Luck of the Bodkins

by P. G. Wodehouse

  'What everybody has been telling me ... Reggie ... and Ambrose.’

  'I don't know about Reggie,' said Lottie, 'but whatever my Ammie has been telling you you can take as gospel. But what do you mean, is it all true?' asked Lottie, puzzled. 'Didn't you know it was true?'

  'I didn't believe it.’

  'Then what an extraordinary little sap you must be, if you'll excuse me saying so. Naturally, I took it for granted, when I found you scratching at the door, that you had seen the light and had come to tell Brother Bodkin the fight was off. Do you mean to say you simply came to start another round?’

  'I was going to give him back his mouse.'

  'To show him that all was over?'

  'Yes,' said Gertrude in a small voice.

  Lottie Blossom drew in her breath, amazed.

  'Well, in the friendliest spirit, Buttersplosh, you make me sick. Of all the cuckoos! So you seriously thought there was funny work going on between this Bodkin of yours and me?'

  ‘I don't think so now.’

  'I should hope you darned well didn't by golly think so now. Bodkin! That's a laugh. Why, I wouldn't touch Bodkin if you served him up to me on an individual skewer with Bearnaise sauce. He could go automobiling with me for weeks on end and never once have to get out and walk. And why? Because there's only one man for me - my Ammie. Gosh, how I love that bimbo!'

  'No more than I love Monty,' said. Gertrude. She was close to tears, but she spoke with spirit. While rejoicing that this girl was after all no rival, she had not at all liked her saying that she would not find any appeal in Monty, even if served up with Bearnaise sauce on an individual skewer.

  'Well, that's fine,’ said Lottie. 'I'd tell him so, if I were you.’

  'I'm going to. But - do you think he will ever forgive me?'

  'For your unworthy suspicions? Oh, sure. Men are swell that way. You can treat them like dogs, but they'll always be there with their hair in a braid when it comes to the slow fade-out on the embrace. I'd run at him and kiss him, if I were you.’

  ‘I will.'

  'Make a flying tackle and utter some such words as "Oh, Monty, darling!" ‘I will.'

  'Then get on your toes,’ said Lottie Blossom, 'because this’ll be him.’

  The bell had rung as she spoke. She went to the door and opened it. Gertrude relaxed her tension. For it was not Monty who entered, but Ambrose Tennyson and his brother Reggie.

  Reggie was looking keen and intent, the man with much on his mind and no time to waste.

  'Where's Monty?' he asked. 'Oh, hullo, young G. You here?'

  'Sure,' said Lottie. 'She's waiting for Mr Bodkin. Everything's jake.'

  'Scales fallen from her eyes at last?’

  ‘That's right.'

  'About time, the silly young juggins,' said Reggie, with cousinly sternness. He dismissed Gertrude and returned to the main issue. 'Where's Monty?'

  'Over at Ikey's. He's fixing up your contract, Ammie.’ ‘What!'

  ‘Yes. I wrestled with him in prayer, and he went off to arrange things. By this time it's probably all settled.' Ambrose Tennyson swelled like a balloon. ‘Lottie!'

  He could say no more. He clasped Miss Blossom to his waistcoat. Reggie tut-tutted.

  ‘Yes, yes, yes,' said Reggie, not peevishly, but with a business man's impatience of the softer emotions. 'But when's he coming back? It is imperative that I see him.'

  'What do you want to see him about?'

  'I want to see him, and that without delay, about a certain ».. Good Lord! There it is all the time, staring me in the face. Gertrude,' said Reggie crisply, 'kindly slip me over the Mickey Mouse you're dandling on your knee.'

  His conduct during the voyage and in particular his most offensive attitude in the Customs sheds had left Gertrude Butterwick almost totally devoid of that warm affection towards Reggie which one likes to see in a girl towards her near relatives. These words did nothing to restore it.

  'I won't!' she cried.

  Reggie's foot tapped the carpet.

  'Gertrude, I require that mouse.’

  "Well, you're not going to get it.'

  'What on earth do you want it for?' asked Ambrose with that slight brusqueness so often noticeable in an elder brother when addressing his junior.

  Reggie's manner became guarded. He looked like a young ambassador being requested to reveal secrets of state.

  'I can't tell you that. My lips are sealed. But there are wheels within wheels, and I must have it.'

  Gertrude's mouth tightened. So did her grip on the object in dispute.

  'This is Monty's mouse,' she said, 'and I'm going to give it back to him. Then he'll give it back to me.'

  'And then I can have it?' asked Reggie, as one willing to accept a compromise.

  ‘No!'

  Tchah! ‘ said Reggie. It was not an expression he often used, but it seemed to him that the situation called for it And as he spoke the door-bell rang.

  Lottie Blossom had advised Gertrude Butterwick to run at Monty, when he appeared, and kiss him, and this was what she did the moment the door opened. Though she would have preferred the sacred scene to have taken place in private, she did not scamp her work because of the presence of an audience. She kissed Monty and broke into a torrent of remorseless eloquence. At the same time, Reggie asked Monty if he could have that mouse, and Ambrose and Lottie asked him if he had brought his negotiations with Mr Llewellyn to a satisfactory conclusion. All this confused Monty, and he had been quite considerably confused already.

  It was Lottie who was the first to perceive that the subject was gasping for air,

  'Lay off him, can't you,' she urged. 'One at a time, darn it All right Buttersplosh,' she said, for she was a fair-minded girl and recognized Love's prior claim, 'you have the floor. Only keep it snappy.'

  'Monty, darling,' said Gertrude, bending tenderly over the chair into which he had sunk, 'I understand everything.'

  'Oh, ah?' said Monty mistily.

  'Miss Blossom has told me.'

  "Oh?' said Monty.

  "I love you.'

  'Ah?'said Monty.

  Reggie advanced.

  'Right,' he said briskly. 'She loves you. That's that Now, Monty, old man, shifting to the subject of Mickey Mice ...' 'What about Ambrose's contract?' asked Lottie. A spasm of pain passed over Monty's face. ·Has he signed it?' ‘No.' ‘What!»

  'No. He says he won't’ ‘Won't?'

  Lottie gazed at Ambrose. Ambrose gazed at Lottie. Their eyes were round with consternation.

  'But, good heavens!" cried Ambrose, 'I thought -’ 'But, sweet suffering soup-spoons 1’ cried Lottie. 'You told me-'Iknow.’

  'You said you would tell Ikey you would sign up with him -

  'I know. But he doesn't want me either.'

  ‘What!'

  'I am not at liberty,' said Reggie, resuming his remarks, 'to disclose why I require this Mickey Mouse, my lips being sealed, but -

  'He doesn't want you, either?'

  ‘No.'

  'I don't understand,’ said Gertrude. 'Were you going to sign a contract to go to Hollywood?' 'I was, yes.'

  'But, Monty, darling, how could you have gone to Hollywood? You're working for Mr Pilbeam and his Inquiry Agency.'

  Again, that spasm of pain passed over Monty's face.

  ‘No longer. I've resigned.'

  'Resigned?'

  ‘Yes. I sent Pilbeam a wireless after you gave me the bird that night’ ·Monty!'

  Ambrose, Lottie, and Reggie spoke. 'But Llewellyn definitely told me -'

  'But Ikey was running around in circles, begging people to persuade you -' This Mickey Mouse -’

  ‘But, Monty,' gasped Getrude, 'do you mean to say you are out of a job again?' ‘Yes.'

  ‘But if you haven't a job we can't get married. Father won’t let us.' Reggie rapped the table. ‘Gertrude!'

  ‘Well, what do you want?'

  'I want you,' said Reggie, controlling himself with an effort, 'to stop talking rot You are
cluttering up the debate with frivolous issues and taking Monty's mind off the things that really matter. Your father won't let you get married? I never heard such bilge. Do you seriously expect us to believe that in these enlightened days a girl gives a hoot for what her father says?'

  ‘I can't marry without father's consent.'

  'So!' Reggie's voice was withering. 'So you will allow Monty's happiness to depend on the whim of my pop-eyed uncle John!’

  'Don't call father your pop-eyed uncle John! ‘

  'I certainly shall. He is my pop-eyed uncle John. If he's not,’ said Reggie, reasoning keenly, 'whose pop-eyed uncle John is he? Except Ambrose's.’

  'What are you talking about?' asked Ambrose, roused by the sound of his name from the dark reverie into which he had been plunged.

  Reggie turned to him as if glad to be able to converse with a reasonable being.

  ‘Well, I appeal to you, old man. Here's this ghastly young Gertrude saying that she won't marry Monty unless uncle John gives his consent. Is that loony, or is it loony?'

  'It would kill father if I married without his consent.'

  ‘Rot'

  'It's not rot. Father's got a weak heart.'

  'Utter rot!'

  'It's not utter rot.’

  'It is utter rot, and if there were not ladies present I would characterize it even more strongly. Weak heart forsooth! The old blister's got both the face and the physique of a carthorse.'

  'Father has not got a face like a carthorse.'

  'Pardon me-’

  'Listen,' said Lottie Blossom. 'I don't want to horn in on a family argument, and I'd love to know what your father really looks like, but there's someone ringing at the door, and I move that we postpone the discussion till we've found out who it is.'

  Ambrose was nearest the door. He opened it in a distrait manner, for he was back in his reverie again.

  Mabel Spence entered, followed by Ivor Llewellyn.

  Chapter 24

  In the demeanour of Mr Llewellyn, as he came tripping into the room, there was no trace of that mental and physical collapse which he had exhibited at the telephone. It had been but a passing weakness, and it was over. Presidents of large motion-picture corporations are tough and resilient. They recuperate quickly. You might make Ivor Llewellyn turn purple, but you could not quench his gallant spirit. He was a man who knew how to take it as well as dish it out. Through years of arduous training he had acquired the ability to assimilate the blows of Fate and then rise on stepping-stones of his dead self and by his genius turn disaster into victory.

  This was what he had come to do now. A hasty conference with Mabel, and his plans were formed, his schemes perfected. The fact that they would involve a complete reversal of his policy of grinding rattlesnakes beneath his heel and that the first thing he would have to do would be to conciliate these rattlesnakes and fraternize with them, did not trouble him. No motion-picture magnate is ever troubled by the volte-face.

  'Hello, there, Mr Bodkin,' he boomed benignantly, firing the first gun of his campaign.

  So engulfed was Monty at the moment in his personal Slough of Despond that only some very novel and surprising happening could have jerked him out of it. This change for the cheerier in Mr Llewellyn's manner did so. He stared, amazed.

  ‘Oh, hullo,' he said.

  'Say, listen, Mr Bodkin, I've an explanation to make to you.' Mr Llewellyn paused. His attention seemed to have been momentarily diverted. 'Say, that's cunning,' he said, pointing. That mouse. Yours?'

  ‘It belongs to Miss Butterwick.'

  ‘I don't think I've had the pleasure of meeting Miss Butter-wick.’

  'Oh, sorry. Miss Butterwick, my fiancee, Mr Llewellyn.’

  'How do you do?'

  ‘How do you do?’ said Gertrude.

  'Both the Mr Tennysons I know, and of course Lottie. Well, well,' said Mr Llewellyn genially, 'looks like we were all friends here, eh? Ha, ha.'

  ‘Ha, ha,' said Monty.

  'Ha, ha,’ said Gertrude.

  Lottie, Ambrose, and Reggie did not say 'Ha, ha,’ but Mr Llewellyn appeared satisfied with the 'Ha, ha's' he had got. He seemed to feel that he had now placed matters on a chummy basis all round. He beamed a little more, and then allowed his smile to fade out, leaving behind it a grave, concerned look.

  'Say, listen, Mr Bodkin. I was saying I had an explanation to make to you. It's this way. After you'd left my office, my sister-in-law here blew in and I told her of our little conversation, and what she said made me look at the thing from a new angle. Listening to her, it suddenly occurred to me that you might have thought I was serious when I handed you that line of talk. And I felt mighty bad about it Got all worked up, didn't I, Mabel?’

  'Yes,' said Mabel Spence. Not as a rule a 'yes-girl’, she knew that there were times when 'yessing' was essential.

  'I'll say I was worked up,' proceeded Mr Llewellyn. The last thing in the world I expected was that you'd take all that stuff seriously. I thought you'd have been on to it right away that I was just kidding. Sure! Ribbing, we call it over here. When you've been on this side a little longer, you'll get used to our American kidding. Well, gee!' said Mr Llewellyn, in honest surprise, 'the idea that you'd really think I'd switched right around and didn't want you with the S.-L. never so much as crossed my mind till Mabel made me see it. No, sir, I don't blow hot and cold that way. You can't make money in my business if you don't know your own mind better than that When I come to a decision, that decision stays come to.'

  Monty was aware of a constriction at the heart. He gulped. He was not a young man of swift perceptions, but there was that in tm other's words which had caused him to tremble with a sudden hope.

  'Then you -'

  'Eh?'

  'Then you do want me to come to Hollywood?’

  'Why, sure,' said Mr Llewellyn heartily.

  'And Ambrose?' said Lottie Blossom.

  'Why, sure,' said Mr Llewellyn, his heartiness undiminished.

  'You'll sign a contract?'

  'Why, sure. Certainly I will. Any time the boys care to look in at my office. Can't do it here, of course,' said Mr Llewellyn, chuckling amusedly at the quaint idea of signing contracts in hotel sitting-rooms.

  Mabel Spence corrected this view.

  'Yes, you can,' she said reassuringly, opening her vanity-bag. 'I've Reggie's contract here. Reggie and I can be copying it out while you go on talking, and then you'll be able to sign it before you leave, and everything will be fine.’

  Mr Llewellyn ceased to chuckle. He had not intended while he was in this room to allow his cheeriness to go out of high, but at this suggestion a keen observer would have noted a distinct indication in his manner of something not unlike pain.

  'That's right, too,' he said.

  He spoke not in his former ringing tone, but slowly and huskily, as if something sharp had become embedded in his windpipe. At the same time, he gave his sister-in-law one of those looks which men give a relation by marriage whom they consider to have been deficient in tact.

  Mabel Spence did not seem to have observed the look.

  'Sure,' she said brightly. 'It only means altering a line or two. You want Mr Bodkin as a production expert and Mr Tennyson as a writer. Watch out for that, Reggie, when you come to the places.'

  'Quite,' said Reggie, 'Production expert... Writer. I get you.’

  'Then the only other thing,' said Mabel, 'is terms. I mean, the penalty clauses and all that we can just copy out as they stand.’

  'Yes,' said Reggie.

  'Yes,' said Ambrose.

  ‘Yes,' said Mr Llewellyn. He still seemed to be troubled by that substance in his windpipe. 'I would suggest-’ ‘Say, listen -’

  'Well, no need to argue about Ambrose,’ Reggie pointed out ·We're all straight there, what? He gets fifteen hundred, as per previous arrangement.'

  'Of course. And Mr Bodkin -?'

  'How about a thousand? Nice round sum, you remember we agreed.'

  'Say, listen
,' said Mr Llewellyn, with a quaver in his voice, 'a thousand's a lot of money. I only pay my wife's cousin Genevieve three hundred and fifty, and she's a very valuable girl... And there's a depression on ... And things don't look any too good in the picture business...'

  'Oh, make it a thousand,' said Reggie, impatient of hairsplitting. 'You're willing to take a thousand, Monty?'

  'Yes.' Monty, like Mr Llewellyn, was not quite normal about the windpipe. 'Yes, 111 take a thousand.'

  ‘Right Then everything's settled. Let's get at it.'

  The two scribes withdrew to the writing-table, and their departure from the centre of things brought about a lull in the conversation. The realization that, owing to the officiousness of his sister-in-law, a girl whom he had never liked, he would have to sign these contracts before getting the mouse, instead of getting the mouse and then refusing to sign any contracts whatsoever, had induced in Mr Llewellyn a quiet, pensive mood. And as none of the others seemed to have -anything to say that called for immediate utterance, silence fell - a silence broken only by a scratching of pens to which Mr Llewellyn tried not to listen.

  Reggie and Mabel were both quick writers. It was not long before they were able to rise with their task completed and place the results before the party of the first part.

  'Here's a pen,' said Mabel.

  'And here's where you sign,’ said Reggie. 'Where my thumb is.'

  'But don't sign the thumb,' said Mabel. 'Ha, ha.’ 'Ha, ha,' said Reggie.

  They were both delightfully jolly and breezy about the whole thing, and their gaiety seemed to burn into Ivor Llewellyn's soul like vitriol. His suffering as he affixed his signature was indeed so manifest that Mabel Spence's heart was touched. She determined that sunshine should now enter his life in compensation for the rain which had been falling into it.

  'That certainly is a cute mouse, Miss Butterwick,' she said, and Mr Llewellyn shook with emotion and made a blot 'You wouldn't part with it, would you?'

  'Good Lord, no !' cried Monty, shocked.

  'Oh, I couldn't,' said Gertrude.