doesn't. He's got the right stuff in him. He doesn't go racketing
around--"
"His uncle doesn't allow him enough pocket-money," said Molly, with
a jarring little laugh. "Perhaps, that's why."
There was a pause. McEachern required a few moments in which to
marshal his arguments once more. He had been thrown out of his
stride.
Molly turned to him. The hardness had gone from her face. She looked
up at him wistfully.
"Father, dear, listen," she said. "We always used to understand each
other so well!" He patted her shoulder affectionately. "You can't
mean what you say? You know I don't love Lord Dreever. You know he's
only a boy. Don't you want me to marry a man? I love this old place,
but surely you can't think that it can really matter in a thing like
this? You don't really mean, that about the hero of the novel? I'm
not stupid, like that. I only want--oh, I can't put it into words,
but don't you see?"
Her eyes were fixed appealingly on him. It only needed a word from
him--perhaps not even a word--to close the gulf that had opened
between them.
He missed the chance. He had had time to think, and his arguments
were ready again. With stolid good-humor, he marched along the line
he had mapped out. He was kindly and shrewd and practical; and the
gulf gaped wider with every word.
"You mustn't be rash, my dear. You mustn't act without thinking in
these things. Lord Dreever is only a boy, as you say, but he will
grow. You say you don't love him. Nonsense! You like him. You would
go on liking him more and more. And why? Because you could make what
you pleased of him. You've got character, my dear. With a girl like
you to look after him, he would go a long way, a very long way. It's
all there. It only wants bringing out. And think of it, Molly!
Countess of Dreever! There's hardly a better title in England. It
would make me very happy, my dear. It's been my one hope all these
years to see you in the place where you ought to be. And now the
chance has come. Molly, dear, don't throw it away."
She had leaned back with closed eyes. A wave of exhaustion had swept
over her. She listened in a dull dream. She felt beaten. They were
too strong for her. There were too many of them. What did it matter?
Why not give in, and end it all and win peace? That was all she
wanted--peace now. What did it all matter?
"Very well, father," she said, listlessly.
McEachern stopped short.
"You'll do it, dear?" he cried. "You will?"
"Very well, father."
He stooped and kissed her.
"My own dear little girl," he said.
She got up.
"I'm rather tired, father," she said. "I think I'll go in."
Two minutes later, Mr. McEachern was in Sir Thomas Blunt's study.
Five minutes later, Sir Thomas pressed the bell.
Saunders appeared.
"Tell his lordship," said Sir Thomas, "that I wish to see him a
moment. He is in the billiard-room, I think."
CHAPTER XVII
JIMMY REMEMBERS SOMETHING
The game between Hargate and Lord Dreever was still in progress when
Jimmy returned to the billiard-room. A glance at the board showed
that the score was seventy--sixty-nine, in favor of spot.
"Good game," said Jimmy. "Who's spot?"
"I am," said his lordship, missing an easy cannon. For some reason,
he appeared in high spirits. "Hargate's been going great guns. I was
eleven ahead a moment ago, but he made a break of twelve."
Lord Dreever belonged to the class of billiard-players to whom a
double-figure break is a thing to be noted and greeted with respect.
"Fluky," muttered the silent Hargate, deprecatingly. This was a long
speech for him. Since their meeting at Paddington station, Jimmy had
seldom heard him utter anything beyond a monosyllable.
"Not a bit of it, dear old son," said Lord Dreever, handsomely.
"You're coming on like a two-year-old. I sha'n't be able to give you
twenty in a hundred much longer."
He went to a side-table, and mixed himself a whiskey-and-soda,
singing a brief extract from musical comedy as he did so. There
could be no shadow of doubt that he was finding life good. For the
past few days, and particularly that afternoon, he had been rather
noticeably ill at ease. Jimmy had seen him hanging about the terrace
at half-past five, and had thought that he looked like a mute at a
funeral. But now, only a few hours later, he was beaming on the
world, and chirping like a bird.
The game moved jerkily along. Jimmy took a seat, and watched. The
score mounted slowly. Lord Dreever was bad, but Hargate was worse.
At length, in the eighties, his lordship struck a brilliant vein.
When he had finished his break, his score was ninety-five. Hargate,
who had profited by a series of misses on his opponent's part, had
reached ninety-six.
"This is shortening my life," said Jimmy, leaning forward.
The balls had been left in an ideal position. Even Hargate could not
fail to make a cannon. He made it.
A close finish to even the worst game is exciting. Jimmy leaned
still further forward to watch the next stroke. It looked as if
Hargate would have to wait for his victory. A good player could have
made a cannon as the balls lay, but not Hargate. They were almost in
a straight line, with, white in the center.
Hargate swore under his breath. There was nothing to be done. He
struck carelessly at white. White rolled against red, seemed to hang
for a moment, and shot straight back against spot. The game was
over.
"Great Scott! What a fluke!" cried the silent one, becoming quite
garrulous at the miracle.
A quiet grin spread itself slowly across Jimmy's face. He had
remembered what he had been trying to remember for over a week.
At this moment, the door opened, and Saunders appeared. "Sir Thomas
would like to see your lordship in his study," he said.
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