Jill the Reckless

by P. G. Wodehouse

  CHAPTER XIX

  MRS. PEAGRIM BURNS INCENSE

  "They tell me ... I am told ... I am informed ... No, one moment, MissFrisby."

  Mrs. Peagrim wrinkled her fair forehead. It has been truly said thatthere is no agony like the agony of literary composition, and Mrs.Peagrim was having rather a bad time getting the requisite snap andginger into her latest communication to the Press. She bit her lip,and would have passed her twitching fingers restlessly through herhair but for the thought of the damage which such an action must do toher coiffure. Miss Frisby, her secretary, an anaemic and negative youngwoman, waited patiently, pad on knee, and tapped her teeth with herpencil.

  "Please do not make that tapping noise, Miss Frisby," said thesufferer querulously. "I cannot think. Otie, dear, can't you suggest agood phrase? You ought to be able to, being an author."

  Mr. Pilkington, who was strewn over an arm-chair by the window, awokefrom his meditations, which, to judge from the furrow just above thebridge of his tortoise-shell spectacles and the droop of his weakchin, were not pleasant. It was the morning after the production of"The Rose of America," and he had passed a sleepless night, thinkingof the harsh words he had said to Jill. Could she ever forgive him?Would she have the generosity to realize that a man ought not to beheld accountable for what he says in the moment when he discovers thathe has been cheated, deceived, robbed--in a word, hornswoggled? He hadbeen brooding on this all night, and he wanted to go on brooding now.His aunt's question interrupted his train of thought.

  "Eh?" he said vaguely, gaping.

  "Oh, don't be so absent-minded!" snapped Mrs. Peagrim, notunjustifiably annoyed. "I am trying to compose a paragraph for thepapers about our party to-night, and I can't get the right phrase....Read what you've written, Miss Frisby."

  Miss Frisby, having turned a pale eye on the pothooks and twiddleys inher note-book, translated them in a pale voice.

  "'Surely of all the leading hostesses in New York Society there can befew more versatile than Mrs. Waddesleigh Peagrim. I am amazed everytime I go to her delightful home on West End Avenue to see the scopeand variety of her circle of intimates. Here you will see anambassador with a fever....'"

  "With a _what_?" demanded Mrs. Peagrim sharply.

  "'Fever,' I thought you said," replied Miss Frisby stolidly. "I wrote'fever.'"

  "'Diva.' Do use your intelligence, my good girl. Go on."

  "Here you will see an ambassador with a diva from the opera,exchanging the latest gossip from the chancelleries for intimate newsof the world behind the scenes. There, the author of the latest noveltalking literature to the newest debutante. Truly one may say thatMrs. Peagrim has revived the saloon.'"

  Mrs. Peagrim bit her lip.

  "'Salon.'"

  "'Salon,'" said Miss Frisby unemotionally. "They tell me, I am told, Iam informed....'" She paused. "That's all I have."

  "Scratch out those last words," said Mrs. Peagrim irritably. "Youreally are hopeless, Miss Frisby! Couldn't you see that I had stoppeddictating and was searching for a phrase? Otie, what is a good phrasefor 'I am told'?"

  Mr. Pilkington forced his wandering attention to grapple with theproblem.

  "'I hear,'" he suggested at length.

  "Tchah!" ejaculated his aunt. Then her face brightened. "I have it.Take dictation, please, Miss Frisby. 'A little bird whispers to methat there were great doings last night on the stage of the GothamTheatre after the curtain had fallen on "The Rose of America," which,as everybody knows, is the work of Mrs. Peagrim's clever young nephew,Otis Pilkington.'" Mrs. Peagrim shot a glance at her clever youngnephew, to see how he appreciated the boost, but Otis' thoughts werefar away once more. He was lying on his spine, brooding, brooding.Mrs. Peagrim resumed her dictation. "'In honour of the extraordinarysuccess of the piece, Mrs. Peagrim, who certainly does nothing byhalves, entertained the entire company to a supper-dance after theperformance. A number of prominent people were among the guests, andMrs. Peagrim was a radiant and vivacious hostess. She has never lookedmore charming. The high jinks were kept up to an advanced hour, andevery one agreed that they had never spent a more delightful evening.'There! Type as many copies as are necessary, Miss Frisby, and sendthem out this afternoon with photographs."

  Miss Frisby having vanished in her pallid way, the radiant andvivacious hostess turned on her nephew again.

  "I must say, Otie," she began complainingly, "that, for a man who hashad a success like yours, you are not very cheerful. I should havethought the notices of the piece would have made you the happiest manin New York."

  There was once a melodrama where the child of the persecuted heroineused to dissolve the gallery in tears by saying "Happiness? What _is_happiness, moth-aw?" Mr. Pilkington did not use these actual words,but he reproduced the stricken infant's tone with great fidelity.

  "Notices! What are notices to me?"

  "Oh, don't be so affected!" cried Mrs. Peagrim. "Don't pretend thatyou don't know every word of them by heart!"

  "I have not seen the notices, Aunt Olive," said Mr. Pilkington dully.

  Mrs. Peagrim looked at him with positive alarm. She had never beenoverwhelmingly attached to her long nephew, but since his rise to famesomething resembling affection had sprung up in her, and his attitudenow disturbed her.

  "You can't be well, Otie!" she said solicitously. "Are you ill?"

  "I have a severe headache," replied the martyr. "I passed a wakefulnight."

  "Let me go and mix you a dose of the most wonderful mixture," saidMrs. Peagrim maternally. "Poor boy! I don't wonder, after all thenervousness and excitement.... You sit quite still and rest. I will beback in a moment."

  She bustled out of the room, and Mr. Pilkington sagged back into hischair. He had hardly got his meditations going once more, when thedoor opened and the maid announced "Major Selby."

  "Good morning," said Uncle Chris breezily, sailing down the fairwaywith outstretched hand. "How are--oh!"

  He stopped abruptly, perceiving that Mrs. Peagrim was not presentand--a more disturbing discovery--that Otis Pilkington was. It wouldbe exaggeration to say that Uncle Chris was embarrassed. Thatmaster-mind was never actually embarrassed. But his jauntinesscertainly ebbed a little, and he had to pull his moustache twicebefore he could face the situation with his customary _aplomb_. He hadnot expected to find Otis Pilkington here, and Otis was the last manhe wished to meet. He had just parted from Jill, who had been ratherplain-spoken with regard to the recent financial operations; and,though possessed only of a rudimentary conscience, Uncle Chris wasaware that his next interview with young Mr. Pilkington might havecertain aspects bordering on awkwardness and he would have liked timeto prepare a statement for the defence. However, here the man was, andthe situation must be faced.

  "Pilkington!" he cried. "My dear fellow! Just the man I wanted tosee! I'm afraid there has been a little misunderstanding. Of course,it has all been cleared up now, but still I must insist on making apersonal explanation really, I must insist. The whole matter was a mostabsurd misunderstanding. It was like this...."

  Here Uncle Chris paused in order to devote a couple of seconds tothought. He had said it was "like this," and he gave his moustacheanother pull as though he were trying to drag inspiration out of it.His blue eyes were as frank and honest as ever, and showed no trace ofthe perplexity in his mind, but he had to admit to himself that, if hemanaged to satisfy his hearer that all was for the best and that hehad acted uprightly and without blame, he would be doing well.

  Fortunately, the commercial side of Mr. Pilkington was entirelydormant this morning. The matter of the ten thousand dollars seemedtrivial to him in comparison with the weightier problems whichoccupied his mind.

  "Have you seen Miss Mariner?" he asked eagerly.

  "Yes. I have just parted from her. She was upset, poor girl, ofcourse, exceedingly upset."

  Mr. Pilkington moaned hollowly.

  "Is she very angry with me?"

  For a moment the utter inexplicability of the remark silenced
UncleChris. Why Jill should be angry with Mr. Pilkington for being robbedof ten thousand dollars he could not understand, for Jill had told himnothing of the scene that had taken place on the previous night. Butevidently this point was to Mr. Pilkington the nub of the matter, andUncle Chris, like the strategist he was, re-arranged his forces tomeet the new development.

  "Angry?" he said slowly. "Well, of course...."

  He did not know what it was all about, but no doubt if he confinedhimself to broken sentences which meant nothing light would shortly bevouchsafed to him.

  "In the heat of the moment," confessed Mr. Pilkington, "I'm afraid Isaid things to Miss Mariner which I now regret."

  Uncle Chris began to feel on solid ground again.

  "Dear, dear!" he murmured regretfully.

  "I spoke hastily."

  "Always think before you speak, my boy."

  "I considered that I had been cheated...."

  "My dear boy!" Uncle Chris' blue eyes opened wide. "Please! Haven't I saidthat I could explain all that? It was a pure misunderstanding...."

  "Oh, I don't care about that part of it...."

  "Quite right," said Uncle Chris cordially. "Let bygones be bygones.Start with a clean slate. You have your money back, and there's noneed to say another word about it. Let us forget it," he concludedgenerously. "And, if I have any influence with Jill, you may count onme to use it to dissipate any little unfortunate rift which may haveoccurred between you."

  "You think there's a chance that she might overlook what I said?"

  "As I say, I will use any influence I may possess to heal the breach.I like you, my boy. And I am sure that Jill likes you. She will makeallowances for any ill-judged remarks you may have uttered in a momentof heat."

  Mr. Pilkington brightened, and Mrs. Peagrim, returning with amedicine-glass, was pleased to see him looking so much better.

  "You are a positive wizard, Major Selby," she said archly. "What haveyou been saying to the poor boy to cheer him up so? He has a badheadache this morning."

  "Headache?" said Uncle Chris, starting like a war-horse that has heardthe bugle. "I don't know if I have ever mentioned it, but _I_ used tosuffer from headaches at one time. Extraordinarily severe headaches. Itried everything, until one day a man I knew recommended a thingcalled--don't know if you have ever heard of it...."

  Mrs. Peagrim, in her role of ministering angel, was engrossed with hererrand of mercy. She was holding the medicine-glass to Mr.Pilkington's lips, and the seed fell on stony ground.

  "Drink this, dear," urged Mrs. Peagrim.

  "Nervino," said Uncle Chris.

  "There!" said Mrs. Peagrim. "That will make you feel much better. Howwell _you_ always look, Major Selby!"

  "And yet at one time," said Uncle Chris perseveringly, "I was amartyr...."

  "I can't remember if I told you last night about the party. We aregiving a little supper-dance to the company of Otie's play after theperformance this evening. Of course you will come?"

  Uncle Chris philosophically accepted his failure to secure the ear ofhis audience. Other opportunities would occur.

  "Delighted," he said. "Delighted."

  "Quite a simple, Bohemian little affair," proceeded Mrs. Peagrim. "Ithought it was only right to give the poor things a little treat afterthey have all worked so hard."

  "Certainly, certainly. A capital idea."

  "We shall be quite a small party. If I once started asking anybodyoutside our _real_ friends, I should have to ask everybody."

  The door opened.

  "Mr. Rooke," announced the maid.

  Freddie, like Mr. Pilkington, was a prey to gloom this morning. He hadread one or two of the papers, and they had been disgustingly lavishin their praise of The McWhustle of McWhustle. It made Freddie despairof the New York Press. In addition to this, he had been woken up atseven o'clock, after going to sleep at three, by the ringing of thetelephone and the announcement that a gentleman wished to see him: andhe was weighed down with that heavy-eyed languor which comes to thosewhose night's rest is broken.

  "Why, how do you do, Mr. Rooke!" said Mrs. Peagrim.

  "How-de-do," replied Freddie, blinking in the strong light from thewindow. "Hope I'm not barging in and all that sort of thing? I cameround about this party to-night, you know."

  "Oh, yes?"

  "Was wondering," said Freddie, "if you would mind if I brought afriend of mine along? Popped in on me from England this morning. Atseven o'clock," said Freddie plaintively. "Ghastly hour, what? Didn'tdo a thing to the good old beauty sleep! Well, what I mean to say is,I'd be awfully obliged if you'd let me bring him along."

  "Why, of course," said Mrs. Peagrim. "Any friend of yours, Mr.Rooke...."

  "Thanks awfully. Special reason why I'd like him to come, and allthat. He's a fellow named Underhill. Sir Derek Underhill. Been a palof mine for years and years."

  Uncle Chris started.

  "Underhill! Is Derek Underhill in America?"

  "Landed this morning. Routed me out of bed at seven o'clock."

  "Oh, do you know him, too, Major Selby?" said Mrs. Peagrim. "Then I'msure he must be charming!"

  "Charming," began Uncle Chris in measured tones, "is an adjectivewhich I cannot...."

  "Well, thanks most awfully," interrupted Freddie. "It's fearfully goodof you to let me bring him along. I must be staggering off now. Lot ofthings to do."

  "Oh, must you go already?"

  "Absolutely must. Lots of things to do."

  Uncle Chris extended a hand to his hostess.

  "I think I will be going along, too, Mrs. Peagrim. I'll walk a fewyards with you, Freddie, my boy. There are one or two things I wouldlike to talk over. Till to-night, Mrs. Peagrim."

  "Till to-night, Major Selby." She turned to Mr. Pilkington as the doorclosed. "What charming manners Major Selby has. So polished. A sort ofold-world courtesy. So smooth!"

  "Smooth," said Mr. Pilkington dourly, "is right!"

  II

  Uncle Chris confronted Freddie sternly outside the front door.

  "What does this mean? Good God, Freddie, have you no delicacy?"

  "Eh?" said Freddie blankly.

  "Why are you bringing Underhill to this party? Don't you realize thatpoor Jill will be there? How do you suppose she will feel when shesees that blackguard again? The cad who threw her over and nearlybroke her heart!"

  Freddie's jaw fell. He groped for his fallen eyeglass.

  "Oh, my aunt! Do you think she will be pipped?"

  "A sensitive girl like Jill?"

  "But, listen. Derek wants to marry her."

  "What?"

  "Oh, absolutely. That's why he's come over."

  Uncle Chris shook his head.

  "I don't understand this. I saw the letter myself which he wrote toher, breaking off the engagement."

  "Yes, but he's dashed sorry about all that now. Wishes he had neverbeen such a mug, and all that sort of thing. As a matter of fact,that's why I shot over here in the first place. As an ambassador,don't you know. I told Jill all about it directly I saw her, but sheseemed inclined to give it a miss rather, so I cabled old Derek to pophere in person. Seemed to me, don't you know, that Jill might be morelikely to make it up and all that if she saw old Derek."

  Uncle Chris nodded, his composure restored.

  "Very true. Yes, certainly, my boy, you acted most sensibly. Badly asUnderhill behaved, she undoubtedly loved him. It would be the bestpossible thing that could happen if they could be brought together. Itis my dearest wish to see Jill comfortably settled. I was half hopingthat she might marry young Pilkington."

  "Good God! The Pilker!"

  "He is quite a nice young fellow," argued Uncle Chris. "None too manybrains, perhaps, but Jill would supply that deficiency. Still, ofcourse, Underhill would be much better."

  "She ought to marry someone," said Freddie earnestly. "I mean, all rota girl like Jill having to knock about and rough it like this."

  "You're perfectly right."

  "Of course,
" said Freddie thoughtfully, "the catch in the whole dashedbusiness is that she's such a bally independent sort of girl. I meanto say, it's quite possible she may hand Derek the mitten, you know."

  "In that case, let us hope that she will look more favourably on youngPilkington."

  "Yes," said Freddie. "Well, yes. But--well, I wouldn't call the Pilkera very ripe sporting proposition. About sixty to one against is theway I should figure it if I were making a book. It may be just becauseI'm feeling a bit pipped this morning--got turfed out of bed at seveno'clock and all that--but I have an idea that she may give both ofthem the old razz. May be wrong, of course."

  "Let us hope that you are, my boy," said Uncle Chris gravely. "For inthat case I should be forced into a course of action from which Iconfess that I shrink."

  "I don't follow."

  "Freddie, my boy, you are a very old friend of Jill's and I am heruncle. I feel that I can speak plainly to you. Jill is the dearestthing to me in the world. She trusted me, and I failed her. I wasresponsible for the loss of her money, and my one object in life is tosee her by some means or other in a position equal to the one of whichI deprived her. If she married a rich man, well and good. That,provided she marries him because she is fond of him, will be the verybest thing that can happen. But if she does not, there is another way.It may be possible for me to marry a rich woman."

  Freddie stopped, appalled.

  "Good God! You don't mean ... you aren't thinking of marrying Mrs.Peagrim!"

  "I wouldn't have mentioned names, but, as you have guessed.... Yes, ifthe worst comes to the worst, I shall make the supreme sacrifice.To-night will decide. Good-bye, my boy. I want to look in at my clubfor a few minutes. Tell Underhill that he has my best wishes."

  "I'll bet he has!" gasped Freddie.