Three Men and a Maid

by P. G. Wodehouse

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Remarkable as the apparition of Mr. Bennett appeared to his daughter, theexplanation of his presence at that moment in the office of Marlowe,Thorpe, Prescott, Winslow, and Appleby was simple. He had woken early thatmorning, and, glancing at his watch on the dressing-table, he had suddenlybecome aware of something bright and yellow beside it, and had paused,transfixed, like Robinson Crusoe staring at the footprint in the sand.If he had not been in England, he would have said it was a patch ofsunshine. Hardly daring to hope, he pulled up the shades and looked outon the garden.

  It was a superb morning. It was as if some giant had uncorked a greatbottle full of the distilled scent of grass, trees, flowers, and hay.Mr. Bennett sniffed luxuriantly. Gone was the gloom of the past days,swept away in a great exhilaration.

  Breakfast had deepened his content. Henry Mortimer, softened by thesame balmy influence, had been perfectly charming. All their littledifferences had melted away in the genial warmth. And then suddenlyMr. Bennett remembered that he had sent Billie up to London to enlistthe aid of the Law against his old friend, and remorse gripped him. Halfan hour later he was in the train, on his way to London to intercept herand cancel her mission. He had arrived, breathless at Sir Mallaby'soffice, and the first thing he had seen was his daughter in the arms ofa young man who was a total stranger to him. The shock took away hisbreath again just as it was coming back. He advanced shakily into theroom, and supported himself with one hand on the desk, while with theother he plied the handkerchief on his super-heated face.

  Billie was the first to speak.

  "Why, father," she said, "I didn't expect you!"

  As an explanation of her behaviour this might, no doubt, have beenconsidered sufficient, but as an excuse for it Mr. Bennett thought itinadequate. He tried to convey a fatherly reproof by puffing like aseal after a long dive in search of fish.

  "This is Sam," proceeded Billie. "Sam Marlowe."

  Mr. Bennett became aware that the young man was moving towards him withoutstretched hand. It took a lot to disconcert Sam, and he was thecalmest person present. He gave evidence of this in a neat speech. Hedid not in so many words congratulate Mr. Bennett on the piece of luckwhich had befallen him, but he tried to make him understand by hismanner that he was distinctly to be envied as the prospectivefather-in-law of such a one as himself.

  Mr. Bennett stared in a frozen sort of way at the hand. He had placedSam by now. He knew that Sir Mallaby had a son. This, presumably, washe. But the discovery did not diminish his indignation.

  "I am delighted to meet you, Mr. Bennett," said Sam. "You could nothave come at a more fortunate moment. You see for yourself how thingsare. There is no need for a long explanation. You came to find adaughter, Mr. Bennett, and you have found a son!"

  And he would like to see the man, thought Sam, who could have put itmore cleverly and pleasantly and tactfully than that.

  "What are you talking about?" said Mr. Bennett, recovering breath. "Ihaven't got a son."

  "I will be a son to you! I will be the prop of your decliningyears...."

  "What the devil do you mean, my declining years?" demanded Mr. Bennettwith asperity.

  "He means when they do decline, father dear," said Billie.

  "Of course, of course," said Sam. "When they do decline. Not till then,of course! I wouldn't dream of it. But, once they do decline, count onme! And I should like to say for my part," he went on handsomely, "whatan honour I think it, to become the son-in-law of a man like Mr.Bennett. Bennett of New York!" he added spaciously, not so much becausehe knew what he meant, for he would have been the first to admit thathe did not, but because it sounded well.

  "Oh!" said Mr. Bennett "You do, do you?"

  Mr. Bennett sat down. He put away his handkerchief, which had certainlyearned a rest. Then he fastened a baleful stare upon his newly-discoveredson. It was not the sort of look a proud and happy father-in-law-to-beought to have directed at a prospective relative. It was not, as a matterof fact, the sort of look which anyone ought to have directed at anybodyexcept possibly an exceptionally prudish judge at a criminal in the dock,convicted of a more than usually atrocious murder. Billie, not being inthe actual line of fire, only caught the tail end of it, but it wasenough to create a misgiving.

  "Oh, father! You aren't angry."

  "Angry!"

  "You _can't_ be angry!"

  "Why can't I be angry!" demanded Mr. Bennett, with that sense of injurywhich comes to self-willed men when their whims are thwarted. "Why thedevil shouldn't I be angry? I _am_ angry! I come here and find youlike--like this, and you seem to expect me to throw my hat in the airand give three rousing cheers! Of course I'm angry! You are engaged tobe married to an excellent young man of the highest character, one ofthe finest young men I have ever met...."

  "Oh, well!" said Sam, straightening his tie modestly. "Of course, ifyou say so ... It's awfully good of you...."

  "But, father," cried Billie, "I never really loved Bream. I like himvery much, but I could never love him. I only got engaged to himbecause you were so anxious for it, and because ... because I hadquarrelled with the man I really loved ... I don't want to marry Bream."

  "Naturally!" said Sam. "Naturally! Quite out of the question. In a fewdays we'll all be roaring with laughter at the very idea."

  Mr. Bennett scorched him with a look compared with which his earliereffort had been a loving glance.

  "Wilhelmina," he said, "go into the outer office."

  "But, father, you don't understand. You don't realise that Sam has justsaved my life."

  "Saved your life? What do you mean?"

  "There was a lunatic in here with a pistol, and Sam saved me."

  "It was nothing," said Sam modestly. "Nothing."

  "Go into the outer office!" thundered Mr. Bennett, quite unmoved bythis story.

  "Very well," said Billie. "I shall always love you, Sam," she said,pausing mutinously at the door.

  "I shall always love _you_," said Sam.

  "Nobody can keep us apart."

  "They're wasting their time, trying," said Sam.

  "You're the most wonderful man in the world."

  "There never was a girl like you!"

  "Get _out_!" bellowed Mr. Bennett, on whose equanimity thislove-scene, which I think beautiful, was jarring profoundly.

  "Now, sir!" he said to Sam, as the door closed.

  "Yes, let's talk it over calmly," said Sam.

  "I will not talk it over calmly!"

  "Oh, come! You can do it if you try."

  "Bream Mortimer is the son of Henry Mortimer."

  "I know," said Sam. "And, while it is no doubt unfair to hold thatagainst him, it's a point you can't afford to ignore. Henry Mortimer!You and I have Henry Mortimer's number. We know what Henry Mortimer islike! A man who spends his time thinking up ways of annoying you. Youcan't seriously want to have the Mortimer family linked to you bymarriage."

  "Henry Mortimer is my oldest friend."

  "That makes it all the worse. Fancy a man who calls himself your friendtreating you like that!"

  "The misunderstanding to which you allude has been completely smoothedover. My relations with Mr. Mortimer are thoroughly cordial."

  "Well, have it your own way. Personally, I wouldn't trust a man likethat. And, as for letting my daughter marry his son...!"

  "I have decided once and for all...."

  "If you'll take my advice, you will break the thing off."

  "I will not take your advice."

  "I wouldn't expect to charge you for it," explained Sam, reassuringly."I give it you as a friend, not as a lawyer. Six-and-eightpence toothers, free to you."

  "Will you understand that my daughter is going to marry Bream Mortimer?What are you giggling about?"

  "It sounds so silly. The idea of anyone marrying Bream Mortimer, Imean."

  "Let me tell you he is a thoroughly estimable young man."

  "And there you put the whole thing in a nutshell. Your daughter is agirl
of spirit. She would hate to be tied for life to an estimableyoung man."

  "She will do as I tell her."

  Sam regarded him sternly.

  "Have you no regard for her happiness?"

  "I am the best judge of what is best for her."

  "If you ask me," said Sam candidly, "I think you're a rotten judge."

  "I did not come here to be insulted!"

  "I like that! You have been insulting me ever since you arrived. Whatright have you to say that I'm not fit to marry your daughter?"

  "I did not say that."

  "You've implied it. And you've been looking at me as if I were a leperor something the Pure Food Committee has condemned. Why? That's what Iask you," said Sam, warming up. This, he fancied, was the way Widgerywould have tackled a troublesome client. "Why? Answer me that!"

  "I...."

  Sam rapped sharply on the desk.

  "Be careful, sir. Be very careful!" He knew that this was what lawyersalways said. Of course, there is a difference in position between amiscreant whom you suspect of an attempt at perjury and the father ofthe girl you love, whose consent to the match you wish to obtain, butSam was in no mood for these nice distinctions. He only knew thatlawyers told people to be very careful, so he told Mr. Bennett to bevery careful.

  "What do you mean, be very careful?" said Mr. Bennett.

  "I'm dashed if I know," said Sam frankly. The question struck him as amean attack. He wondered how Widgery would have met it. Probably bysmiling quietly and polishing his spectacles. Sam had no spectacles. Heendeavoured, however, to smile quietly.

  "Don't laugh at me!" roared Mr. Bennett.

  "I'm not laughing at you."

  "You are!"

  "I'm not!"

  "Well, don't then!" said Mr. Bennett. He glowered at his youngcompanion. "I don't know why I'm wasting my time, talking to you. Theposition is clear to the meanest intelligence. You cannot have anydifficulty in understanding it. I have no objection to youpersonally...."

  "Come, this is better!" said Sam.

  "I don't know you well enough to have any objection to you or anyopinion of you at all. This is the first time I have ever met you in mylife."

  "Mark you," said Sam. "I think I am one of those fellows who grow onpeople...."

  "As far as I am concerned, you simply do not exist. You may be thenoblest character in London or you may be wanted by the police. I don'tknow. And I don't care. It doesn't matter to me. You mean nothing in mylife. I don't know you."

  "You must persevere," said Sam. "You must buckle to and get to know me.Don't give the thing up in this half-hearted way. Everything has tohave a beginning. Stick to it, and in a week or two you will findyourself knowing me quite well."

  "I don't want to know you!"

  "You say that now, but wait!"

  "And thank goodness I have not got to!" exploded Mr. Bennett, ceasingto be calm and reasonable with a suddenness which affected Sam much asthough half a pound of gunpowder had been touched off under his chair."For the little I have seen of you has been quite enough! Kindlyunderstand that my daughter is engaged to be married to another man, andthat I do not wish to see or hear anything of you again! I shall try toforget your very existence, and I shall see to it that Wilhelmina doesthe same! You're an impudent scoundrel, sir! An impudent scoundrel! Idon't like you! I don't wish to see you again! If you were the last manin the world I wouldn't allow my daughter to marry you! If that isquite clear, I will wish you good morning!"

  Mr. Bennett thundered out of the room, and Sam, temporarily stunned bythe outburst, remained where he was, gaping. A few minuteslater life began to return to his palsied limbs. It occurred to himthat Mr. Bennett had forgotten to kiss him good-bye, and he went intothe outer office to tell him so. But the outer office was empty. Samstood for a moment in thought, then he returned to the inner office,and, picking up a time-table, began to look out trains to the villageof Windlehurst in Hampshire, the nearest station to his aunt Adeline'scharming old-world house, Windles.