The Adventures of Sally

by P. G. Wodehouse

  It had been Sally's intention, on arriving in New York, to take a roomat the St. Regis and revel in the gilded luxury to which her wealthentitled her before moving into the small but comfortable apartmentwhich, as soon as she had the time, she intended to find and make herpermanent abode. But when the moment came and she was giving directionsto the taxi-driver at the dock, there seemed to her somethingrevoltingly Fillmorian about the scheme. It would be time enough tosever herself from the boarding-house which had been her home for threeyears when she had found the apartment. Meanwhile, the decent thing todo, if she did not want to brand herself in the sight of her conscienceas a female Fillmore, was to go back temporarily to Mrs. Meecher'sadmirable establishment and foregather with her old friends. After all,home is where the heart is, even if there are more prunes there than thegourmet would consider judicious.

  Perhaps it was the unavoidable complacency induced by the thoughtthat she was doing the right thing, or possibly it was the tinglingexpectation of meeting Gerald Foster again after all these weeks ofseparation, that made the familiar streets seem wonderfully bright asshe drove through them. It was a perfect, crisp New York morning, allblue sky and amber sunshine, and even the ash-cans had a stimulatinglook about them. The street cars were full of happy people rollickingoff to work: policemen directed the traffic with jaunty affability:and the white-clad street-cleaners went about their poetic tasks with aquiet but none the less noticeable relish. It was improbable that any ofthese people knew that she was back, but somehow they all seemed to bebehaving as though this were a special day.

  The first discordant note in this overture of happiness was struck byMrs. Meecher, who informed Sally, after expressing her gratificationat the news that she required her old room, that Gerald Foster had lefttown that morning.

  "Gone to Detroit, he has," said Mrs. Meecher. "Miss Doland, too." Shebroke off to speak a caustic word to the boarding-house handyman,who, with Sally's trunk as a weapon, was depreciating the value of thewall-paper in the hall. "There's that play of his being tried out there,you know, Monday," resumed Mrs. Meecher, after the handyman had bumpedhis way up the staircase. "They been rehearsing ever since you left."

  Sally was disappointed, but it was such a beautiful morning, and NewYork was so wonderful after the dull voyage in the liner that she wasnot going to allow herself to be depressed without good reason. Afterall, she could go on to Detroit tomorrow. It was nice to have somethingto which she could look forward.

  "Oh, is Elsa in the company?" she said.

  "Sure. And very good too, I hear." Mrs. Meecher kept abreast oftheatrical gossip. She was an ex-member of the profession herself,having been in the first production of "Florodora," though, unlikeeverybody else, not one of the original Sextette. "Mr. Faucitt was downto see a rehearsal, and he said Miss Doland was fine. And he's not easyto please, as you know."

  "How is Mr. Faucitt?"

  Mrs. Meecher, not unwillingly, for she was a woman who enjoyed thetragedies of life, made her second essay in the direction of loweringSally's uplifted mood.

  "Poor old gentleman, he ain't over and above well. Went to bed earlylast night with a headache, and this morning I been to see him and hedon't look well. There's a lot of this Spanish influenza about. It mightbe that. Lots o' people have been dying of it, if you believe what yousee in the papers," said Mrs. Meecher buoyantly.

  "Good gracious! You don't think...?"

  "Well, he ain't turned black," admitted Mrs. Meecher with regret. "Theysay they turn black. If you believe what you see in the papers, that is.Of course, that may come later," she added with the air of one confidentthat all will come right in the future. "The doctor'll be in to see himpretty soon. He's quite happy. Toto's sitting with him."

  Sally's concern increased. Like everyone who had ever spent any lengthof time in the house, she had strong views on Toto. This quadruped, whostained the fame of the entire canine race by posing as a dog, was asmall woolly animal with a persistent and penetrating yap, hard to bearwith equanimity in health and certainly quite outside the range of asick man. Her heart bled for Mr. Faucitt. Mrs. Meecher, on the otherhand, who held a faith in her little pet's amiability and power tosoothe which seven years' close association had been unable to shake,seemed to feel that, with Toto on the spot, all that could be done hadbeen done as far as pampering the invalid was concerned.

  "I must go up and see him," cried Sally. "Poor old dear."

  "Sure. You know his room. You can hear Toto talking to him now," saidMrs. Meecher complacently. "He wants a cracker, that's what he wants.Toto likes a cracker after breakfast."

  The invalid's eyes, as Sally entered the room, turned wearily to thedoor. At the sight of Sally they lit up with an incredulous rapture.Almost any intervention would have pleased Mr. Faucitt at that moment,for his little playmate had long outstayed any welcome that mightoriginally have been his: but that the caller should be his belovedSally seemed to the old man something in the nature of a return of theage of miracles.

  "Sally!"

  "One moment. Here, Toto!"

  Toto, struck momentarily dumb by the sight of food, had jumped off thebed and was standing with his head on one side, peering questioningly atthe cracker. He was a suspicious dog, but he allowed himself to be luredinto the passage, upon which Sally threw the cracker down and slippedin and shut the door. Toto, after a couple of yaps, which may have beengratitude or baffled fury, trotted off downstairs, and Mr. Faucitt drewa deep breath.

  "Sally, you come, as ever, as an angel of mercy. Our worthy Mrs. Meechermeans well, and I yield to no man in my respect for her innate kindnessof heart: but she errs in supposing that that thrice-damned whelp ofhers is a combination of sick-nurse, soothing medicine, and a week atthe seaside. She insisted on bringing him here. He was yapping then, ashe was yapping when, with womanly resource which I cannot sufficientlypraise, you decoyed him hence. And each yap went through me likehammer-strokes on sheeted tin. Sally, you stand alone among womankind.You shine like a good deed in a naughty world. When did you get back?"

  "I've only just arrived in my hired barouche from the pier."

  "And you came to see your old friend without delay? I am grateful andflattered. Sally, my dear."

  "Of course I came to see you. Do you suppose that, when Mrs. Meechertold me you were sick, I just said 'Is that so?' and went on talkingabout the weather? Well, what do you mean by it? Frightening everybody.Poor old darling, do you feel very bad?"

  "One thousand individual mice are nibbling the base of my spine, andI am conscious of a constant need of cooling refreshment. But what ofthat? Your presence is a tonic. Tell me, how did our Sally enjoy foreigntravel?"

  "Our Sally had the time of her life."

  "Did you visit England?"

  "Only passing through."

  "How did it look?" asked Mr. Faucitt eagerly.

  "Moist. Very moist."

  "It would," said Mr. Faucitt indulgently. "I confess that, happy as Ihave been in this country, there are times when I miss those wonderfulLondon days, when a sort of cosy brown mist hangs over the streets andthe pavements ooze with a perspiration of mud and water, and you seethrough the haze the yellow glow of the Bodega lamps shining in thedistance like harbour-lights. Not," said Mr. Faucitt, "that I specifythe Bodega to the exclusion of other and equally worthy hostelries. Ihave passed just as pleasant hours in Rule's and Short's. You missedsomething by not lingering in England, Sally."

  "I know I did--pneumonia."

  Mr. Faucitt shook his head reproachfully.

  "You are prejudiced, my dear. You would have enjoyed London if you hadhad the courage to brave its superficial gloom. Where did you spend yourholiday? Paris?"

  "Part of the time. And the rest of the while I was down by the sea. Itwas glorious. I don't think I would ever have come back if I hadn't hadto. But, of course, I wanted to see you all again. And I wanted to be atthe opening of Mr. Foster's play. Mrs. Meecher tells me you went to oneof the rehearsals."

  "I attended a dog-fi
ght which I was informed was a rehearsal," said Mr.Faucitt severely. "There is no rehearsing nowadays."

  "Oh dear! Was it as bad as all that?"

  "The play is good. The play--I will go further--is excellent. It hasfat. But the acting..."

  "Mrs. Meecher said you told her that Elsa was good."

  "Our worthy hostess did not misreport me. Miss Doland has greatpossibilities. She reminds me somewhat of Matilda Devine, under whosebanner I played a season at the Old Royalty in London many years ago.She has the seeds of greatness in her, but she is wasted in the presentcase on an insignificant part. There is only one part in the play. Iallude to the one murdered by Miss Mabel Hobson."

  "Murdered!" Sally's heart sank. She had been afraid of this, and itwas no satisfaction to feel that she had warned Gerald. "Is she veryterrible?"

  "She has the face of an angel and the histrionic ability of that curioussuet pudding which our estimable Mrs. Meecher is apt to give us onFridays. In my professional career I have seen many cases of what I mayterm the Lady Friend in the role of star, but Miss Hobson eclipses themall. I remember in the year '94 a certain scion of the plutocracytook it into his head to present a female for whom he had conceived anadmiration in a part which would have taxed the resources of the ablest.I was engaged in her support, and at the first rehearsal I recollectsaying to my dear old friend, Arthur Moseby--dead, alas, these manyyears. An excellent juvenile, but, like so many good fellows, cursedwith a tendency to lift the elbow--I recollect saying to him 'Arthur,dear boy, I give it two weeks.' 'Max,' was his reply, 'you are anincurable optimist. One consecutive night, laddie, one consecutivenight.' We had, I recall, an even half-crown upon it. He won. We openedat Wigan, our leading lady got the bird, and the show closed next day.I was forcibly reminded of this incident as I watched Miss Hobsonrehearsing."

  "Oh, poor Ger--poor Mr. Foster!"

  "I do not share your commiseration for that young man," said Mr. Faucittausterely. "You probably are almost a stranger to him, but he and I havebeen thrown together a good deal of late. A young man upon whom, mark mywords, success, if it ever comes, will have the worst effects. I dislikehim. Sally. He is, I think, without exception, the most selfish andself-centred young man of my acquaintance. He reminds me very muchof old Billy Fothergill, with whom I toured a good deal in the latereighties. Did I ever tell you the story of Billy and the amateurwho...?"

  Sally was in no mood to listen to the adventures of Mr. Fothergill.The old man's innocent criticism of Gerald had stabbed her deeply. Amomentary impulse to speak hotly in his defence died away as she sawMr. Faucitt's pale, worn old face. He had meant no harm, after all. Howcould he know what Gerald was to her?

  She changed the conversation abruptly.

  "Have you seen anything of Fillmore while I've been away?"

  "Fillmore? Why yes, my dear, curiously enough I happened to run into himon Broadway only a few days ago. He seemed changed--less stiff and aloofthan he had been for some time past. I may be wronging him, but therehave been times of late when one might almost have fancied him a trifleup-stage. All that was gone at our last encounter. He appeared glad tosee me and was most cordial."

  Sally found her composure restored. Her lecture on the night of theparty had evidently, she thought, not been wasted. Mr. Faucitt, however,advanced another theory to account for the change in the Man of Destiny.

  "I rather fancy," he said, "that the softening influence has been theyoung man's fiancee."

  "What? Fillmore's not engaged?"

  "Did he not write and tell you? I suppose he was waiting to inform youwhen you returned. Yes, Fillmore is betrothed. The lady was withhim when we met. A Miss Winch. In the profession, I understand. Heintroduced me. A very charming and sensible young lady, I thought."

  Sally shook her head.

  "She can't be. Fillmore would never have got engaged to anyone likethat. Was her hair crimson?"

  "Brown, if I recollect rightly."

  "Very loud, I suppose, and overdressed?"

  "On the contrary, neat and quiet."

  "You've made a mistake," said Sally decidedly. "She can't have been likethat. I shall have to look into this. It does seem hard that I can't goaway for a few weeks without all my friends taking to beds of sicknessand all my brothers getting ensnared by vampires."

  A knock at the door interrupted her complaint. Mrs. Meecher entered,ushering in a pleasant little man with spectacles and black bag.

  "The doctor to see you, Mr. Faucitt." Mrs. Meecher cast an appraisingeye at the invalid, as if to detect symptoms of approachingdiscoloration. "I've been telling him that what I think you've gotten isthis here new Spanish influenza. Two more deaths there were in the paperthis morning, if you can believe what you see..."

  "I wonder," said the doctor, "if you would mind going and bringing me asmall glass of water?"

  "Why, sure."

  "Not a large glass--a small glass. Just let the tap run for a fewmoments and take care not to spill any as you come up the stairs. Ialways ask ladies, like our friend who has just gone," he added as thedoor closed, "to bring me a glass of water. It keeps them amused andinterested and gets them out of the way, and they think I am going to doa conjuring trick with it. As a matter of fact, I'm going to drink it.Now let's have a look at you."

  The examination did not take long. At the end of it the doctor seemedsomewhat chagrined.

  "Our good friend's diagnosis was correct. I'd give a leg to say itwasn't, but it was. It is this here new Spanish influenza. Not a badattack. You want to stay in bed and keep warm, and I'll write you out aprescription. You ought to be nursed. Is this young lady a nurse?"

  "No, no, merely..."

  "Of course I'm a nurse," said Sally decidedly. "It isn't difficult,is it, doctor? I know nurses smooth pillows. I can do that. Is thereanything else?"

  "Their principal duty is to sit here and prevent the excellent andgarrulous lady who has just left us from getting in. They must also beable to aim straight with a book or an old shoe, if that small woollydog I met downstairs tries to force an entrance. If you are equal tothese tasks, I can leave the case in your hands with every confidence."

  "But, Sally, my dear," said Mr. Faucitt, concerned, "you must not wasteyour time looking after me. You have a thousand things to occupy you."

  "There's nothing I want to do more than help you to get better. I'lljust go out and send a wire, and then I'll be right back."

  Five minutes later, Sally was in a Western Union office, telegraphingto Gerald that she would be unable to reach Detroit in time for theopening.

  CHAPTER VI. FIRST AID FOR FILLMORE

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