Mulliner Nights

by P. G. Wodehouse

  ‘With Mulliner’s Buck-U-Uppo. You remember how often I have spoken to you of the properties of that admirable tonic. It changes the whole mental outlook like magic. We have only to slip a few drops into your Aunt Priscilla’s hot milk to-morrow night, and you will be amazed at the results.’

  ‘You really guarantee that?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Then that’s fine,’ said the girl, brightening visibly, ‘because that’s exactly what I did this evening. Ronnie was suggesting it when you came up this afternoon, and I thought I might as well try it. I found the bottle in the cupboard in here, and I put some in Aunt Priscilla’s hot milk and, in order to make a good job of it, some in Uncle Percy’s toddy, too.’

  An icy hand seemed to clutch at Augustine’s heart. He began to understand the inwardness of the recent scene in his bedroom.

  ‘How much?’ he gasped.

  ‘Oh, not much,’ said Hypatia. ‘I didn’t want to poison the dear old things. About a tablespoonful apiece.’

  A shuddering groan came raspingly from Augustine’s lips.

  ‘Are you aware,’ he said in a low, toneless voice, ‘that the medium dose for an adult elephant is one teaspoonful?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Yes. The most fearful consequences result from anything in the nature of an overdose.’ He groaned. ‘No wonder the Bishop seemed a little strange in his manner just now.’

  ‘Did he seem strange in his manner?’

  Augustine nodded dully.

  ‘He came into my room and did hand-springs on the end of the bed and went away in my Sindbad the Sailor suit.’

  ‘What did he want that for?’

  Augustine shuddered.

  ‘I scarcely dare to face the thought,’ he said, ‘but can he have been contemplating a visit to the Home from Home? It is Gala Night, remember.’

  ‘Why, of course,’ said Hypatia. ‘And that must have been why Aunt Priscilla came to me about an hour ago and asked me if I could lend her my Columbine costume.’

  ‘She did!’ cried Augustine.

  ‘Certainly she did. I couldn’t think what she wanted it for. But now, of course, I see.’

  Augustine uttered a moan that seemed to come from the depths of his soul.

  ‘Run up to her room and see if she is still there,’ he said. ‘If I’m not very much mistaken, we have sown the wind and we shall reap the whirlwind. Hosea, 8, 7.’

  The girl hurried away, and Augustine began to pace the floor feverishly. He had completed five laps and was beginning a sixth, when there was a noise outside the French windows and a sailorly form shot through and fell panting into the arm-chair.

  ‘Bish!’ cried Augustine.

  The Bishop waved a hand, to indicate that he would be with him as soon as he had attended to this matter of taking in a fresh supply of breath, and continued to pant. Augustine watched him, deeply concerned. There was a shop-soiled look about his guest. Part of the Sindbad costume had been torn away as if by some irresistible force, and the hat was missing. His worst fears appeared to have been realized.

  ‘Bish!’ he cried. ‘What has been happening?’

  The Bishop sat up. He was breathing more easily now, and a pleased, almost complacent, look had come into his face.

  ‘Woof!’ he said. ‘Some binge!’

  ‘Tell me what happened,’ pleaded Augustine, agitated.

  The Bishop reflected, arranging his facts in chronological order.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘when I got to the Home from Home, everybody was dancing. Nice orchestra. Nice tune. Nice floor. So I danced, too.’

  ‘You danced?’

  ‘Certainly I danced, Mulliner,’ replied the Bishop with a dignity that sat well upon him. A hornpipe. I consider it the duty of the higher clergy on these occasions to set an example. You didn’t suppose I would go to a place like the Home from Home to play solitaire? Harmless relaxation is not forbidden, I believe?’

  ‘But can you dance?’

  ‘Can I dance?’ said the Bishop. ‘Can I dance, Mulliner? Have you ever heard of Nijinsky?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘My stage name,’ said the Bishop.

  Augustine swallowed tensely.

  ‘Who did you dance with?’ he asked.

  ‘At first,’ said the Bishop, ‘I danced alone. But then, most fortunately, my dear wife arrived, looking perfectly charming in some sort of filmy material, and we danced together.’

  ‘But wasn’t she surprised to see you there?’

  ‘Not in the least. Why should she be?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know.’

  ‘Then why did you put the question?’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking.’

  ‘Always think before you speak, Mulliner,’ said the Bishop reprovingly.

  The door opened, and Hypatia hurried in.

  ‘She’s not—’ She stopped. ‘Uncle!’ she cried.

  ‘Ah, my dear,’ said the Bishop. ‘But I was telling you, Mulliner. After we had been dancing for some time, a most annoying thing occurred. Just as we were enjoying ourselves — everybody cutting up and having a good time — who should come in but a lot of interfering policemen. A most brusque and unpleasant body of men. Inquisitive, too. One of them kept asking me my name and address. But I soon put a stop to all that sort of nonsense. I plugged him in the eye.’

  ‘You plugged him in the eye?’

  ‘I plugged him in the eye, Mulliner. That’s when I got this suit torn. The fellow was annoying me intensely. He ignored my repeated statement that I gave my name and address only to my oldest and closest friends, and had the audacity to clutch me by what I suppose a costumier would describe as the slack of my garment. Well, naturally I plugged him in the eye. I come of a fighting line, Mulliner. My ancestor, Bishop Orlo, was famous in William the Conqueror’s day for his work with the battle-axe. So I biffed this bird. And did he take a toss? Ask me!’ said the Bishop, chuckling contentedly.

  Augustine and Hypatia exchanged glances.

  ‘But, uncle—’ began Hypatia.

  ‘Don’t interrupt, my child,’ said the Bishop. ‘I cannot marshal my thoughts if you persist in interrupting. Where was I? Ah, yes. Well, then the already existing state of confusion grew intensified. The whole tempo of the proceedings became, as it were, quickened. Somebody turned out the lights, and somebody else upset a table and I decided to come away.’ A pensive look flitted over his face. ‘I trust,’ he said, ‘that my dear wife also contrived to leave without undue inconvenience. The last I saw of her, she was diving through one of the windows in a manner which, I thought, showed considerable lissomness and resource. Ah, here she is, and looking none the worse for her adventures. Come in, my dear. I was just telling Hypatia and our good host here of our little evening from home.’

  The Lady Bishopess stood breathing heavily. She was not in the best of training. She had the appearance of a Tank which is missing on one cylinder.

  ‘Save me, Percy,’ she gasped.

  ‘Certainly, my dear,’ said the Bishop cordially. ‘From what?’

  In silence the Lady Bishopess pointed at the window. Through it, like some figure of doom, was striding a policeman. He, too, was breathing in a laboured manner, like one touched in the wind.

  The Bishop drew himself up.

  ‘And what, pray,’ he asked coldly, ‘is the meaning of this intrusion?’

  ‘Ah!’ said the policeman.

  He closed the windows and stood with his back against them. It seemed to Augustine that the moment had arrived for a man of tact to take the situation in hand.

  ‘Good evening, constable,’ he said genially. ‘You appear to have been taking exercise. I have no doubt that you would enjoy a little refreshment.’

  The policeman licked his lips, but did not speak.

  ‘I have an excellent tonic here in my cupboard,’ proceeded Augustine, ‘and I think you will find it most restorative. I will mix it with a little seltzer.’

  The policeman took the glass, but in
a preoccupied manner. His attention was still riveted on the Bishop and his consort.

  ‘Caught you, have I?’ he said.

  ‘I fail to understand you, officer,’ said the Bishop frigidly.

  ‘I’ve been chasing her,’ said the policeman, pointing to the Lady Bishopess, ‘a good mile it must have been.’

  ‘Then you acted,’ said the Bishop severely, ‘in a most offensive and uncalled-for way. On her physician’s recommendation, my dear wife takes a short cross-country run each night before retiring to rest. Things have come to a sorry pass if she cannot follow her doctor’s orders without being pursued — I will use a stronger word — chivvied — by the constabulary.’

  And it was by her doctor’s orders that she went to the Home from Home, eh?’ said the policeman keenly.

  ‘I shall be vastly surprised to learn,’ said the Bishop, ‘that my dear wife has been anywhere near the resort you mention.’

  ‘And you were there, too. I saw you.’

  ‘Absurd!’

  ‘I saw you punch Constable Booker in the eye.’

  ‘Ridiculous!’

  ‘If you weren’t there,’ said the policeman, ‘what are you doing wearing that sailor-suit?’

  The Bishop raised his eyebrows.

  ‘I cannot permit my choice of costume,’ he said, ‘arrived at — I need scarcely say — only after much reflection and meditation, to be criticized by a man who habitually goes about in public in a blue uniform and a helmet. What, may I enquire, is it that you object to in this sailor-suit? There is nothing wrong, I venture to believe, nothing degrading in a sailor-suit. Many of England’s greatest men have worn sailor-suits. Nelson …Admiral Beatty—’

  ‘And Arthur Prince,’ said Hypatia.

  ‘And, as you say, Arthur Prince.’

  The policeman was scowling darkly. As a dialectician, he seemed to be feeling he was outmatched. And yet, he appeared to be telling himself, there must be some answer even to the apparently unanswerable logic to which he had just been listening. To assist thought, he raised the glass of Buck-U-Uppo and seltzer in his hand, and drained it at a draught.

  And, as he did so, suddenly, abruptly, as breath fades from steel, the scowl passed from his face, and in its stead there appeared a smile of infinite kindliness and goodwill. He wiped his moustache, and began to chuckle to himself, as at some diverting memory.

  ‘Made me laugh, that did,’ he said. ‘When old Booker went head over heels that time. Don’t know when I’ve seen a nicer punch. Clean, crisp…. Don’t suppose it travelled more than six inches, did it? I reckon you’ve done a bit of boxing in your time, sir.’

  At the sight of the constable’s smiling face, the Bishop had relaxed the austerity of his demeanour. He no longer looked like Savonarola rebuking the sins of the people. He was his old genial self once more.

  ‘Quite true, officer,’ he said, beaming. ‘When I was a somewhat younger man than I am at present, I won the Curates’ Open Heavyweight Championship two years in succession. Some of the ancient skill still lingers,, it would seem.’

  The policeman chuckled again.

  ‘I should say it does, sir. But,’ he continued, a look of annoyance coming into his face, ‘what all the fuss was about is more than I can say. Our fat-headed Inspector says, “You go and raid that Home from Home, chaps, see?” he says, and so we went and done it. But my heart wasn’t in it, no more was any of the other fellers’ hearts in it. What’s wrong with a little rational enjoyment? That’s what I say. What’s wrong with it?’

  ‘Precisely, officer.’

  ‘That’s what I say. What’s wrong with it? Let people enjoy themselves how they like is what I say. And if the police come interfering — well, punch them in the eye, I say, same as you did Constable Booker. That’s what I say.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said the Bishop. He turned to his wife. A fellow of considerable intelligence, this, my dear.’

  ‘I liked his face right from the beginning,’ said the Lady Bishopess. ‘What is your name, officer?’

  ‘Smith, lady. But call me Cyril.’

  ‘Certainly,’ said the Lady Bishopess. ‘It will be a pleasure to do so. I used to know some Smiths in Lincolnshire years ago, Cyril. I wonder if they were any relation.’

  ‘Maybe, lady. It’s a small world.’

  ‘Though, now I come to think of it, their name was Robinson.’

  ‘Well, that’s life, lady, isn’t it?’ said the policeman.

  ‘That’s just about what it is, Cyril,’ agreed the Bishop. ‘You never spoke a truer word.’

  Into this love-feast, which threatened to become more glutinous every moment, there cut the cold voice of Hypatia Wace.

  ‘Well, I must say,’ said Hypatia, ‘that you’re a nice lot!’

  ‘Who’s a nice lot, lady?’ asked the policeman.

  ‘These two,’ said Hypatia. ‘Are you married, officer?’

  ‘No, lady. I’m just a solitary chip drifting on the river of life.’

  ‘Well, anyway, I expect you know what it feels like to be in love.’

  ‘Too true, lady.’

  ‘Well, I’m in love with Mr Bracy-Gascoigne. You’ve met him, probably. Wouldn’t you say he was a person of the highest character?’

  ‘The whitest man I know, lady.’

  ‘Well, I want to marry him, and my uncle and aunt here won’t let me, because they say he’s worldly. Just because he goes out dancing. And all the while they are dancing the soles of their shoes through. I don’t call it fair.’

  She buried her face in her hands with a stifled sob. The Bishop and his wife looked at each other in blank astonishment.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said the Bishop.

  ‘Nor I,’ said the Lady Bishopess. ‘My dear child, what is all this about our not consenting to your marriage with Mr Bracy-Gascoigne? However did you get that idea into your head? Certainly, as far as I am concerned, you may marry Mr Bracy-Gascoigne. And I think I speak for my dear husband?’

  ‘Quite,’ said the Bishop. ‘Most decidedly.’ Hypatia uttered a cry of joy.

  ‘Good egg! May I really?’

  ‘Certainly you may. You have no objection, Cyril?’

  ‘None whatever, lady.’

  Hypatia’s face fell.

  ‘Oh, dear!’ she said.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘It just struck me that I’ve got to wait hours and hours before I can tell him. Just think of having to wait hours and hours!’

  The Bishop laughed his jolly laugh.’

  ‘Why wait hours and hours, my dear? No time like the present.’

  ‘But he’s gone to bed.’

  ‘Well, rout him out,’ said the Bishop heartily. ‘Here is what I suggest that we should do. You and I and Priscilla — and you, Cyril? — will all go down to his house and stand under his window and shout. ‘‘Or throw gravel at the window,’ suggested the Lady Bishopess.

  ‘Certainly, my dear, if you prefer it.’

  ‘And when he sticks his head out,’ said the policeman, ‘how would it be to have the garden hose handy and squirt him? Cause a lot of fun and laughter, that would.’

  ‘My dear Cyril,’ said the Bishop, ‘you think of everything. I shall certainly use any influence I may possess with the authorities to have you promoted to a rank where your remarkable talents will enjoy greater scope. Come, let us be going. You will accompany us, my dear Mulliner?’

  Augustine shook his head.

  ‘Sermon to write, Bish.’

  ‘Just as you say, Mulliner. Then if you will be so good as to leave the window open, my dear fellow, we shall be able to return to our beds at the conclusion of our little errand of goodwill without disturbing the domestic staff’

  ‘Right-ho, Bish.’

  ‘Then, for the present, pip-pip, Mulliner.’

  ‘Toodle-oo, Bish,’ said Augustine.

  He took up his pen, and resumed his composition. Out in the sweet-scented night he could hear the four voices dying away in
the distance. They seemed to be singing an old English part-song. He smiled benevolently.

  A merry heart doeth good like a medicine. Proverbs 17, 22,’ murmured Augustine.

  Table of Contents

  1 THE SMILE THAT WINS

  2 THE STORY OF WEBSTER

  3 CATS WILL BE CATS

  4 THE KNIGHTLY QUEST OF MERVYN

  5 THE VOICE FROM THE PAST

  6 OPEN HOUSE

  7 BEST SELLER

  8 STRYCHNINE IN THE SOUP

  9 GALA NIGHT