P G Wodehouse - Indiscretions Of Archie

by Indiscretions Of Archie

  "Absolutely. As a surprise. It was Lucille's idea. His valet, a chappie named Parker, tipped us off that the thing was to be sold."

  "Parker? Great Scot! It was Parker who tipped ME off. I met him on Broadway, and he told me about it."

  "Rummy he never mentioned it in his letter to me. Why, dash it, we could have got the thing for about two dollars if we had pooled our bids."

  "Well, we'd better pool them now, and extinguish that pill at the back there. I can't go above eleven hundred. That's all I've got."

  "I can't go above eleven hundred myself."

  "There's just one thing. I wish you'd let me be the one to hand the thing over to Father. I've a special reason for wanting to make a hit with him."

  "Absolutely!" said Archie, magnanimously. "It's all the same to me. I only wanted to get him generally braced, as it were, if you know what I mean."

  "That's awfully good of you."

  "Not a bit, laddie, no, no, and far from it. Only too glad."

  Willie had returned from his rambles among the connoisseurs, and Pongo's brother was back on his pedestal. The high-priest cleared his throat and resumed his discourse.

  "Now that you have all seen this superb figure we will--I was offered one thousand--one thousand-one-one-one-one--eleven hundred. Thank you, sir. Eleven hundred I am offered."

  The high-priest was now exuberant. You could see him doing figures in his head.

  "You do the bidding," said Brother Bill.

  "Right-o!" said Archie.

  He waved a defiant hand.

  "Thirteen," said the man at the back.

  "Fourteen, dash it!"

  "Fifteen!"

  "Sixteen!"

  "Seventeen!"

  "Eighteen!"

  "Nineteen!"

  "Two thousand!"

  The high-priest did everything but sing. He radiated good will and bonhomie.

  "Two thousand I am offered. Is there any advance on two thousand? Come, gentlemen, I don't want to give this superb figure away. Twenty-one hundred. Twenty-one-one-one-one. This is more the sort of thing I have been accustomed to. When I was at Sotheby's Rooms in London, this kind of bidding was a common-place. Twenty-two-two-two- two-two. One hardly noticed it. Three-three-three. Twenty-three- three-three. Twenty-three hundred dollars I am offered."

  He gazed expectantly at Archie, as a man gazes at some favourite dog whom he calls upon to perform a trick. But Archie had reached the end of his tether. The hand that had twiddled so often and so bravely lay inert beside his trouser-leg, twitching feebly. Archie was through.

  "Twenty-three hundred," said the high-priest, ingratiatingly.

  Archie made no movement. There was a tense pause. The high-priest gave a little sigh, like one waking from a beautiful dream.

  "Twenty-three hundred," he said. "Once twenty-three. Twice twenty- three. Third, last, and final call, twenty-three. Sold at twenty- three hundred. I congratulate you, sir, on a genuine bargain!"

  Reggie van Tuyl had dozed off again. Archie tapped his brother-in- law on the shoulder.

  "May as well be popping, what?"

  They threaded their way sadly together through the crowd, and made for the street. They passed into Fifth Avenue without breaking the silence.

  "Bally nuisance," said Archie, at last.

  "Rotten!"

  "Wonder who that chappie was?"

  "Some collector, probably."

  "Well, it can't be helped," said Archie.

  Brother Bill attached himself to Archie's arm, and became communicative.

  "I didn't want to mention it in front of van Tuyl," he said, "because he's such a talking-machine, and it would have been all over New York before dinner-time. But you're one of the family, and you can keep a secret."

  "Absolutely! Silent tomb and what not."

  "The reason I wanted that darned thing was because I've just got engaged to a girl over in England, and I thought that, if I could hand my father that china figure-thing with one hand and break the news with the other, it might help a bit. She's the most wonderful girl!"

  "I'll bet she is," said Archie, cordially.

  "The trouble is she's in the chorus of one of the revues over there, and Father is apt to kick. So I thought--oh, well, it's no good worrying now. Come along where it's quiet, and I'll tell you all about her."

  "That'll be jolly," said Archie.

  CHAPTER XI

  SALVATORE CHOOSES THE WRONG MOMENT

  Archie reclaimed the family jewellery from its temporary home next morning; and, having done so, sauntered back to the Cosmopolis. He was surprised, on entering the lobby, to meet his father-in-law. More surprising still, Mr. Brewster was manifestly in a mood of extraordinary geniality. Archie could hardly believe his eyes when the other waved cheerily to him--nor his ears a moment later when Mr. Brewster, addressing him as "my boy," asked him how he was and mentioned that the day was a warm one.

  Obviously this jovial frame of mind must be taken advantage of; and Archie's first thought was of the downtrodden Salvatore, to the tale of whose wrongs he had listened so sympathetically on the previous day. Now was plainly the moment for the waiter to submit his grievance, before some ebb-tide caused the milk of human kindness to flow out of Daniel Brewster. With a swift "Cheerio!" in his father- in-law's direction, Archie bounded into the grill-room. Salvatore, the hour for luncheon being imminent but not yet having arrived, was standing against the far wall in an attitude of thought.

  "Laddie!" cried Archie.

  "Sare?"

  "A most extraordinary thing has happened. Good old Brewster has suddenly popped up through a trap and is out in the lobby now. And what's still more weird, he's apparently bucked."

  "Sare?"

  "Braced, you know. In the pink. Pleased about something. If you go to him now with that yarn of yours, you can't fail. He'll kiss you on both cheeks and give you his bank-roll and collar-stud. Charge along and ask the head-waiter if you can have ten minutes off."

  Salvatore vanished in search of the potentate named, and Archie returned to the lobby to bask in the unwonted sunshine.

  "Well, well, well, what!" he said. "I thought you were at Brookport."

  "I came up this morning to meet a friend of mine," replied Mr. Brewster genially. "Professor Binstead."

  "Don't think I know him."

  "Very interesting man," said Mr. Brewster, still with the same uncanny amiability. "He's a dabbler in a good many things--science, phrenology, antiques. I asked him to bid for me at a sale yesterday. There was a little china figure--"

  Archie's jaw fell.

  "China figure?" he stammered feebly.

  "Yes. The companion to one you may have noticed on my mantelpiece upstairs. I have been trying to get the pair of them for years. I should never have heard of this one if it had not been for that valet of mine, Parker. Very good of him to let me know of it, considering I had fired him. Ah, here is Binstead."-He moved to greet the small, middle-aged man with the tortoiseshell-rimmed spectacles who was bustling across the lobby. "Well, Binstead, so you got it?"

  "Yes."

  "I suppose the price wasn't particularly stiff?"

  "Twenty-three hundred."

  "Twenty-three hundred!" Mr. Brewster seemed to reel in his tracks. "Twenty-three HUNDRED!"

  "You gave me carte blanche."

  "Yes, but twenty-three hundred!"

  "I could have got it for a few dollars, but unfortunately I was a little late, and, when I arrived, some young fool had bid it up to a thousand, and he stuck to me till I finally shook him off at twenty- three hundred. Why, this is the very man! Is he a friend of yours?"

  Archie coughed.

  "More a relation than a friend, what? Son-in-law, don't you know!"

  Mr. Brewster's amiability had vanished.

  "What damned foolery have you been up to NOW?" he demanded. "Can't I move a step without stubbing my toe on you? Why the devil did you bid?"

  "We thought it would be rather a fruity scheme. We talk
ed it over and came to the conclusion that it was an egg. Wanted to get hold of the rummy little object, don't you know, and surprise you."

  "Who's we?"

  "Lucille and I."

  "But how did you hear of it at all?"

  "Parker, the valet-chappie, you know, wrote me a letter about it."

  "Parker! Didn't he tell you that he had told me the figure was to be sold?"

  "Absolutely not!" A sudden suspicion came to Archie. He was normally a guileless young man, but even to him the extreme fishiness of the part played by Herbert Parker had become apparent. "I say, you know, it looks to me as if friend Parker had been having us all on a bit, what? I mean to say it was jolly old Herb, who tipped your son off-- Bill, you know--to go and bid for the thing."

  "Bill! Was Bill there?"

  "Absolutely in person! We were bidding against each other like the dickens till we managed to get together and get acquainted. And then this bird--this gentleman--sailed in and started to slip it across us."

  Professor Binstead chuckled--the care-free chuckle of a man who sees all those around him smitten in the pocket, while he himself remains untouched.

  "A very ingenious rogue, this Parker of yours, Brewster. His method seems to have been simple but masterly. I have no doubt that either he or a confederate obtained the figure and placed it with the auctioneer, and then he ensured a good price for it by getting us all to bid against each other. Very ingenious!"

  Mr. Brewster struggled with his feelings. Then he seemed to overcome them and to force himself to look on the bright side.

  "Well, anyway," he said. "I've got the pair of figures, and that's what I wanted. Is that it in that parcel?"

  "This is it. I wouldn't trust an express company to deliver it. Suppose we go up to your room and see how the two look side by side."

  They crossed the lobby to the lift.-The cloud was still on Mr. Brewster's brow as they stepped out and made their way to his suite. Like most men who have risen from poverty to wealth by their own exertions, Mr. Brewster objected to parting with his money unnecessarily, and it was plain that that twenty-three hundred dollars still rankled.

  Mr. Brewster unlocked the door and crossed the room. Then, suddenly, he halted, stared, and stared again. He sprang to the bell and pressed it, then stood gurgling wordlessly.

  "Anything wrong, old bean?" queried Archie, solicitously.

  "Wrong! Wrong! It's gone!"

  "Gone?"

  "The figure!"

  The floor-waiter had manifested himself silently in answer to the bell, and was standing in the doorway.

  "Simmons!" Mr. Brewster turned to him wildly. "Has anyone been in this suite since I went away?"

  "No, sir."

  "Nobody?"

  "Nobody except your valet, sir--Parker. He said he had come to fetch some things away. I supposed he had come from you, sir, with instructions."

  "Get out!"

  Professor Binstead had unwrapped his parcel, and had placed the Pongo on the table. There was a weighty silence. Archie picked up the little china figure and balanced it on the palm of his hand. It was a small thing, he reflected philosophically, but it had made quite a stir in the world.

  Mr. Brewster fermented for a while without speaking.

  "So," he said, at last, in a voice trembling with self-pity, "I have been to all this trouble--"

  "And expense," put in Professor Binstead, gently.

  "Merely to buy back something which had been stolen from me! And, owing to your damned officiousness," he cried, turning on Archie, "I have had to pay twenty-three hundred dollars for it! I don't know why they make such a fuss about Job. Job never had anything like you around!"

  "Of course," argued Archie, "he had one or two boils."

  "Boils! What are boils?"

  "Dashed sorry," murmured Archie. "Acted for the best. Meant well. And all that sort of rot!"

  Professor Binstead's mind seemed occupied to the exclusion of all other aspects of the affair, with the ingenuity of the absent Parker.

  "A cunning scheme!" he said. "A very cunning scheme! This man Parker must have a brain of no low order. I should like to feel his bumps!"

  "I should like to give him some!" said the stricken Mr. Brewster. He breathed a deep breath. "Oh, well," he said, "situated as I am, with a crook valet and an imbecile son-in-law, I suppose I ought to be thankful that I've still got my own property, even if I have had to pay twenty-three hundred dollars for the privilege of keeping it." He rounded on Archie, who was in a reverie. The thought of the unfortunate Bill had just crossed Archie's mind. It would be many moons, many weary moons, before Mr. Brewster would be in a suitable mood to listen sympathetically to the story of love's young dream. "Give me that figure!"

  Archie continued to toy absently with Pongo. He was wondering now how best to break this sad occurrence to Lucille. It would be a disappointment for the poor girl.

  "GIVE ME THAT FIGURE!"

  Archie started violently. There was an instant in which Pongo seemed to hang suspended, like Mohammed's coffin, between heaven and earth, then the force of gravity asserted itself. Pongo fell with a sharp crack and disintegrated. And as it did so there was a knock at the door, and in walked a dark, furtive person, who to the inflamed vision of Mr. Daniel Brewster looked like something connected with the executive staff of the Black Hand. With all time at his disposal, the unfortunate Salvatore had selected this moment for stating his case.

  "Get out!" bellowed Mr. Brewster. "I didn't ring for a waiter."

  Archie, his mind reeling beneath the catastrophe, recovered himself sufficiently to do the honours. It was at his instigation that Salvatore was there, and, greatly as he wished that he could have seen fit to choose a more auspicious moment for his business chat, he felt compelled to do his best to see him through.

  "Oh, I say, half a second," he said. "You don't quite understand. As a matter of fact, this chappie is by way of being downtrodden and oppressed and what not, and I suggested that he should get hold of you and speak a few well-chosen words. Of course, if you'd rather-- some other time--"

  But Mr. Brewster was not permitted to postpone the interview. Before he could get his breath, Salvatore had begun to talk. He was a strong, ambidextrous talker, whom it was hard to interrupt; and it was not for some moments that Mr. Brewster succeeded in getting a word in. When he did, he spoke to the point. Though not a linguist, he had been able to follow the discourse closely enough to realise that the waiter was dissatisfied with conditions in his hotel; and Mr. Brewster, as has been indicated, had a short way with people who criticised the Cosmopolis.

  "You're fired!" said Mr. Brewster.

  "Oh, I say!" protested Archie.

  Salvatore muttered what sounded like a passage from Dante.

  "Fired!" repeated Mr. Brewster resolutely. "And I wish to heaven," he added, eyeing his son-in-law malignantly, "I could fire you!"

  "Well," said Professor Binstead cheerfully, breaking the grim silence which followed this outburst, "if you will give me your cheque, Brewster, I think I will be going. Two thousand three hundred dollars. Make it open, if you will, and then I can run round the corner and cash it before lunch. That will be capital!"

  CHAPTER XII

  BRIGHT EYES--AND A FLY

  The Hermitage (unrivalled scenery, superb cuisine, Daniel Brewster, proprietor) was a picturesque summer hotel in the green heart of the mountains, built by Archie's father-in-law shortly after he assumed control of the Cosmopolis. Mr. Brewster himself seldom went there, preferring to concentrate his attention on his New York establishment; and Archie and Lucille, breakfasting in the airy dining-room some ten days after the incidents recorded in the last chapter, had consequently to be content with two out of the three advertised attractions of the place. Through the window at their side quite a slab of the unrivalled scenery was visible; some of the superb cuisine was already on the table; and the fact that the eye searched in vain for Daniel Brewster, proprietor, filled Archie, at any rate, with so
sense of aching loss. He bore it with equanimity and even with positive enthusiasm. In Archie's opinion, practically all a place needed to make it an earthly Paradise was for Mr. Daniel Brewster to be about forty-seven miles away from it.

  It was at Lucille's suggestion that they had come to the Hermitage. Never a human sunbeam, Mr. Brewster had shown such a bleak front to the world, and particularly to his son-in-law, in the days following the Pongo incident, that Lucille had thought that he and Archie would for a time at least be better apart--a view with which her husband cordially agreed. He had enjoyed his stay at the Hermitage, and now he regarded the eternal hills with the comfortable affection of a healthy man who is breakfasting well.

  "It's going to be another perfectly topping day," he observed, eyeing the shimmering landscape, from which the morning mists were swiftly shredding away like faint puffs of smoke. "Just the day you ought to have been here."

  "Yes, it's too bad I've got to go. New York will be like an oven."

  "Put it off."

  "I can't, I'm afraid. I've a fitting."

  Archie argued no further. He was a married man of old enough standing to know the importance of fittings.

  "Besides," said Lucille, "I want to see father." Archie repressed an exclamation of astonishment. "I'll be back to-morrow evening. You will be perfectly happy."

  "Queen of my soul, you know I can't be happy with you away. You know--"

  "Yes?" murmured Lucille, appreciately. She never tired of hearing Archie say this sort of thing.

  Archie's voice had trailed off. He was looking across the room.

  "By Jove!" he exclaimed. "What an awfully pretty woman!"

  "Where?"

  "Over there. Just coming in, I say, what wonderful eyes! I don't think I ever saw such eyes. Did you notice her eyes? Sort of flashing! Awfully pretty woman!"

  Warm though the morning was, a suspicion of chill descended upon the breakfast-table. A certain coldness seemed to come into Lucille's face. She could not always share Archie's fresh young enthusiasms.

  "Do you think so?"

  "Wonderful figure, too!"

  "Yes?"

  "Well, what I mean to say, fair to medium," said Archie, recovering a certain amount of that intelligence which raises man above the level of the beasts of the field. "Not the sort of type I admire myself, of course."