The Prince and Betty

by P. G. Wodehouse

  CHAPTER XXIX

  A REPRESENTATIVE GATHERING

  When John returned to the office, he found that his absence had beencausing Betty an anxious hour's waiting. She had been informed by Pugsythat he had gone out in the company of Mr. Parker, and she felt uneasy.She turned white at his story of the ride, but he minimized thedangers.

  "I don't think he ever meant to shoot. I think he was going to shut meup somewhere out there, and keep me till I promised to be good."

  "Do you think my stepfather told him to do it?"

  "I doubt it. I fancy Parker is a man who acts a good deal on his owninspirations. But we'll ask him, when he calls to-day."

  "Is he going to call?"

  "I have an idea he will," said John. "I sent him a note just now,asking if he could manage a visit."

  It was unfortunate, in the light of subsequent events, that Mr. Jarvisshould have seen fit to bring with him to the office that afternoon twoof his collection of cats, and that Long Otto, who, as before,accompanied him, should have been fired by his example to the extent ofintroducing a large yellow dog. For before the afternoon was ended,space in the office was destined to be at premium.

  Mr. Jarvis, when he had recovered from the surprise of seeing Betty andlearning that she had returned to her old situation, explained:

  "T'ought I'd bring de kits along," he said. "Dey starts fuss'n' wit'each odder yesterday, so I brings dem along."

  John inspected the menagerie without resentment.

  "Sure!" he said. "They add a kind of peaceful touch to the scene."

  The atmosphere was, indeed, one of peace. The dog, after an inquisitivejourney round the room, lay down and went to sleep. The cats settledthemselves comfortably, one on each of Mr. Jarvis' knees. Long Otto,surveying the ceiling with his customary glassy stare, smoked a longcigar. And Bat, scratching one of the cats under the ear, began toentertain John with some reminiscences of fits and kittens.

  But the peace did not last. Ten minutes had barely elapsed when thedog, sitting up with a start, uttered a whine. The door burst open anda little man dashed in. He was brown in the face, and had evidentlybeen living recently in the open air. Behind him was a crowd ofuncertain numbers. They were all strangers to John.

  "Yes?" he said.

  The little man glared speechlessly at the occupants of the room. Thetwo Bowery boys rose awkwardly. The cats fell to the floor.

  The rest of the party had entered. Betty recognized the Reverend EdwinT. Philpotts and Mr. B. Henderson Asher.

  "My name is Renshaw," said the little man, having found speech.

  "What can I do for you?" asked John.

  The question appeared to astound the other.

  "What can you--! Of all--!"

  "Mr. Renshaw is the editor of _Peaceful Moments_," she said. "Mr.Smith was only acting for him."

  Mr. Renshaw caught the name.

  "Yes. Mr. Smith. I want to see Mr. Smith. Where is he?"

  "In prison," said John.

  "In prison!"

  John nodded.

  "A good many things have happened since you left for your vacation.Smith assaulted a policeman, and is now on Blackwell's Island."

  Mr. Renshaw gasped. Mr. B. Henderson Asher stared, and stumbled overthe cat.

  "And who are you?" asked the editor.

  "My name is Maude. I--"

  He broke off, to turn his attention to Mr. Jarvis and Mr. Asher,between whom unpleasantness seemed to have arisen. Mr. Jarvis, holdinga cat in his arms, was scowling at Mr. Asher, who had backed away andappeared apprehensive.

  "What is the trouble?" asked John.

  "Dis guy here wit' two left feet," said Bat querulously, "treads on dekit."

  Mr. Renshaw, eying Bat and the silent Otto with disgust, intervened.

  "Who are these persons?" he enquired.

  "Poison yourself," rejoined Bat, justly incensed. "Who's de littlesquirt, Mr. Maude?"

  John waved his hands.

  "Gentlemen, gentlemen," he said, "why descend to mere personalities? Iought to have introduced you. This is Mr. Renshaw, our editor. These,Mr. Renshaw, are Bat Jarvis and Long Otto, our acting fighting editors,vice Kid Brady, absent on unavoidable business."

  The name stung Mr. Renshaw to indignation, as Smith's had done.

  "Brady!" he shrilled. "I insist that you give me a full explanation. Igo away by my doctor's orders for a vacation, leaving Mr. Smith toconduct the paper on certain clearly defined lines. By mere chance,while on my vacation, I saw a copy of the paper. It had been ruined."

  "Ruined?" said John. "On the contrary. The circulation has been goingup every week."

  "Who is this person, Brady? With Mr. Philpotts I have been goingcarefully over the numbers which have been issued since my departure--"

  "An intellectual treat," murmured John.

  "--and in each there is a picture of this young man in a costume whichI will not particularize--"

  "There is hardly enough of it to particularize."

  "--together with a page of disgusting autobiographical matter."

  John held up his hand.

  "I protest," he said. "We court criticism, but this is mere abuse. Iappeal to these gentlemen to say whether this, for instance, is notbright and interesting."

  He picked up the current number of _Peaceful Moments_, and turnedto the Kid's page.

  "This," he said, "describes a certain ten-round unpleasantness with oneMexican Joe. 'Joe comes up for the second round and he gives me a nastylook, but I thinks of my mother and swats him one in the lower ribs. Hegives me another nasty look. "All right, Kid," he says; "now I'll knockyou up into the gallery." And with that he cuts loose with a rightswing, but I falls into the clinch, and then--'"

  "Pah!" exclaimed Mr. Renshaw.

  "Go on, boss," urged Mr. Jarvis approvingly. "It's to de good, datstuff."

  "There!" said John triumphantly. "You heard? Mr. Jarvis, one of themost firmly established critics east of Fifth Avenue stamps Kid Brady'sreminiscences with the hall-mark of his approval."

  "I falls fer de Kid every time," assented Mr. Jarvis.

  "Sure! You know a good thing when you see one. Why," he went on warmly,"there is stuff in these reminiscences which would stir the blood of ajellyfish. Let me quote you another passage, to show that they are notonly enthralling, but helpful as well. Let me see, where is it? Ah, Ihave it. 'A bully good way of putting a guy out of business is this.You don't want to use it in the ring, because rightly speaking it's afoul, but you will find it mighty useful if any thick-neck comes up toyou in the street and tries to start anything. It's this way. Whilehe's setting himself for a punch, just place the tips of the fingers ofyour left hand on the right side of the chest. Then bring down the heelof your left hand. There isn't a guy living that could stand up againstthat. The fingers give you a leverage to beat the band. The guy doublesup, and you upper-cut him with your right, and out he goes.' Now, I betyou never knew that before, Mr. Philpotts. Try it on yourparishioners."

  _"Peaceful Moments_," said Mr. Renshaw irately, "is no medium forexploiting low prize-fighters."

  "Low prize-fighters! No, no! The Kid is as decent a little chap asyou'd meet anywhere. And right up in the championship class, too! He'smatched against Eddie Wood at this very moment. And Mr. Waterman willsupport me in my statement that a victory over Eddie Wood means that hegets a cast-iron claim to meet Jimmy Garvin for the championship."

  "It is abominable," burst forth Mr. Renshaw. "It is disgraceful. Thepaper is ruined."

  "You keep saying that. It really isn't so. The returns are excellent.Prosperity beams on us like a sun. The proprietor is more thansatisfied."

  "Indeed!" said Mr. Renshaw sardonically.

  "Sure," said John.

  Mr. Renshaw laughed an acid laugh.

  "You may not know it," he said, "but Mr. Scobell is in New York at thisvery moment. We arrived together yesterday on the _Mauretania_. Iwas spending my vacation in England when I happened to see the copy ofthe paper. I instantl
y communicated with Mr. Scobell, who was at Mervo,an island in the Mediterranean--"

  "I seem to know the name--"

  "--and received in reply a long cable desiring me to return to New Yorkimmediately. I sailed on the _Mauretania_, and found that he wasone of the passengers. He was extremely agitated, let me tell you. Sothat your impudent assertion that the proprietor is pleased--"

  John raised his eyebrows.

  "I don't quite understand," he said. "From what you say, one wouldalmost imagine that you thought Mr. Scobell was the proprietor of thispaper."

  Mr. Renshaw stared. Everyone stared, except Mr. Jarvis, who, since thereadings from the Kid's reminiscences had ceased, had lost interest inthe proceedings, and was now entertaining the cats with a ball of papertied to a string.

  "Thought that Mr. Scobell--?" repeated Mr. Renshaw. "Who is, if he isnot?"

  "I am," said John.

  There was a moment's absolute silence.

  "You!" cried Mr. Renshaw.

  "You!" exclaimed Mr. Waterman, Mr. Asher, and the Reverend Edwin T.Philpotts.

  "Sure thing," said John.

  Mr. Renshaw groped for a chair, and sat down.

  "Am I going mad?" he demanded feebly. "Do I understand you to say thatyou own this paper?"

  "I do."

  "Since when?"

  "Roughly speaking, about three days."

  Among his audience (still excepting Mr. Jarvis, who was tickling one ofthe cats and whistling a plaintive melody) there was a tendency towardawkward silence. To start assailing a seeming nonentity and then todiscover he is the proprietor of the paper to which you wish tocontribute is like kicking an apparently empty hat and finding yourrich uncle inside it. Mr. Renshaw in particular was disturbed.Editorships of the kind to which he aspired are not easy to get. If hewere to be removed from _Peaceful Moments_ he would find it hardto place himself anywhere else. Editors, like manuscripts, are rejectedfrom want of space.

  "I had a little money to invest," continued John. "And it seemed to methat I couldn't do better than put it into _Peaceful Moments_. Ifit did nothing else, it would give me a free hand in pursuing a policyin which I was interested. Smith told me that Mr. Scobell'srepresentatives had instructions to accept any offer, so I made anoffer, and they jumped at it."

  Pugsy Maloney entered, bearing a card.

  "Ask him to wait just one moment," said John, reading it.

  He turned to Mr. Renshaw.

  "Mr. Renshaw," he said, "if you took hold of the paper again, helped bythese other gentlemen, do you think you could gather in our oldsubscribers and generally make the thing a live proposition on the oldlines? Because, if so, I should be glad if you would start in with thenext number. I am through with the present policy. At least, I hope tobe in a few minutes. Do you think you can undertake that?"

  Mr. Renshaw, with a sigh of relief, intimated that he could.

  "Good," said John. "And now I'm afraid I must ask you to go. A ratherprivate and delicate interview is in the offing. Bat, I'm very muchobliged to you and Otto for your help. I don't know what we should havedone without it."

  "Aw, Chee!" said Mr. Jarvis.

  "Then good-by for the present."

  "Good-by, boss. Good-by, loidy."

  Long Otto pulled his forelock, and, accompanied by the cats and thedog, they left the room.

  When Mr. Renshaw and the others had followed them, John rang the bellfor Pugsy.

  "Ask Mr. Scobell to step in," he said.

  The man of many enterprises entered. His appearance had deterioratedsince John had last met him. He had the air of one who has been caughtin the machinery. His face was even sallower than of yore, and therewas no gleam in his dull green eyes.

  He started at the sight of Betty, but he was evidently too absorbed inthe business in hand to be surprised at seeing her. He sank into achair, and stared gloomily at John.

  "Well?" he said.

  "Well?" said John.

  "This," observed Mr. Scobell simply, "is hell." He drew a cigar stumpmechanically from his vest pocket and lighted it.

  "What are you going to do about it?" he asked.

  "What are you?" said John. "It's up to you."

  Mr. Scobell gazed heavily into vacancy.

  "Ever since I started in to monkey with that darned Mervo," he saidsadly, "there ain't a thing gone right. I haven't been able to turnaround without bumping into myself. Everything I touch turns to mud. Iguess I can still breathe, but I'm not betting on that lasting long. Ofall the darned hoodoos that island was the worst. Say, I gotta closedown that Casino. What do you know about that! Sure thing. The old ladywon't stand for it. I had a letter from her." He turned to Betty. "Yougot her all worked up, Betty. I'm not blaming you. It's just my jinx.She took it into her head I'd been treating you mean, and she kicked atthe Casino. I gotta close it down or nix on the heir thing. That wasenough for me. I'm going to turn it into a hotel."

  He relighted his cigar.

  "And now, just as I got her smoothed down, along comes this darnedtenement business. Say, Prince, for the love of Mike cut it out. Ifthose houses are as bad as you say they are, and the old lady finds outthat I own them, it'll be Katie bar the door for me. She wouldn't standfor it for a moment. I guess I didn't treat you good, Prince, but let'sforget it. Ease up on this rough stuff. I'll do anything you want."

  Betty spoke.

  "We only want you to make the houses fit to live in," she said. "Idon't believe you know what they're like."

  "Why, no. I left Parker in charge. It was up to him to do what waswanted. Say, Prince, I want to talk to you about that guy, Parker. Iunderstand he's been rather rough with you and your crowd. That wasn'tmy doing. I didn't know anything about it till he told me. It's thedarned Wild West strain in him coming out. He used to do those sort ofthings out there, and he's forgotten his manners. I pay him well, and Iguess he thinks that's the way it's up to him to earn it. You mustn'tmind Parker."

  "Oh, well! So long as he means well--!" said John. "I've no grudgeagainst Parker. I've settled with him."

  "Well, then, what about this Broster Street thing? You want me to fixsome improvements, is that it?"

  "That's it."

  "Why, say, I'll do that. Sure. And then you'll quit handing out thenewspaper stories? That goes. I'll start right in."

  He rose.

  "That's taken a heap off my mind," he said.

  "There's just one other thing," said John. "Have you by any chance sucha thing as a stepfather's blessing on you?"

  "Eh?"

  John took Betty's hand.

  "We've come round to your views, Mr. Scobell," he said. "That scheme ofyours for our future looks good to us."

  Mr. Scobell bit through his cigar in his emotion.

  "Now, why the Heck," he moaned, "couldn't you have had the sense to dothat before, and save all this trouble?"

  CHAPTER XXX

  CONCLUSION

  Smith drew thoughtfully at his cigar, and shifted himself morecomfortably into his chair. It was long since he had visited the West,and he had found all the old magic in the still, scented darkness ofthe prairie night. He gave a little sigh of content. When John, a yearbefore, had announced his intention of buying this ranch, and, as itseemed to Smith, burying himself alive a thousand miles from anywhere,he had disapproved. He had pointed out that John was not doing whatFate expected of him. A miracle, in the shape of a six-figure weddingpresent from Mrs. Oakley, who had never been known before, in thememory of man, to give away a millionth of that sum, had happened tohim. Fate, argued Smith, plainly intended him to stay in New York andspend his money in a civilized way.

  John had had only one reply, but it was clinching.

  "Betty likes the idea," he said, and Smith ceased to argue.

  Now, as he sat smoking on the porch on the first night of his inauguralvisit to the ranch, a conviction was creeping over him that John hadchosen wisely.

  A door opened behind him. Betty came out on to the porch, and droppedinto a chair cl
ose to where John's cigar glowed redly in the darkness.They sat there without speaking. The stirring of unseen cattle in thecorral made a soothing accompaniment to thought.

  "It is very pleasant for an old jail bird like myself," said Smith atlast, "to sit here at my ease. I wish all our absent friends could bewith us to-night. Or perhaps not quite all. Let us say, Comrade Parkerhere, Comrades Brady and Maloney over there by you, and our old friendRenshaw sharing the floor with B. Henderson Asher, Bat Jarvis, and thecats. By the way, I was round at Broster Street before I left New York.There is certainly an improvement. Millionaires now stop there insteadof going on to the Plaza. Are you asleep, John?"

  "No."

  "Excellent. I also saw Comrade Brady before I left. He has definitelygot on his match with Jimmy Garvin."

  "Good. He'll win."

  "The papers seem to think so. _Peaceful Moments_, however, I amsorry to say, is silent on the subject. It was not like this in thegood old days. How is the paper going now, John? Are the receiptssatisfactory?"

  "Pretty fair. Renshaw is rather a marvel in his way. He seems to haveroped in nearly all the old subscribers. They eat out of his hand."

  Smith stretched himself.

  "These," he said, "are the moments in life to which we look back withthat wistful pleasure. This peaceful scene, John, will remain with mewhen I have forgotten that such a man as Spider Reilly ever existed.These are the real Peaceful Moments."

  He closed his eyes. The cigar dropped from his fingers. There was along silence.

  "Mr. Smith," said Betty.

  There was no answer.

  "He's asleep," said John. "He had a long journey to-day."

  Betty drew her chair closer. From somewhere out in the darkness, fromthe direction of the men's quarters, came the soft tinkle of a guitarand a voice droning a Mexican love-song.

  Her hand stole out and found his. They began to talk in whispers.

  THE END