Motty, the son, was about twenty-three, tall and thin and meek-looking. He had the same yellow hair as his mother, but he wore it plastered down and parted in the middle. His eyes bulged, too, but they weren’t bright. They were a dull grey with pink rims. His chin gave up the struggle about half-way down, and he didn’t appear to have any eyelashes. A mild, furtive, sheepish sort of blighter, in short.
‘Awfully glad to see you,’ I said, though this was far from the case, for already I was beginning to have a sort of feeling that dirty work was threatening in the offing. ‘So you’ve popped over, eh? Making a long stay in America?’
‘About a month. Your aunt gave me your address and told me to be sure to call on you.’
I was glad to hear this, for it seemed to indicate that Aunt Agatha was beginning to come round a bit. As I believe I told you before, there had been some slight unpleasantness between us, arising from the occasion when she had sent me over to New York to disentangle my cousin Gussie from the clutches of a girl on the music-hall stage. When I tell you that by the time I had finished my operations Gussie had not only married the girl but had gone on the Halls himself and was doing well, you’ll understand that relations were a trifle strained between aunt and nephew.
I simply hadn’t dared to go back and face her, and it was a relief to find that time had healed the wound enough to make her tell her pals to call on me. What I mean is, much as I liked America, I didn’t want to have England barred to me for the rest of my natural; and, believe me, England is a jolly sight too small for anyone to live in with Aunt Agatha, if she’s really on the war-path. So I was braced at hearing these words and smiled genially on the assemblage.
‘Your aunt said that you would do anything that was in your power to be of assistance to us.’
‘Rather! Oh, rather. Absolutely.’
‘Thank you so much. I want you to put dear Motty up for a little while.’
I didn’t get this for a moment.
‘Put him up! For my clubs?’
‘No, no! Darling Motty is essentially a home bird. Aren’t you, Motty, darling?’
Motty, who was sucking the knob of his stick, uncorked himself.
‘Yes, Mother,’ he said, and corked himself up again.
‘I should not like him to belong to clubs. I mean put him up here. Have him to live with you while I am away.’
These frightful words trickled out of her like honey. The woman simply didn’t seem to understand the ghastly nature of her proposal. I gave Motty the swift east-to-west. He was sitting with his mouth nuzzling the stick, blinking at the wall. The thought of having this planted on me for an indefinite period appalled me. Absolutely appalled me, don’t you know. I was just starting to say that the shot wasn’t on the board at any price, and that the first sign Motty gave of trying to nestle into my little home I would yell for the police, when she went on, rolling placidly over me, as it were.
There was something about this woman that sapped one’s will-power.
‘I am leaving New York by the midday train, as I have to pay a visit to Sing-Sing prison. I am extremely interested in prison conditions in America. After that I work my way gradually across to the coast, visiting the points of interest on the journey. You see, Mr Wooster, I am in America principally on business. No doubt you read my book, India and the Indians? My publishers are anxious for me to write a companion volume on the United States. I shall not be able to spend more than a month in the country, as I have to get back for the season, but a month should be ample. I was less than a month in India, and my dear friend Sir Roger Cremorne wrote his America from Within after a stay of only two weeks. I should love to take Motty with me, but the poor boy gets so sick when he travels by train. I shall have to pick him up on my return.’
From where I sat I could see Jeeves in the dining-room, laying the breakfast table. I wished I could have had a minute with him alone. I felt certain that he would have been able to think of some way of putting a stop to this woman.
‘It will be such a relief to know that Motty is safe with you, Mr Wooster. I know what the temptations of a great city are. Hitherto dear Motty has been sheltered from them. He has lived quietly with me in the country. I know that you will look after him carefully, Mr Wooster. He will give very little trouble.’ She talked about the poor blighter as if he wasn’t there. Not that Motty seemed to mind. He had stopped chewing his walking-stick and was sitting there with his mouth open. ‘He is a vegetarian and a teetotaller and is devoted to reading. Give him a nice book and he will be quite contented.’ She got up. ‘Thank you so much, Mr Wooster. I don’t know what I should have done without your help. Come, Motty. We have just time to see a few of the sights before my train goes. But I shall have to rely on you for most of my information about New York, darling. Be sure to keep your eyes open and take notes of your impressions. It will be such a help. Goodbye, Mr Wooster. I will send Motty back early in the afternoon.’
They went out, and I howled for Jeeves.
‘Jeeves!’
‘Sir?’
‘What’s to be done? You heard it all, didn’t you? You were in the dining-room most of the time. That pill is coming to stay here.’
‘Pill, sir?’
‘The excrescence.’
‘I beg your pardon, sir?’
I looked at Jeeves sharply. This sort of thing wasn’t like him. Then I understood. The man was really upset about that tie. He was trying to get his own back.
‘Lord Pershore will be staying here from tonight, Jeeves,’ I said coldly.
‘Very good, sir. Breakfast is ready, sir.’
I could have sobbed into the bacon and eggs. That there wasn’t any sympathy to be got out of Jeeves was what put the lid on it. For a moment I almost weakened and told him to destroy the hat and tie if he didn’t like them, but I pulled myself together again. I was dashed if I was going to let Jeeves treat me like a bally one-man chain-gang.
But, what with brooding on Jeeves and brooding on Motty, I was in a pretty reduced sort of state. The more I examined the situation, the more blighted it became. There was nothing I could do. If I slung Motty out, he would report to his mother, and she would pass it on to Aunt Agatha, and I didn’t like to think what would happen then. Sooner or later I should be wanting to go back to England, and I didn’t want to get there and find Aunt Agatha waiting on the quay for me with a stuffed eelskin. There was absolutely nothing for it but to put the fellow up and make the best of it.
About midday Motty’s luggage arrived, and soon afterwards a large parcel of what I took to be nice books. I brightened up a little when I saw it. It was one of those massive parcels and looked as if it had enough in it to keep him busy for a year. I felt a trifle more cheerful, and I got my Broadway Special and stuck it on my head, and gave the pink tie a twist, and reeled out to take a bite of lunch with one or two of the lads at a neighbouring hostelry; and what with excellent browsing and sluicing and cheery conversation and what not, the afternoon passed quite happily. By dinner time I had almost forgotten Motty’s existence.
I dined at the club and looked in at a show afterwards, and it wasn’t till fairly late that I got back to the flat. There were no signs of Motty, and I took it that he had gone to bed.
It seemed rummy to me, though, that the parcel of nice books was still there with the string and paper on it. It looked as if Motty, after seeing Mother off at the station, had decided to call it a day.
Jeeves came in with the nightly whisky and soda. I could tell by the chappie’s manner that he was still upset.
‘Lord Pershore gone to bed, Jeeves?’ I asked, with reserved hauteur and what not.
‘No sir. His lordship has not yet returned.’
‘Not returned? What do you mean?’
‘His lordship came in shortly after six-thirty, and, having dressed, went out again.’
At this moment there was a noise outside the front door, a sort of scrabbling noise, as if somebody were trying to paw his way through the woodw
ork. Then a sort of thud.
‘Better go and see what that is, Jeeves.’
‘Very good, sir.’
He went out and came back again.
‘If you would not mind stepping this way, sir, I think we might be able to carry him in.’
‘Carry him in?’
‘His lordship is lying on the mat, sir.’
I went to the front door. The man was right. There was Motty huddled up outside on the floor. He was moaning a bit.
‘He’s had some sort of dashed fit,’ I said. I took another look. ‘Jeeves! Someone’s been feeding him meat!’
‘Sir?’
‘He’s a vegetarian, you know. He must have been digging into a steak or something. Call up a doctor!’
‘I hardly think it will be necessary, sir. If you would take his lordship’s legs, while I –’
‘Great Scott, Jeeves! You don’t think – he can’t be –’
‘I am inclined to think so, sir.’
And, by Jove, he was right! Once on the right track, you couldn’t mistake it. Motty was under the surface. Completely sozzled.
It was the deuce of a shock.
‘You never can tell, Jeeves!’
‘Very seldom, sir.’
‘Remove the eye of authority and where are you?’
‘Precisely, sir.’
‘Where is my wandering boy tonight and all that sort of thing, what?’
‘It would seem so, sir.’
‘Well, we had better bring him in, eh?’
‘Yes, sir.’
So we lugged him in, and Jeeves put him to bed, and I lit a cigarette and sat down to think the thing over. I had a kind of foreboding. It seemed to me that I had let myself in for something pretty rocky.
Next morning, after I had sucked down a thoughtful cup of tea, I went into Motty’s room to investigate. I expected to find the fellow a wreck, but there he was, sitting up in bed, quite chirpy, reading Gingery Stories.
‘What ho!’ I said.
‘What ho!’ said Motty.
‘What ho! What ho!’
‘What ho! What ho! What ho!’
After that it seemed rather difficult to go on with the conversation.
‘How are you feeling this morning?’ I asked.
‘Topping!’ replied Motty, blithely and with abandon. ‘I say, you know, that fellow of yours – Jeeves, you know – is a corker. I had a most frightful headache when I woke up, and he brought me a sort of rummy dark drink, and it put me right again at once. Said it was his own invention. I must see more of that lad. He seems to me distinctly one of the ones.’
I couldn’t believe that this was the same blighter who had sat and sucked his stick the day before.
‘You ate something that disagreed with you last night, didn’t you?’ I said, by way of giving him a chance to slide out of it if he wanted to. But he wouldn’t have it at any price.
‘No!’ he replied firmly. ‘I didn’t do anything of the kind. I drank too much. Much too much. Lots and lots too much. And, what’s more, I’m going to do it again. I’m going to do it every night. If ever you see me sober, old top,’ he said, with a kind of holy exaltation, ‘tap me on the shoulder and say, “Tut! tut!” and I’ll apologize and remedy the defect.’
‘But I say, you know, what about me?’
‘What about you?’
‘Well, I’m, so to speak, as it were, kind of responsible for you. What I mean to say is, if you go doing this sort of thing I’m apt to get in the soup somewhat.’
‘I can’t help your troubles,’ said Motty firmly. ‘Listen to me, old thing: this is the first time in my life that I’ve had a real chance to yield to the temptations of a great city. What’s the use of a great city having temptations if fellows don’t yield to them? Makes it so bally discouraging for the great city. Besides, Mother told me to keep my eyes open and collect impressions.’
I sat on the edge of the bed. I felt dizzy.
‘I know just how you feel, old dear,’ said Motty consolingly. ‘And, if my principles would permit it, I would simmer down for your sake. But duty first! This is the first time I’ve been let out alone, and I mean to make the most of it. We’re only young once. Why interfere with life’s morning? Young man, rejoice in thy youth! Tra-la! What ho!’
Put like that, it did seem reasonable.
‘All my bally life, dear boy,’ Motty went on, ‘I’ve been cooped up in the ancestral home at Much Middlefold, in Shropshire, and till you’ve been cooped up in Much Middlefold you don’t know what cooping is. The only time we get any excitement is when one of the choir-boys is caught sucking chocolate during the sermon. When that happens, we talk about it for days. I’ve got a month of New York, and I mean to store up a few happy memories for the long winter evenings. This is my only chance to collect a past, and I’m going to do it. Now tell me, old sport, as man to man, how does one get in touch with that very decent bird Jeeves? Does one ring a bell or shout a bit? I should like to discuss the subject of a good stiff b-and-s with him.’
I had had a sort of vague idea, don’t you know, that if I stuck close to Motty and went about the place with him, I might act as a bit of a damper on the gaiety. What I mean is, I thought that if, when he was being the life and soul of the party, he were to catch my reproving eye he might ease up a trifle on the revelry. So the next night I took him along to supper with me. It was the last time. I’m a quiet, peaceful sort of bloke who has lived all his life in London, and I can’t stand the pace these swift sportsmen from the rural districts set. What I mean to say is, I’m all for rational enjoyment and so forth, but I think a chappie makes himself conspicuous when he throws soft-boiled eggs at the electric fan. And decent mirth and all that sort of thing are all right, but I do bar dancing on tables and having to dash all over the place dodging waiters, managers, and chuckers-out, just when you want to sit still and digest.
Directly I managed to tear myself away that night and get home, I made up my mind that this was jolly well the last time that I went about with Motty. The only time I met him late at night after that was once when I passed the door of a fairly low-down sort of restaurant and had to step aside to dodge him as he sailed through the air en route for the opposite pavement, with a muscular looking sort of fellow peering out after him with a kind of gloomy satisfaction.
In a way, I couldn’t help sympathizing with the chap. He had about four weeks to have the good time that ought to have been spread over about ten years, and I didn’t wonder at his wanting to be pretty busy. I should have been just the same in his place. Still, there was no denying that it was a bit thick. If it hadn’t been for the thought of Lady Malvern and Aunt Agatha in the background, I should have regarded Motty’s rapid work with an indulgent smile. But I couldn’t get rid of the feeling that, sooner or later, I was the lad who was scheduled to get it behind the ear. And what with brooding on this prospect, and sitting up in the old flat waiting for the familiar footstep, and putting it to bed when it got there, and stealing into the sick-chamber next morning to contemplate the wreckage, I was beginning to lose weight. Absolutely becoming the good old shadow, I give you my honest word. Starting at sudden noises and what not.
And no sympathy from Jeeves. That was what cut me to the quick. The man was still thoroughly pipped about the hat and tie, and simply wouldn’t rally round. One morning I wanted comforting so much that I sank the pride of the Woosters and appealed to the fellow direct.
‘Jeeves,’ I said, ‘this is getting a bit thick!’
‘Sir?’
‘You know what I mean. This lad seems to have chucked all the principles of a well-spent boyhood. He has got it up his nose!’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Well, I shall get blamed, don’t you know. You know what my Aunt Agatha is.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Very well, then.’
I waited a moment, but he wouldn’t unbend.
‘Jeeves,’ I said, ‘haven’t you any scheme up your sleeve for coping wi
th this blighter?’
‘No, sir.’
And he shimmered off to his lair. Obstinate devil! So dashed absurd, don’t you know. It wasn’t as if there was anything wrong with that Broadway Special hat. It was a remarkably priceless effort, and much admired by the lads. But, just because he preferred the White House Wonder, he left me flat.
It was shortly after this that young Motty got the idea of bringing pals back in the small hours to continue the gay revels in the home. This was where I began to crack under the strain. You see, the part of town where I was living wasn’t the right place for that sort of thing. I knew lots of chappies down Washington Square way who started the evening at about two a.m. – artists and writers and so forth who frolicked considerably till checked by the arrival of the morning milk. That was all right. They like that sort of thing down there. The neighbours can’t get to sleep unless there’s someone dancing Hawaiian dances over their heads. But on Fifty-seventh Street the atmosphere wasn’t right, and when Motty turned up at three in the morning with a collection of hearty lads, who only stopped singing their college song when they started singing ‘The Old Oaken Bucket’, there was a marked peevishness among the old settlers in the flats. The management was extremely terse over the telephone at breakfast-time, and took a lot of soothing.
The next night I came home early, after a lonely dinner at a place which I’d chosen because there didn’t seem any chance of meeting Motty there. The sitting-room was quite dark, and I was just moving to switch on the light, when there was a sort of explosion and something collared hold of my trouser-leg. Living with Motty had reduced me to such an extent that I was simply unable to cope with this thing. I jumped backward with a loud yell of anguish, and tumbled out into the hall just as Jeeves came out of his den to see what the matter was.
The Jeeves Omnibus Vol. 2: Right Ho, Jeeves / Joy in the Morning / Carry On, Jeeves Page 53
