Big Money

by P. G. Wodehouse

  Berry followed his gaze. At a table near the door a stout and florid man was sitting, obviously doing himself well. J. B. Hoke, that obese double-dealer, always made of his lunch almost a holy rite and as a temple in which to perform it he usually selected this particular restaurant. For here he could get soup that was soup, a steak that was a steak, and in addition that wholehearted affection which restaurateurs bestow on clients who come regularly and are restrained from giving of their best neither by parsimony nor by any of these modern diet fads.

  J. B. Hoke had never dieted in his life. Nor was there at the present point in his career any reason for him to stint himself from motives of economy. Things were going well with Mr Hoke. He had unloaded all his Horned Toad Copper at four shillings, and the Financial News informed him this morning that it was down to one shilling and sixpence. At his leisure he proposed to buy it in again, possibly when it had sunk to a shilling, and then the information of the discovery of the new reef would be made public and he would have nothing to do but sit pretty and watch her shoot skywards. The future was looking to Mr Hoke as rosy as his face.

  He regarded Berry with eyes that bulged with greed and goodwill. The thought that he was about to make a large fortune out of a property for which he had paid this young man five hundred pounds diverted Mr Hoke. He bestowed upon his steak a look that was somehow deeper and more reverent than that which he usually accorded to steaks, though his manner toward them was always respectful. He was pleased to see that today the white-aproned chef had excelled himself. J. B. Hoke had chosen that steak in person after a good deal of careful thought, and justice had been done to it in the cooking.

  'That,' said Berry, 'is Hoke. The fellow who bought my mine.'

  'Is it?' The Biscuit scrutinized the philanthropist with interest. 'Bought the mine, did he? Odd. He doesn't look like a mug. You don't think it's possible . . .'

  'What?'

  'I was just wondering whether that mine was quite such a dud as you thought it. I don't like Hoke's looks. I suspect the man. He has the air of one who would be pretty rough with the widow and the orphan if he got a chance. What's become of this mine? Is he using it as a summer camp or something?'

  'I believe it has been absorbed into a thing old Frisby owns – Horned Toad Copper.'

  'How does Frisby get mixed up with it?'

  'Hoke's a friend of his.'

  'Is he?' The Biscuit snorted. 'Well, that damns him properly. What honest man would be a friend of old Frisby? A bounder,' said the Biscuit bitterly, 'whose only niece gets engaged to an admirable young man of good family and who, in spite of being given every opportunity of coming across with a small gift, sits tight and does nothing. You take it from me, Berry, these hounds have done you down.'

  'Well, it's too late to worry about it now.'

  'I suppose it is.'

  'What we had better think about is how we are going to raise a bit of money.'

  The Biscuit frowned.

  'Money!' he said. 'Yes. You're right. What a rotten thing this business of money is. Half the best chaps in the world are crippled for want of it. And the fellows who have got it haven't a notion what to do with it. Take old Frisby, for instance. Worth millions.'

  'I suppose so.'

  'And is a bloke with a face like a horse and a spending capacity of about twopence a day. On the other hand, take me. You know me, Berry, old man. Young, enthusiastic, dripping with joie de vivre, only needing a balance at the bank to go out and scatter light and sweetness and – mark you – scatter them good. If I had money, I could increase the sum of human happiness a hundredfold.'

  'How?'

  'By flinging purses of gold to the deserving, old boy. That's how. And here I am, broke. And there is your foul boss, simply stagnant with the stuff. All wrong.'

  'Well, don't blame me.'

  'What ought to happen,' said the Biscuit, 'is this. If I had the management of this country, there would be public examinations held twice a year, at which these old crumbs with their hoarded wealth would be brought up and subjected to a very severe inquisition. "You!" the Examiner would say, looking pretty sharply at Frisby. "How much have you got? Indeed? Really? As much as that, eh? Well, kindly inform this court what you do with it." The wretched man, who seems to feel his position acutely, snuffles a bit. "Come on, now!" says the Examiner, rapping the table. "No subterfuge. No evasion. How do you employ this very decent slice of the needful?" "Well, as a matter of fact," mumbles old Frisby, trying to avoid his eye, "I shove it away behind a brick and go out and get some more." "Is that so?" says the Examiner. "Well, upon my Sam! I never heard anything so disgraceful in my living puff. It's a crying outrage. A bally scandal. Take ten million away from this miserable louse and hand it over to excellent old Biskerton, who will make a proper use of it. And then go and ask Berry Conway how much he wants." We'd get somewhere then.'

  He contemplated dreamily for a while the Utopia he had conjured up. Then he looked across the room again, and clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

  'I'll swear Hoke swindled you over that mine,' he said. ' I can see it in his eye.'

  'There must be dozens of ways of making money,' said Berry, reflectively. 'Can't you suggest anything?'

  The Biscuit withdrew his gaze from Mr Hoke, and gave his mind to the problem.

  'How about winning the Calcutta Sweep?' he asked.

  'Fine!' said Berry. 'Or the Stock Exchange Sweep.'

  'Why not both?'

  'All right. Both, if you like.'

  'Still,' said the Biscuit, pointing out the objection frankly, for he was not a man to allow himself to build castles in the air, 'we shan't be able to do that for about another ten months or so, and what we need is cash down and on the nail. We will ear-mark the Calcutta and Stock Exchange sweeps for a future date, but in the meantime we must be thinking of something else – something that will bring the brass in quick. Any ideas?'

  'Invent a substitute for petrol.'

  'Yes. We might do that. It would be simpler, though, to save some old man from being run over by a truck. He would turn out to be a millionaire and would leave us a fortune.'

  'That would mean waiting,' Berry pointed out.

  'So it would. Possibly for years. I had overlooked that. It seems to me that every avenue is closed. We might try the old Secret game, of course.'

  'I don't know that.'

  'Yes, you do. I recollect telling you. The two blokes – Bloke A. and Bloke B. Bloke A. goes up to Bloke B. and says, "I know your secret!" And Bloke B.—'

  'I remember now. But suppose your second bloke hasn't got a secret?'

  'My dear old boy, everybody has a secret. It's one of the laws of Nature. When you get back to the office, try it on old Frisby and watch him wilt. Become a gentlemanly blackmailer and earn while you learn.'

  'Talking of Frisby,' said Berry, looking at his watch, 'I suppose I ought to be getting along. He's had another of his dyspeptic attacks and didn't come to the office this morning. He 'phoned to say he wanted me to bring the mail up to his flat in Grosvenor House. Rather convenient.'

  'Why convenient?'

  'Well, for one thing, I want to see him, to tell him I'm chucking my job. And then,' said Berry, 'I shall be near the Park. I promised to meet Ann at the Tea House. We're going to feed the ducks on the Serpentine.'

  'My God!'

  'Well, we are,' said Berry doggedly. 'And if you don't like it, try to do something about it. Are you coming along?'

  'No. I shall sit here and think. I must think. I must think – think. How the dickens, with your whole future clouded with the most delicate financial problems, you can waste your time feeding ducks—'

  'I don't look on it as a waste of time,' said Berry. 'So long. See you tonight.'

  He walked to the door, and was hailed in passing by Mr Hoke.

  'And how's Mr Conway?' asked Mr Hoke.

  'I'm all right, thanks,' said Berry.

  'Who's your friend?'

  'Man who lives next door to me
down at Valley Fields.'

  'What were you talking about so earnestly?'

  Berry wanted to hurry on.

  'Oh, various things. The Dream Come True, among others.'

  'The Dream Come True, eh?'

  'Yes. He seemed interested in it. Well, I must rush.'

  'Pleased to have seen you,' said Mr Hoke.

  He returned to his steak, and for some moments became absorbed in it. Then a shadow fell on the table, and, looking up, he perceived his old friend, Captain Kelly.

  II

  Mr Hoke was not glad to see Captain Kelly. Indeed, he had been going to some little trouble of late to avoid him. But his mood was too radiant to allow him to be depressed by this encounter.

  ''Lo, Captain,' he said amiably.

  Captain Kelly pulled a chair back and lowered himself into it with a tight-trousered man's slow caution.

  'Lunch?' said Mr Hoke.

  'No,' said Captain Kelly.

  His manner was undeniably on the curt side, and a man with a more sensitive conscience than Mr Hoke possessed might have been troubled. J. B. Hoke's military friend was looking across the table at him in an odd, stony way. Never effusive, he seemed now even less cordial than his wont. His lips were set in a straight line: and even when speaking he scarcely opened them.

  Mr Hoke gathered that his old crony had been hearing things. The fact did not disturb him. Sooner or later, he told himself philosophically, there was bound to be a show-down. He was glad that it had come now, when he was feeling in particularly good form and able to cope with a dozen injured Captains.

  'Want a word with you,' said Captain Kelly.

  J. B. Hoke cut off a generous piece of steak, dipped it in salt, smeared it with mustard, bathed it in Worcester Sauce, placed a portion of potato on it, added cabbage and horse-radish, and raised the complete edifice to his mouth. Only when it was safely inside did he reply, and then only briefly.

  'Yeah?' he said.

  The Captain continued to eye him fixedly.

  'Begin by saying,' he went on, 'that of all the dirty, swindling hounds I've ever met you're the worst.'

  Hard words never broke Mr Hoke's bones. He smiled indulgently.

  'What did you have for breakfast, Captain?'

  'Never you mind what I had for breakfast. I had a brandy and soda, if you want to know.'

  'I guess it disagreed with you,' said Mr Hoke, detaching another portion of steak and occupying himself once more with the building operations.

  Captain Kelly was plainly in no mood for persiflage.

  'You know what I'm talking about,' he said. 'What about that mine?'

  'What mine?'

  'The Dream Come True I'm talking about.'

  'What about the Dream Come True?'

  'Yes, what about it?' said the Captain.

  Mr Hoke engulfed his mouthful, and sat champing placidly. The spectacle appeared to infuriate his friend.

  'See here,' said Captain Kelly, his face, educated by a thousand poker-games, still expressionless save for a little vein below the temple which swelled and throbbed, 'wasn't the agreement that you and I should buy that mine together? Wasn't it? And didn't you go off and buy it for yourself ? It's no use trying to deny it. Bellamy was there when you did it, and he told me. You Jonah!'

  'Judas,' corrected Mr Hoke. He liked to get these things right.

  He smeared mustard amiably.

  'Bless your heart,' he said, with gentle amusement, 'I'm not trying to deny it.'

  'Ah,' said Captain Kelly.

  'You want to watch your step when you're doing business,' said Mr Hoke. 'If you don't, you find yourself side-tracked, and there you are, out in the cold, and nothing to be done about it.'

  'Nothing to be done about it?'

  'Not a thing,' said Mr Hoke, 'to be done about it.'

  Captain Kelly breathed softly through his nose.

  'Ah!' he said again.

  'Say "Ah" just as often as ever you like,' said Mr Hoke, generously. 'It won't make any difference.' He swallowed another mouthful of steak. 'I'm sorry for you, Captain. If it's any consolation to you to know it, I'm sorry for you. You've let yourself be out-smarted. It's the fortune of war. That's all there is to it. Happens all the time. You today, me tomorrow.'

  Captain Kelly crumbled bread. It was Mr Hoke's bread, but its owner made no complaint. A man in his position could afford to take the big, broad view about bread.

  'What do you expect to make out of this deal?' asked the Captain.

  Mr Hoke had no objection to answering that question.

  'Thousands and thousands,' he said. 'And thousands.'

  'And I might have had half,' sighed Captain Kelly.

  'And you,' agreed Mr Hoke, 'might have had half.'

  The Captain sighed again. There was a long silence.

  'I could have done with a bit of money just now,' said the Captain.

  'I bet you could,' said Mr Hoke cordially.

  'I've a lot of expenses just at present.'

  'We all have,' said Mr Hoke.

  'You see, it costs money to entertain these fellows,' said the Captain pensively.

  Mr Hoke cut steak.

  'What fellows?' he asked.

  'A couple of lads from Chicago have come over with a letter of introduction from a friend of mine in America. He's a man I'm under obligations to, so it's up to me to take care of them. And they seem to think,' said Captain Kelly, sighing once more, 'of nothing but pleasure. That's why I want to find some money.'

  'I suppose so,' said Mr Hoke.

  'You'd be surprised what a lot it runs into, taking these fellows around London and showing them the sights. The best is none too good for them. Three times to Madame Tussaud's in the last week.'

  'Ah,' said Mr Hoke. 'They live high, those boys.'

  'Of course, there's the other side. They're grateful to me. They look on me like an elder brother. They said yesterday that there wasn't anything in the world they wouldn't do for me.'

  'That's fine,' said Mr Hoke heartily. 'A nice spirit.'

  'You'd have laughed if you had heard what their idea of doing something for me was,' proceeded the Captain. 'They asked me if there wasn't anybody I wanted bumped off. If there was, they would be proud and happy to do it for me free of charge, just to show their gratitude and keep their hand in.'

  Mr Hoke may have laughed, but, if so, he did it inaudibly. He was in the act of raising another portion of steak: but though his mouth now opened slowly, as if to receive the bonne bouche, he did not insert it. He lowered his fork, and gazed at his companion in a rather strained way.

  'Bumped off ?' he said, in a thin voice.

  'Bumped off,' said the Captain. 'Didn't I mention,' he went on, with a glance of mild surprise at his companion's drooping jaw, 'that they were gunmen?'

  'Gug?' said Mr Hoke.

  'Yes. And rather well known, I believe, over on the other side. What they call Chicago gorillas. Extraordinary chaps!' said the Captain, reflectively. 'Children of Nature, you might say. Just a couple of great, big, happy schoolboys. Fancy wanting to repay hospitality by coshing somebody who had done your host a bad turn. It amused me.'

  He chuckled, to show that he still found the pretty fancy entertaining. He had a curious way of chuckling. His mouth lifted itself slightly on one side, the lips remaining tightly closed. His eyes during the performance retained their normal aspect, which was that of a couple of bits of light blue steel. Mr Hoke found it interesting, but not attractive.

  'Well, I mustn't waste the whole day talking to you,' said Captain Kelly, rising.

  'Hey!' said Mr Hoke. 'Wait!'

  'Something you want to say?' asked the Captain, resuming his seat.

  Mr Hoke swallowed painfully.

  'Guys like that ought to be in gaol,' he said, with feeling. 'In gaol, that's where they ought to be.'

  Captain Kelly nodded lightly.

  'They were for a day or two,' he said, 'that time they shot Joe Frascati in Chicago. They let them ou
t, though. Still, they had to come here till it blew over.'

  'Shush-shot him?' quavered Mr Hoke.

  'Bless you,' said the Captain, 'that's nothing in Chicago. You ought to know that, coming from the other side. Well, as I was saying, they wanted to oblige me, and by a bit of bad luck I happened to mention the way you had done me down. You never saw two fellows so worked up. Big-hearted, that's what they are. You can say what you like about these gunmen, but they stick up for their friends. You were one of the things they wanted to stick up,' said Captain Kelly, chuckling at the pleasantry. His spirits seemed to have improved.

  Mr Hoke became vociferous.

  'Stick me up? What for? I've not done nothing. You don't suppose I was really planning to do you down, do you – an old friend like you? I was just kidding you, Captain, to get your goat. I wanted to see how you'd take it.'

  'Well, you saw,' said the Captain briefly. 'And now I really must be going. I promised to meet those two at the club.'

  'Wait!' said Mr Hoke. 'Wait! Wait!'

  He gulped.

  'You get your half share all right,' he said. 'I'll give you a letter to that effect, if you like. Write it now, if you want me to.'

  Something that was very near to being a pleased smile flitted across the Captain's face.

  'I should,' he said. 'I know it would please those boys. The waiter will bring you ink and paper.'

  'I've a fountain-pen,' said Mr Hoke thickly. 'And here's a bit of paper that will do.'

  He scribbled feverishly. Captain Kelly examined the document, seemed contented with it, and put it carefully away in his pocket.

  'I'll be at the club all the afternoon,' he said, rising. 'Only got to look in at Somerset House to get this stamped.'

  He walked in a leisurely manner to the door. And Mr Hoke, his appetite no longer what it had been, stopped eating steak and called for coffee and a double brandy.

  Then, lighting a large cigar, he gave himself up to meditation. The sunshine which so recently had bathed his world had vanished. There had been a total eclipse.

  III