Books: The Intrusion of Jimmy
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P. G. Wodehouse >> The Intrusion of Jimmy
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"Eh? What does he want?"
"Sir Thomas did not confide in me, your lordship."
"Eh? What? Oh, no! Well, see you later, you men."
He rested his cue against the table, and put on his coat. Jimmy
followed him out of the door, which he shut behind him.
"One second, Dreever," he said.
"Eh? Hullo! What's up?"
"Any money on that game?" asked Jimmy.
"Why, yes, by Jove, now you mention it, there was. An even fiver.
And--er--by the way, old man--the fact is, just for the moment, I'm
frightfully--You haven't such a thing as a fiver anywhere about,
have you? The fact is--"
"My dear fellow, of course. I'll square up with him now, shall I?"
"Fearfully obliged, if you would. Thanks, old man. Pay it to-
morrow."
"No hurry," said Jimmy; "plenty more in the old oak chest."
He went back to the room. Hargate was practising cannons. He was on
the point of making a stroke when Jimmy opened the door.
"Care for a game?" said Hargate.
"Not just at present," said Jimmy.
Hargate attempted his cannon, and failed badly. Jimmy smiled.
"Not such a good shot as the last," he said.
"No."
"Fine shot, that other."
"Fluke."
"I wonder."
Jimmy lighted a cigarette.
"Do you know New York at all?" he asked.
"Been there."
"Ever been in the Strollers' Club?"
Hargate turned his back, but Jimmy had seen his face, and was
satisfied.
"Don't know it," said Hargate.
"Great place," said Jimmy. "Mostly actors and writers, and so on.
The only drawback is that some of them pick up queer friends."
Hargate did not reply. He did not seem interested.
"Yes," went on Jimmy. "For instance, a pal of mine, an actor named
Mifflin, introduced a man a year ago as a member's guest for a
fortnight, and this man rooked the fellows of I don't know how much
at billiards. The old game, you know. Nursing his man right up to
the end, and then finishing with a burst. Of course, when that
happens once or twice, it may be an accident, but, when a man who
poses as a novice always manages by a really brilliant shot--"
Hargate turned round.
"They fired this fellow out," said Jimmy.
"Look here!"
"Yes?"
"What do you mean?"
"It's a dull yarn," said Jimmy, apologetically. "I've been boring
you. By the way, Dreever asked me to square up with you for that
game, in case he shouldn't be back. Here you are."
He held out an empty hand.
"Got it?"
"What are you going to do?" demanded Hargate.
"What am I going to do?" queried Jimmy.
"You know what I mean. If you'll keep your mouth shut, and stand in,
it's halves. Is that what you're after?"
Jimmy was delighted. He knew that by rights the proposal should have
brought him from his seat, with stern, set face, to wreak vengeance
for the insult, but on such occasions he was apt to ignore the
conventions. His impulse, when he met a man whose code of behavior
was not the ordinary code, was to chat with him and extract his
point of view. He felt as little animus against Hargate as he had
felt against Spike on the occasion of their first meeting.
"Do you make much at this sort of game?" he asked.
Hargate was relieved. This was business-like.
"Pots," he said, with some enthusiasm. "Pots. I tell you, if you'll
stand in--"
"Bit risky, isn't it?"
"Not a bit of it. An occasional accident--"
"I suppose you'd call me one?"
Hargate grinned.
"It must be pretty tough work," said Jimmy. "You must have to use a
tremendous lot of self-restraint."
Hargate sighed.
"That's the worst of it," he admitted, "the having to seem a mug at
the game. I've been patronized sometimes by young fools, who thought
they were teaching me, till I nearly forgot myself and showed them
what real billiards was."
"There's always some drawback to the learned professions," said
Jimmy.
"But there's a heap to make up for it in this one," said Hargate.
"Well, look here, is it a deal? You'll stand in--"
Jimmy shook his head.
"I guess not," he said. "It's good of you, but commercial
speculation never was in my line. I'm afraid you must count me out
of this."
"What! You're going to tell--?"
"No," said Jimmy, "I'm not. I'm not a vigilance committee. I won't
tell a soul."
'"Why, then--" began Hargate, relieved.
"Unless, of course," Jimmy went on, "you play billiards again while
you're here."
Hargate stared.
"But, damn it, man, if I don't, what's the good--? Look here. What
am I to do if they ask me to play?"
"Give your wrist as an excuse."
"My wrist?"
"Yes. You sprained it to-morrow after breakfast. It was bad luck. I
wonder how you came to do it. You didn't sprain it much, but just
enough to stop you playing billiards."
Hargate reflected.
"Understand?" said Jimmy.
"Oh, very well," said Hargate, sullenly. "But," he burst out, "if I
ever get a chance to get even with you--"
"You won't," said Jimmy. "Dismiss the rosy dream. Get even! You
don't know me. There's not a flaw in my armor. I'm a sort of modern
edition of the stainless knight. Tennyson drew Galahad from me. I
move through life with almost a sickening absence of sin. But hush!
We are observed. At least, we shall be in another minute. Somebody
is coming down the passage. You do understand, don't you? Sprained
wrist is the watchword."
The handle turned. It was Lord Dreever, back again, from his
interview.
"Hullo, Dreever," said Jimmy. "We've missed you. Hargate has been
doing his best to amuse me with acrobatic tricks. But you're too
reckless, Hargate, old man. Mark my words, one of these days you'll
be spraining your wrist. You should be more careful. What, going?
Good-night. Pleasant fellow, Hargate," he added, as the footsteps
retreated down, the passage. "Well, my lad, what's the matter with
you? You look depressed."
Lord Dreever flung himself on to the lounge, and groaned hollowly.
"Damn! Damn!! Damn.!!!" he observed.
His glassy eye met Jimmy's, and wandered away again.
"What on earth's the matter?" demanded Jimmy. "You go out of here
caroling like a song-bird, and you come back moaning like a lost
soul. What's happened?"
"Give me a brandy-and-soda, Pitt, old man. There's a good chap. I'm
in a fearful hole."
"Why? What's the matter?"
"I'm engaged," groaned his lordship.
"Engaged! I wish you'd explain. What on earth's wrong with you?
Don't you want to be engaged? What's your--?"
He broke off, as a sudden, awful suspicion dawned upon him. "Who is
she?" he cried.
He gripped the stricken peer's shoulder, and shook it savagely.
Unfortunately, he selected the precise moment when the latter was in
the act of calming his quivering nerve-centers with a gulp of
brandy-and-soda, and for the space of some two minutes it seemed as
if the engagement would be broken off by the premature extinction of
the Dreever line. A long and painful fit of coughing, however, ended
with his lordship still alive and on the road to recovery.
He eyed Jimmy reproachfully, but Jimmy was in no mood for apologies.
"Who is she?" he kept demanding. "What's her name?"
"Might have killed me!" grumbled the convalescent.
"Who is she?"
"What? Why, Miss McEachern."
Jimmy had known what the answer would be, but it was scarcely less
of a shock for that reason.
"Miss McEachern?" he echoed.
Lord Dreever nodded a somber nod.
"You're engaged to her?"
Another somber nod.
"I don't believe it," said Jimmy.
"I wish I didn't," said his lordship wistfully, ignoring the slight
rudeness of the remark. "But, worse luck, it's true."
For the first time since the disclosure of the name, Jimmy's
attention was directed to the remarkable demeanor of his successful
rival.
"You don't seem over-pleased," he said.
"Pleased! Have a fiver each way on 'pleased'! No, I'm not exactly
leaping with joy."
"Then, what the devil is it all about? What do you mean? What's the
idea? If you don't want to marry Miss McEachern, why did you propose
to her?"
Lord Dreever closed his eyes.
"Dear old boy, don't! It's my uncle."
"Your uncle?"
"Didn't I explain it all to you--about him wanting me to marry? You
know! I told you the whole thing."
Jimmy stared in silence.
"Do you mean to say--?" he said, slowly.
He stopped. It was a profanation to put the thing into words.
"What, old man?"
Jimmy gulped.
"Do you mean to say you want to marry Miss McEachern simply because
she has money?" he said.
It was not the first time that he had heard of a case of a British
peer marrying for such a reason, but it was the first time that the
thing had filled him with horror. In some circumstances, things come
home more forcibly to us.
"It's not me, old man," murmured his lordship; "it's my uncle."
"Your uncle! Good God!" Jimmy clenched his hands, despairingly. "Do
you mean to say that you let your uncle order you about in a thing
like this? Do you mean to say you're such a--such a--such a
gelatine--backboneless worm--"
"Old man! I say!" protested his lordship, wounded.
"I'd call you a wretched knock-kneed skunk, only I don't want to be
fulsome. I hate flattering a man to his face."
Lord Dreever, deeply pained, half-rose from his seat.
"Don't get up," urged Jimmy, smoothly. "I couldn't trust myself."
His lordship subsided hastily. He was feeling alarmed. He had never
seen this side of Jimmy's character. At first, he had been merely
aggrieved and disappointed. He had expected sympathy. How, the
matter had become more serious. Jimmy was pacing the room like a
young and hungry tiger. At present, it was true, there was a
billiard-table between them; but his lordship felt that he could
have done with good, stout bars. He nestled in his seat with the
earnest concentration of a limpet on a rock. It would be deuced bad
form, of course, for Jimmy to assault his host, but could Jimmy be
trusted to remember the niceties of etiquette?
"Why the devil she accepted you, I can't think," said Jimmy half to
himself, stopping suddenly, and glaring across the table.
Lord Dreever felt relieved. This was not polite, perhaps, but at
least it was not violent.
"That's what beats me, too, old man," he said.
"Between you and me, it's a jolly rum business. This afternoon--"
"What about this afternoon?"
"Why, she wouldn't have me at any price."
"You asked her this afternoon?"
"Yes, and it was all right then. She refused me like a bird.
Wouldn't hear of it. Came damn near laughing in my face. And then,
to-night," he went on, his voice squeaky at the thought of his
wrongs, "my uncle sends for me, and says she's changed her mind and
is waiting for me in the morning-room. I go there, and she tells me
in about three words that she's been thinking it over and that the
whole fearful thing is on again. I call it jolly rough on a chap. I
felt such a frightful ass, you know. I didn't know what to do,
whether to kiss her, I mean--"
Jimmy snorted violently.
"Eh?" said his lordship, blankly.
"Go on," said Jimmy, between his teeth.
"I felt a fearful fool, you know. I just said 'Right ho!' or
something--dashed if I know now what I did say--and legged it. It's
a jolly rum business, the whole thing. It isn't as if she wanted me.
I could see that with half an eye. She doesn't care a hang for me.
It's my belief, old man," he said solemnly, "that she's been
badgered into it, I believe my uncle's been at her."
Jimmy laughed shortly.
"My dear man, you seem to think your uncle's persuasive influence is
universal. I guess it's confined to you."
"Well, anyhow, I believe that's what's happened. What do you say?"
"Why say anything? There doesn't seem to be much need."
He poured some brandy into a glass, and added a little soda.
"You take it pretty stiff," observed his lordship, with a touch of
envy.
"On occasion," said Jimmy, emptying the glass.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE LOCHINVAR METHOD
As Jimmy sat smoking a last cigarette in his bedroom before going to
bed that night, Spike Mullins came in. Jimmy had been thinking
things over. He was one of those men who are at their best in a
losing game. Imminent disaster always had the effect of keying him
up and putting an edge on his mind. The news he had heard that night
had left him with undiminished determination, but conscious that a
change of method would be needed. He must stake all on a single
throw now. Young Lochinvar rather than Romeo must be his model. He
declined to believe himself incapable of getting anything that he
wanted as badly as he wanted Molly. He also declined to believe that
she was really attached to Lord Dreever. He suspected the hand of
McEachern in the affair, though the suspicion did not clear up the
mystery by any means. Molly was a girl of character, not a feminine
counterpart of his lordship, content meekly to do what she was told
in a matter of this kind. The whole thing puzzled him.
"Well, Spike?" he said.
He was not too pleased at the interruption. He was thinking, and he
wanted to be alone.
Something appeared to have disturbed Spike. His bearing was excited.
"Say, boss! Guess what. You know dat guy dat come dis afternoon--de
guy from de village, dat came wit' old man McEachern?"
"Galer?" said Jimmy. "What about him?"
There had been an addition to the guests at the castle that
afternoon. Mr. McEachern, walking in the village, had happened upon
an old New York acquaintance of his, who, touring England, had
reached Dreever and was anxious to see the historic castle. Mr.
McEachern had brought him thither, introduced him to Sir Thomas, and
now Mr. Samuel Galer was occupying a room on the same floor as
Jimmy's. He had appeared at dinner that night, a short, wooden-faced
man, with no more conversation than Hargate. Jimmy had paid little
attention to the newcomer.
"What about him?" he said.
"He's a sleut', boss."
"A what?"
"A sleut'."
"A detective?"
"Dat's right. A fly cop."
"What makes you think that?"
"T'ink! Why, I can tell dem by deir eyes an' deir feet, an' de whole
of dem. I could pick out a fly cop from a bunch of a t'ousand. He's
a sure 'nough sleut' all right, all right. I seen him rubber in' at
youse, boss."
"At me! Why at me? Why, of course. I see now. Our friend McEachern
has got him in to spy on us."
"Dat's right, boss."
"Of course, you may be mistaken."
"Not me, boss. An', say, he ain't de only one."
"What, more detectives? They'll have to put up 'House Full' boards,
at this rate. Who's the other?"
"A mug what's down in de soivants' hall. I wasn't so sure of him at
foist, but now I'm onto his curves. He's a sleut' all right. He's
vally to Sir Tummas, dis second mug is. But he ain't no vally. He's
come to see no one don't get busy wit' de jools. Say, what do youse
t'ink of dem jools, boss?"
"Finest I ever saw."
"Yes, dat's right. A hundred t'ousand plunks dey set him back.
Dey're de limit, ain't dey? Say, won't youse really--?"
"Spike! I'm surprised at you! Do you know, you're getting a regular
Mephistopheles, Spike? Suppose I hadn't an iron will, what would
happen? You really must select your subjects of conversation more
carefully. You're bad company for the likes of me."
Spike shuffled despondently.
"But, boss--!"
Jimmy shook his head.
"It can't be done, my lad."
"But it can, boss," protested Spike. "It's dead easy. I've been up
to de room, an' I seen de box what de jools is kept in. Why, it's de
softest ever! We could get dem as easy as pullin' de plug out of a
bottle. Why, say, dere's never been such a peach of a place for
gittin' hold of de stuff as dis house. Dat's right, boss. Why, look
what I got dis afternoon, just snoopin' around an' not really tryin'
to git busy at all. It was just lyin' about."
He plunged his hand into his pocket, and drew it out again. As he
unclosed his fingers, Jimmy caught the gleam of precious stones.
"What the--!" he gasped.
Spike was looking at his treasure-trove with an air of affectionate
proprietorship.
"Where on earth did you get those?" asked Jimmy.
"Out of one of de rooms. Dey belonged to one of de loidies. It was
de easiest old t'ing ever, boss. I just went in when dere was nobody
around, an' dere dey was on de toible. I never butted into anyt'in'
so soft."
"Spike!"
"Yes, boss?"
"Do you remember the room you took them from?"
"Sure. It was de foist on de--"
"Then, just listen to me for a moment, my bright boy. When we're at
breakfast to-morrow, you want to go to that room and put those
things back--all of them, mind you--just where you found them. Do
you understand?"
Spike's jaw had fallen.
"Put dem back, boss!" he faltered.
"Every single one of them."
"Boss!" said Spike, plaintively.
"Remember. Every single one of them, just where it belongs. See?"
"Very well, boss."
The dejection in his voice would have moved the sternest to pity.
Gloom had enveloped Spike's spirit. The sunlight had gone out of his
life.
It had also gone out of the lives of a good many other people at the
castle. This was mainly due to the growing shadow of the day of the
theatricals.
For pure discomfort, there are few things in the world that can
compete with the final rehearsals of an amateur theatrical
performance at a country-house. Every day, the atmosphere becomes
more heavily charged with restlessness and depression. The producer
of the piece, especially if he be also the author of it, develops a
sort of intermittent insanity. He plucks at his mustache, if he has
one: at his hair, if he has not. He mutters to himself. He gives
vent to occasional despairing cries. The soothing suavity that
marked his demeanor in the earlier rehearsals disappears. He no
longer says with a winning smile, "Splendid, old man, splendid.
Couldn't be better. But I think we'll take that over just once more,
if you don't mind." Instead, he rolls his eyes, and snaps out, "Once
more, please. This'll never do. At this rate, we might just as well
cut out the show altogether. What's that? No, it won't be all right
on the night! Now, then, once more; and do pull yourselves together
this time." After this, the scene is sulkily resumed; and
conversation, when the parties concerned meet subsequently, is cold
and strained.
Matters had reached this stage at the castle. Everybody was
thoroughly tired of the piece, and, but for the thought of the
disappointment which (presumably) would rack the neighboring
nobility and gentry if it were not to be produced, would have
resigned their places without a twinge of regret. People who had
schemed to get the best and longest parts were wishing now that they
had been content with "First Footman," or "Giles, a villager."
"I'll never run an amateur show again as long as I live," confided
Charteris to Jimmy almost tearfully. "It's not good enough. Most of
them aren't word-perfect yet."
"It'll be all right--"
"Oh, don't say it'll be all right on the night."
"I wasn't going to," said Jimmy. "I was going to say it'll be all
right after the night. People will soon forget how badly the thing
went."
"You're a nice, comforting sort of man, aren't you?" said Charteris.
"Why worry?" said Jimmy. "If you go on like this, it'll be
Westminster Abbey for you in your prime. You'll be getting brain-
fever."
Jimmy himself was one of the few who were feeling reasonably
cheerful. He was deriving a keen amusement at present from the
maneuvers of Mr. Samuel Galer, of New York. This lynx-eyed man;
having been instructed by Mr. McEachern to watch Jimmy, was doing so
with a thoroughness that would have roused the suspicions of a babe.
If Jimmy went to the billiard-room after dinner, Mr. Galer was there
to keep him company. If, during the course of the day, he had
occasion to fetch a handkerchief or a cigarette-case from his
bedroom, he was sure, on emerging, to stumble upon Mr. Galer in the
corridor. The employees of Dodson's Private Inquiry Agency believed
in earning their salaries.
Occasionally, after these encounters, Jimmy would come upon Sir
Thomas Blunt's valet, the other man in whom Spike's trained eye had
discerned the distinguishing marks of the sleuth. He was usually
somewhere round the corner at these moments, and, when collided
with, apologized with great politeness. Jimmy decided that he must
have come under suspicion in this case vicariously, through Spike.
Spike in the servants' hall would, of course, stand out
conspicuously enough to catch the eye of a detective on the look out
for sin among the servants; and he himself, as Spike's employer, had
been marked down as a possible confederate.
It tickled him to think that both these giant brains should be so
greatly exercised on his account.
He had been watching Molly closely during these days. So far, no
announcement of the engagement had been made. It struck him that
possibly it was being reserved for public mention on the night of
the theatricals. The whole county would be at the castle then. There
could be no more fitting moment. He sounded Lord Dreever, and the
latter said moodily that he was probably right.
"There's going to be a dance of sorts after the show," he said, "and
it'll be done then, I suppose. No getting out of it after that.
It'll be all over the county. Trust my uncle for that. He'll get on
a table, and shout it, shouldn't wonder. And it'll be in the Morning
Post next day, and Katie'll see it! Only two days more, oh, lord!"
Jimmy deduced that Katie was the Savoy girl, concerning whom his
lordship had vouchsafed no particulars save that she was a ripper
and hadn't a penny.
Only two days! Like the battle of Waterloo, it was going to be a
close-run affair. More than ever now, he realized how much Molly
meant to him; and there were moments when it seemed to him that she,
too, had begun to understand. That night on the terrace seemed
somehow to have changed their relationship. He thought he had got
closer to her. They were in touch. Before, she had been frank,
cheerful, unembarrassed. Now, he noticed a constraint in her manner,
a curious shyness. There was a barrier between them, but it was not
the old barrier. He had ceased to be one of a crowd.
But it was a race against time. The first day slipped by, a blank,
and the second; till, now, it was but a matter of hours. The last
afternoon had come.
Not even Mr. Samuel Galer, of Dodson's Private Inquiry Agency, could
have kept a more unflagging watch than did Jimmy during those hours.
There was no rehearsal that afternoon, and the members of the
company, in various stages of nervous collapse, strayed distractedly
about the grounds. First one, then another, would seize upon Molly,
while Jimmy, watching from afar, cursed their pertinacity.
At last, she wondered off alone, and Jimmy, quitting his ambush,
followed.
She walked in the direction of the lake. It had been a terribly hot,
oppressive afternoon. There was thunder in the air. Through the
trees, the lake glittered invitingly.
She was standing at the water's edge when Jimmy came up. Her back
was turned. She was rocking with her foot a Canadian canoe that lay
alongside the bank. She started as he spoke. His feet on the soft
turf had made no sound.
"Can I take you out on the lake?" he said.
She did not answer for a moment. She was plainly confused.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I--I'm waiting for lord Dreever."
Jimmy saw that she was nervous. There was tension in the air. She
was looking away from him, out across the lake, and her face was
flushed.
"Won't you?" he said.
"I'm sorry," she said again.
Jimmy looked over his shoulder. Down the lower terrace was
approaching the long form of his lordship. He walked with pensive
jerkiness, not as one hurrying to a welcome tryst. As Jimmy looked,
he vanished behind the great clump of laurels that stood on the
lowest terrace. In another minute, he would reappear round them.
Gently, but with extreme dispatch, Jimmy placed a hand on either
side of Molly's waist. The next moment, he had swung her off her
feet, and lowered her carefully to the cushions in the bow of the
canoe.
Then, jumping in himself with a force that made the boat rock, he
loosened the mooring-rope, seized the paddle, and pushed off.
CHAPTER XIX
ON THE LAKE
In making love, as in every other branch of life, consistency is the
quality most to be aimed at. To hedge is fatal. A man must choose
the line of action that he judges to be best suited to his
temperament, and hold to it without deviation. If Lochinvar snatches
the maiden up on his saddle-bow, he must continue in that vein. He
must not fancy that, having accomplished the feat, he can resume the
episode on lines of devotional humility. Prehistoric man, who
conducted his courtship with a club, never fell into the error of
apologizing when his bride complained of headache.
Jimmy did not apologize. The idea did not enter his mind. He was
feeling prehistoric. His heart was beating fast, and his mind was in
a whirl, but the one definite thought that came to him during the
first few seconds of the journey was that he ought to have done this
earlier. This was the right way. Pick her up and carry her off, and
leave uncles and fathers and butter-haired peers of the realm to
look after themselves. This was the way. Alone together in their own
little world of water, with nobody to interrupt and nobody to
overhear! He should have done it before. He had wasted precious,
golden time, hanging about while futile men chattered to her of
things that could not possibly be of interest. But he had done the
right thing at last. He had got her. She must listen to him now. She
could not help listening. They were the only inhabitants of this new
world.
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