 CHAPTER VIII. A DISTURBED NIGHT FOR DEAR OLD SQUIFFY. Archie's mind, as a rule, worked in rather a languid and restful sort of way. But now it got going with a rush and a whir. He glared round the room. He had never seen a room so devoid of satisfactory cover. And then there came to him a scheme, a ruse. It offered a chance of escape. It was indeed a bit of all right. Peter, the snake, loafing contentedly about the carpet, found himself seized by what the encyclopedia calls the Distensible Gullet, and looked up reproachfully. The next moment he was in his bag again, and Archie, bounding silently into the bathroom, was tearing the cord off his dressing-gown. There came a banging at the door. A voice spoke sternly. A masculine voice this time. Say, open this door! Archie rapidly attached the dressing-gown cord to the handle of the bag, leaped to the window, opened it, tied the cord to a projecting piece of iron on the sill, lowered Peter and the bag into the depths, and closed the window again. The whole affair took but a few seconds. Generals have received the thanks of their nations for displaying less resource on the battlefield. He opened the door. Outside stood the bereaved woman, and beside her a bullet-headed gentleman with a bolder hat on the back of his head, in whom Archie recognized the hotel detective. The hotel detective also recognized Archie, in the stern cast of his features, relaxed. He even smiled a rusty but propitiatory smile. He imagined, erroneously, that Archie, being the son-in-law of the owner of the hotel, had a pull with that gentleman, and he resolved to proceed warily lest he jeopardize his job. Why, Mr. Moem, he said apologetically, I didn't know it was you I was disturbing. Always glad to have a chat, said Archie cordially. What seems to be the trouble? My snake! cried the queen of tragedy. Where is my snake? Archie looked at the detective. The detective looked at Archie. This lady, said the detective with a dry little cough, thinks her snake is in your room, Mr. Moem. Snake? Snake's, what the lady said. My snake! My Peter! Madam Brutauska's voice shook with emotion. He is here, here in this room. Archie shook his head. No snakes here. Absolutely not. I remember noticing when I came in. The snake is here, here in this room. This man hided in a bag. I saw him. He is a thief. Easy, ma'am, protested the detective. Go easy. This gentleman's the boss's son-in-law. I care not who he is. He has my snake. Here, here in this room. Mr. Moem wouldn't go round stealing snakes. Rather not, said Archie, never stole a snake in my life. None of the mooms have ever gone about stealing snakes. Regular family tradition, though I once had an uncle who kept a goldfish. Here he is, here, my Peter!" Archie looked at the detective. The detective looked at Archie. We must humor her, their glances said. Of course, said Archie, if you'd like to search the room what? What I mean to say is, this is Liberty Hall. Everybody welcome. Bring the kitties! I will search the room," said Madame Brudowska. The detective glanced apologetically at Archie. Don't blame me for this, Mr. Moem, he urged. Rather not, only too glad you've dropped in. He took up an easy attitude against the window and watched the empress of the emotional drama explore. Presently she desisted, baffled. For an instant she paused, as though about to speak, then swept from the room. A moment later a door banged across the passage. How do they get that way? queried the detective. Well, good-bye, Mr. Moem, sorry to have butted in. The door closed. Archie waited a few moments, then went to the window and hauled in the slack. Presently the bag appeared over the edge of the window sill. Good God! said Archie. In the rush and swirl of recent events he must have omitted to see that the clasp that fastened the bag was properly closed. For the bag, as it jumped onto the window sill, gaped at him like a yawning face. And inside it there was nothing. Archie leaned as far out of the window as he could manage without committing suicide. Far below him the traffic took its usual course and the pedestrians moved to and fro upon the pavements. There was no crowding, no excitement. Yet, only a few moments before, a long green snake with three hundred ribs, a distensible gullet, and gastrocentrus vertebras must have descended on that street like the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath. And nobody seemed even interested. Not for the first time since he had arrived in America, Archie marvelled at the cynical detachment of the New Yorker, who permits himself to be surprised at nothing. He shut the window and moved away with a heavy heart. He had not had the pleasure of an extended acquaintancehip with Peter, but he had seen enough of him to realize his sterling qualities. Somewhere beneath Peter's three hundred ribs there had lain a heart of gold, and Archie mourned for his loss. Archie had a dinner and theatre engagement that night, and it was late when he returned to the hotel. He found his father-in-law prowling restlessly about the lobby. There seemed to be something on Mr. Brewster's mind. He came up to Archie with a brooding frown on his square face. Who's this man's sea-cliff? he demanded without preamble. I hear he's a friend of yours. Oh, you've met him what, said Archie. Had a nice little chat together, yes? Talked of this and that, no? We have not said a word to each other. Really! Oh, well, dear old Squiffy is one of those strong silent fellas, you know. You mustn't mind if he's a bit dumb. He never says much, but it's whispered round the clubs that he thinks a lot. It was rumoured in the spring of 1913 that Squiffy was on the point of making a bright remark, but it never came to anything. Mr. Brewster struggled with his feelings. Who is he? You seem to know him. Oh, yes! Great pal of mine, Squiffy. We went through Eaton, Oxford, and the bankruptcy court together. And here's a rummy coincidence. When they examined me, I had no assets. And when they examined Squiffy, he had no assets. Rather extraordinary, what? Mr. Brewster seemed to be in no mood for discussing coincidences. I might have known he was a friend of yours, he said bitterly. Well, if you want to see him, you'll have to do it outside my hotel. Why, I thought he was stopping here. Is, to-night. Tomorrow he can look for some other hotel to break up. Great Scott, has dear old Squiffy been breaking the place up? Mr. Brewster snorted. I am informed that this precious friend of yours entered my grill-room at eight o'clock. He must have been completely intoxicated, though the head waiter tells me he noticed nothing at the time. Archie nodded approvingly. Dear old Squiffy was always like that. It's a gift. However woozled he might be, it was impossible to detect it with the naked eye. I've seen the dear old chap many a time whiffled to the eyebrows, and looking as sober as a bishop. Soberer! When did it begin to dawn on the lads in the grill-room that the old egg had been pushing the boat out? The head waiter, said Brewster with cold fury, tells me that he got a hint of the man's condition when he suddenly got up from his table and went the round of the room pulling off all the table-cloths and breaking everything that was on them. He then threw a number of rolls at the diners and left. He seemed to have gone straight to bed. Dashard sensible of him what? Sound practical chap, Squiffy. But where on earth did he get the, uh, materials? From his room I made inquiries. He has six large cases in his room. Squiffy always was a chap of infinite resource. Well, I'm Dashard sorry this should have happened, don't you know? If it hadn't been for you, the man would never have come here. Mr. Brewster brooded coldly. I don't know why it is, but ever since you came to this hotel I've had nothing but trouble. Dashard sorry, said Archie sympathetically. Grrr, said Mr. Brewster. Archie made his way meditatively to the lift. The injustice of his father-in-law's attitude pained him. It was absolutely rotten and all that to be blamed for everything that went wrong in the hotel Cosmopolis. While this conversation was in progress Lord Seacliffe was enjoying a refreshing sleep in his room on the fourth floor. Two hours passed. The noise of the traffic in the street below faded away. Only the rattle of an occasional belated cab broke the silence. In the hotel all was still. Mr. Brewster had gone to bed. Archie, in his room, smoked meditatively. Peace may have been said to rain. At half-past two Lord Seacliffe awoke. His hours of slumber were always irregular. He sat up in bed and switched the light on. He was a shock-headed young man with a red face and a hot brown eye. He yawned and stretched himself. His head was aching a little. The room seemed to him a trifle close. He got out of bed and threw open the window. Then, returning to bed, he picked up a book and began to read. He was conscious of feeling a little jumpy, and reading generally sent him to sleep. Much has been written on the subject of bed books. The general consensus of opinion is that a gentle, slow-moving story makes the best opiate. If this be so, dear old Squiffy's choice of literature had been rather injudicious. His book was The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, and the particular story which he selected for Perusal was the one entitled The Speckled Band. He was not a great reader, but when he read he liked something with a bit of zip to it. Squiffy became absorbed. He had read the book before but a long time back, and its complications were fresh to him. The tale, it may be remembered, deals with the activities of an ingenious gentleman who kept a snake and used to lucid into people's bedrooms as a preliminary to collecting on their insurance. It gave Squiffy pleasant thrills, for he had always had a particular horror of snakes. As a child he had shrunk from visiting the serpent house at the zoo, and later when he had come to man's estate and had put off childish things and settled down in real earnest to his self-appointed mission of drinking up all the alcoholic fluid in England, the distaste for Ophidia had lingered. To a dislike for real snakes had been added a mature shrinking from those which existed only in his imagination. He could still recall his emotions on the occasion, scarcely three months before, when he had seen a long green serpent which a majority of his contemporaries had assured him wasn't there. Squiffy read on. Suddenly another sound became audible, a very gentle soothing sound, like that of a small jet of steam escaping continuously from a kettle. Lord Seacliff looked up from his book with a start. Imagination was beginning to play him tricks. He could have sworn that he had actually heard that identical sound. It had seemed to come from the window. He listened again. No, all was still. He returned to his book and went on reading. It was a singular sight that met our eyes. Beside the table, on a wooden chair sat Dr. Grimes B. Rylott, clad in a long dressing gown. His chin was cocked upward and his eyes were fixed in a dreadful rigid stare at the corner of the ceiling. Round his brow he had a peculiar yellow band with brownish speckles, which seemed to be bound tightly round his head. I took a step forward. In an instant his strange head gear began to move, and there reared itself from among his hair the squat diamond-shaped head and puffed neck of a loathsome serpent. Ugg, said Squiffy. He closed the book and put it down. His head was aching worse than ever. He wished now that he had read something else. No fellow could read himself to sleep with this sort of thing. People ought not to write this sort of thing. His heart gave a bound. There it was again, that hissing sound. And this time he was sure it came from the window. He looked at the window and remained staring, frozen. Over the sill, with a graceful, leisurely movement, a green snake was crawling. As it crawled, it raised its head and peered from side to side, like a short-sighted man looking for his spectacles. It hesitated a moment on the edge of the sill, then wriggled to the floor and began to cross the room. Squiffy stared on. It would have pained Peter deeply, for he was a snake of great sensibility if he had known how much his entrance had disturbed the occupant of the room. He himself had no feeling but gratitude for the man who had opened the window and so enabled him to get in out of the rather nippy night air. Ever since the bag had swung open and shot him out onto the sill of the window below Arches, he had been waiting patiently for something of the kind to happen. He was a snake who took things as they came, and was prepared to rough it a bit if necessary, but for the last hour or two he had been hoping that somebody would do something practical in the way of getting him in out of the cold. When at home he had an eider-down quilt to sleep on, and the stone of the window sill was a little trying to a snake of regular habits. He crawled thankfully across the floor under Squiffy's bed. There was a pair of trousers there, for his host had undressed when not in a frame of mind to fold his clothes neatly and place them upon a chair. Peter looked the trousers over. They were not an eider-down quilt, but they would serve. He curled up in them and went to sleep. He had had an exciting day and was glad to turn in. After about ten minutes the tension of Squiffy's attitude relaxed. His heart, which had seemed to suspend its operations, began beating again. Reason reasserted itself. He peeped cautiously under the bed. He could see nothing. Squiffy was convinced. He told himself that he had never really believed in Peter as a living thing. It stood to reason that there couldn't really be a snake in his room. The window looked out on emptiness. His room was several stories above the ground. There was a stern, set expression on Squiffy's face as he climbed out of bed. It was the expression of a man who is turning over a new leaf, starting a new life. He looked about the room for some implement which would carry out the deed he had to do, and finally pulled out one of the curtain rods. Using this as a lever he broke open the topmost of the six cases which stood in the corner. The soft wood cracked and split. Squiffy drew out a straw-covered bottle. For a moment he stood, looking at it, as a man might gaze at a friend on the point of death. Then, with a sudden determination, he went into the bathroom. There was a crash of glass and a gurgling sound. Half an hour later the telephone in Archie's room rang. I say, Archie Old Top, said the voice of Squiffy. Hello, Old Bean, is that you? I say, could you pop down here for a second? I'm rather upset. Absolutely. Which room? 441. I'll be with you, it off-soons, or right speedily. Thanks, old man. What appears to be the difficulty? Well, as a matter of fact, I thought I saw a snake. A snake? I'll tell you all about it when you come down. Archie found Lord Seekleff seated on his bed, and a resting aroma of mixed drinks pervaded the atmosphere. I say what? said Archie, inhaling. That's all right, I've been pouring my stock away. Just finish the last bottle. But why? I told you, I thought I saw a snake. Green? Squiffy shivered slightly. Frightfully green. Archie hesitated. He perceived that there are moments when silence is the best policy. He had been whirring himself over the unfortunate case of his friend, and now that fate seemed to have provided a solution it would be rash to interfere merely to ease the old bean's mind. If Squiffy was going to reform because he thought he had seen an imaginary snake, better not to let him know that the snake was a real one. Dashed serious, he said. Bally dashed serious, agreed Squiffy. I'm going to cut it out. Great scheme! You don't think, asked Squiffy, with a touch of hopefulness, that it could have been a real snake. Never heard of the management supplying them. I thought it went under the bed. Well, take a look. Squiffy shuddered. Not me! I say all top, you know, I simply can't sleep in this room now. I was wondering if you could give me a dose somewhere in yours. Rather! I'm in 541, just above. Trot along up. Here's the key. I'll tidy up a bit here and join you in a minute. Squiffy put on a dressing gown and disappeared. Archie looked under the bed. From the trousers the head of Peter popped up with its usual expression of amiable inquiry. Archie nodded pleasantly and sat down on the bed. The problem of his little friend's immediate future wanted thinking over. He lit a cigarette and remained for a while in thought. Then he rose. An admirable solution had presented itself. He picked Peter up and placed him in the pocket of his dressing gown. Then, leaving the room, he mounted the stairs till he reached the seventh floor. Outside a room halfway down the corridor, he paused. From within, through the open transom, came the rhythmical snoring of a good man taking his rest after the labours of the day. Mr. Brewster was always a heavy sleeper. There's always a way, thought Archie philosophically, if a chubby only thinks of it. His father-in-law's snoring took on a deeper note. Archie extracted Peter from his pocket and dropped him gently through the transom. End of Chapter 8 Chapter 9 of Indiscretions of Archie by P. G. Woodhouse, read by Mark Nelson. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, visit LibriVox.org. Indiscretions of Archie Chapter 9 A Letter From Parker As the days went by, and he settled down at the Hotel Cosmopolis, Archie, looking about him and revising earlier judgments, was inclined to think that of all his immediate circle, he most admired Parker, the lean, grave valet of Mr. Daniel Brewster. Here was a man who lived with the closest contact with one of the most difficult persons in New York, contrived all the while to maintain an unbowed head, and, as far as one could gather from appearances, a tolerably cheerful disposition. A great man! Judge him by what standard you pleased. Anxious as he was to earn an honest living, Archie would not have changed places with Parker for the salary of a movie star. It was Parker who first directed Archie's attention to the hidden merits of Pongo. Archie had drifted into his father-in-law's suite one morning, as he sometimes did, in the effort to establish more amicable relations, and found it occupied only by the valet, who was dusting the furniture and bric-a-brac with a feather broom, rather in the style of a man-servant at the rise of the curtain of an old-fashioned farce. After a courteous exchange of greetings, Archie sat down and lit a cigarette. Parker went on dusting. The governor, said Parker, breaking the silence, has some nice little obje d'ar, sir. Little what? Obje d'ar, sir! Light dawned upon Archie. Of course, yes. French for junk. I see what you mean now. Dare say you right, old friend. Don't know much about these things myself. Parker gave an appreciative flick at a vase on the mantelpiece. Very valuable some of the governor's things. He had picked up the small China figure of the warrior with the spear, and was grooming it with the ostentatious care of one brushing flies off a sleeping Venus. He regarded this figure with a look of affectionate esteem, which seemed to Archie absolutely uncalled for. Archie's taste in art was not precious. To his untutored eye the thing was only one degree less foul than his father-in-law's Japanese prints, which he had always observed with silent loathing. This one now, continued Parker, worth a lot of money. Oh, a lot of money. What? Pongo! said Archie incredulously. Sir, I always call that rummy-looking what-not Pongo. Don't know what else you could call him what. The valet seemed to disapprove of this levity. He shook his head and replaced the figure on the mantelpiece. Worth a lot of money, he repeated. Not by itself, no. Oh, not by itself. No, sir. Things like this come in pairs. Somewhere or other there's the companion piece to this here, and if the governor could get hold of it he'd have something worth having. Something that connoisseurs would give a lot of money for. But one's no good without the other. You have to have both, if you understand my meaning, sir. I see, like filling out a straight flush, what? Precisely, sir. Archie gazed at Pongo again, with the dim hope of discovering virtues not immediately apparent to the casual observer. But without success. Pongo left him cold, even chilly. He would not have taken Pongo as a gift to oblige a dying friend. How much would the pair be worth, he asked? Ten dollars? Parker smiled a gravely superior smile. A little more than that, sir. Several thousand dollars more like it. Do you mean to say, said Archie, with honest amazement, that there are chomps going about loose, absolutely loose, who would pay that for a weird little object like Pongo? Undoubtedly, sir. These antique China figures are in great demand among collectors. Archie looked at Pongo once more and shook his head. Well, well, well, it takes all sorts to make a world, what? What might be called the revival of Pongo, the restoration of Pongo to the ranks of the things that matter, took place several weeks later, when Archie was making holiday at the house which his father-in-law had taken for the summer at Brookport. The curtain of the second act may be said to rise on Archie strolling back from the golf-links in the cool of an august evening. From time to time he sang slightly and wondered idly if Lucille would put the finishing touch upon the all-rightness of everything by coming to meet him and sharing his homeward walk. She came in view at this moment, a trim little figure in a white skirt and a pale blue sweater. She waved to Archie, and Archie, as always at the sight of her, was conscious of that jumpy, fluttering sensation about the heart, which translated into words would have formed the question, what on earth could have made a girl like that fall in love with a chomp like me? It was a question which he was continually asking himself, and one which was perpetually in the mind also of Mr. Brewster, his father-in-law. The matter of Archie's unworthiness to be the husband of Lucille was practically the only one on which the two men saw eye to eye. Hello, hello, hello, said Archie. Here we are, what? I was just hoping you would drift over the horizon. Lucille kissed him. You're a darling, she said, and you look like a Greek god in that suit. Glad you like it! Archie squinted with some complacency down his chest. I always say it doesn't matter what you pay for a suit so long as it's right. I hope your jolly old father will feel that way when he settles up for it. Where is father? Why didn't he come back with you? Well, as a matter of fact he didn't seem any too keen on my company. I left him in the locker-room chewing a cigar, gave me the impression of having something on his mind. Oh, Archie, you didn't beat him again! Archie looked uncomfortable. He gazed out to see with something of embarrassment. Well, as a matter of fact, old thing, to be absolutely frank, I, as it were, did. Not badly. Well, yes, I rather fancy I put it across him with some vim and not a little emphasis. To be perfectly accurate, I licked him by ten and eight. But you promised me you would let him beat you to-day. You know how pleased it would have made him. I know. But, light of my soul, have you any idea how dasha-difficult it is to get beaten by your festive parent at golf? Oh, well, Lucille sighed. It can't be helped, I suppose. She felt in the pocket of her sweater. Oh, there's a letter for you. I've just been to fetch the mail. I don't know who it can be from. The handwriting looks like a vampire's, kind of scrawly. Archie inspected the envelope. It provided no solution. That's rummy. Who could be writing to me? Open it and see. Dush-and-bright scheme. I will. Herbert Parker. Who deduces Herbert Parker? Parker, Father's Valley's name was Parker, the one he dismissed when he found he was wearing his shirts. Do you mean to say any reasonable chappy would willingly wear the sort of shirts your father? I mean to say, there must have been some mistake. Do read the letter. I expect he wants to use your influence with father to have him taken back. My influence? With your father? Well, I'm dashed. Sanguine sort of Johnny, if he does. Well, here's what he says. Of course, I remember Johnny will Parker now, great pal of mine. Dear sir, it is some time since the undersigned had the honor of conversing with you, but I am respectfully trusting that you may recall me to mind when I mentioned that until recently I served Mr. Brewster, your father-in-law, in the capacity of Valley. Owing to an unfortunate misunderstanding I was dismissed from that position and am now temporarily out of a job. How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning? Isaiah 1412. You know, said Archie admiringly, this bird is hot stuff. I mean to say he writes dashed well. It is not, however, with my own affairs that I desire to trouble you, dear sir. I have little doubt that all will be well with me and that I shall not fall like a sparrow to the ground. I have been young and now emerald, yet have I not seen the writers forsaken nor his seed begging bread. Psalms xzxvii 25 My object in writing to you is as follows. You may recall that I had the pleasure of meeting you one morning in Mr. Brewster's suite, when we had an interesting talk on the subject of Mr. B's abjadar. You may recall being particularly interested in a small China figure. To assist your memory, the figure to which I elude is the one which you whimsically referred to as Pongo. I informed you, if you remember, that could the accompanying figure be secured, the pair would be extremely valuable. I am glad to say, dear sir, that this has now transpired and is on view at Beale's Art Galleries on West 45th Street, where it will be sold to Morrow at auction, the sale commencing at 230 Sharpe. If Mr. Brewster cares to attend, he will, I fancy, have little trouble in securing it at a reasonable price. I confess that I had thought of refraining from apprising my late employer of this matter, but more Christian feelings have prevailed. If thine enemy hunger feed him, if he thirst give him drink, for in doing so thou shalt heap coals of fire on his head. Romans 1220. Nor I must confess, am I altogether uninfluenced by the thought that my action in this matter may conceivably lead to Mr. B consenting to forget the past and to reinstate me to my former position. However, I am confident that I can leave this to his good feeling. I remain respectfully yours, Herbert Parker. Lucille clapped her hands. How splendid! Father will be pleased! Yes, friend Parker has certainly found a way to make the old dad fond of him, wish I could. But you can, silly! He'll be delighted when you show him that letter. Yes, with Parker! Old herb! Parker's the neck he'll fall on, not mine. Lucille reflected. I wish, she began. She stopped. Her eyes lit up. Oh, Archie, darling, I've got an idea. De-count it. Why don't you slip up to New York to-morrow and buy the thing and give it to Father as a surprise? Archie patted her hand kindly. He hated to spoil her girlish daydreams. Yes, he said. But reflect, Queen of my Heart! I have at the moment of going to press just two dollars fifty in specie, which I took off your father this afternoon. We were playing twenty-five cents a whole. He coughed it up without enthusiasm, in fact with a nasty hacking sound. But I've got it. But that's all I have got. That's all right. You can pawn that ring and that bracelet of mine. Oh, I say what! Pop the family jewels! Only for a day or two. Of course, once you've got the thing, Father will pay us back. He would give you all the money we asked him for, if he knew what it was for. But I want to surprise him. And if you were to go to him and ask him for a thousand dollars without telling him what it was for, he might refuse. He might, said Archie. He might. It all works out splendidly. Tomorrow's the invitation handicap, and Father's been looking forward to it for weeks. He'd hate to have to go up to town himself and not play in it. But you can slip up and slip back without his knowing anything about it. Archie pondered. It sounds a ripe scheme. Yes, it has all the earmarks of a somewhat fruity wheeze. By Jove, it is a fruity wheeze. It's an egg. An egg? Good egg, you know. Hello, here's a post script. I didn't see it. P.S. I should be glad if you would convey my most cordial respects to Mrs. Moom. Will you also inform her that I chance to meet Mr. William this morning on Broadway, just off the boat? He desired me to send his regards and to say that he would be joining you at Brookport in the course of a day or so. Mr. B. will be pleased to have him back. A wise son maketh a glad father. Proverbs 10-1. Who's Mr. William? asked Archie. My brother Bill, of course. I've told you all about him. Oh, yes, of course. Your brother Bill. Rummy to think I've got a brother-in-law I've never seen. You see, we married so suddenly. When we married, Bill was in Yale. Good God, what for? Not jail, silly. Yale, the university. Oh, ah, yes. Then he went over to Europe for a trip to broaden his mind. You must look him up tomorrow when you get back to New York. He's sure to be at his club. I'll make a point of it. Well, vote of thanks to good old Parker. This really does begin to look like the point in my career where I start to have your forbidding old parent eating out of my hand. Yes, it's an egg, isn't it? Queen of my soul, said Archie enthusiastically, it's an omelet. The business negotiations in connection with the bracelet and the ring occupied Archie on his arrival in New York to an extent which made it impossible for him to call on Brother Bill before lunch. He decided to postpone the affecting meeting of brothers-in-law to a more convenient season, and made his way to his favorite table at the Cosmopolis Grill Room for a bite of lunch preliminary to the fatigues of the sale. He found Salvatore hovering about as usual, and instructed him to come to the rescue with a minute stake. Salvatore was the dark, sinister-looking waiter who attended, among other tables, to the one at the far end of the Grill Room at which Archie usually sat. For several weeks Archie's conversations with the other had dealt exclusively with the Bill of Fair and its contents. But gradually he had found himself becoming more personal. Even before the war and its democratizing influences Archie had always lacked that reserve which characterizes many Britons, and since the war he had looked on nearly everyone he met as a brother. Long since, through the medium of a series of friendly chats, he had heard all about Salvatore's home in Italy, the little newspaper and tobacco shop which his mother owned down on Seventh Avenue, and a hundred other personal details. Archie had an insatiable curiosity about his fellow man. Well done, said Archie. Sir. The steak. Not too rare, you know. Very good, sir. Archie looked at the waiter closely. His tone had been subdued and sad. Of course you don't expect a waiter to beam all over his face and give three rousing cheers simply because you have asked him to bring you a minute steak, but still there was something about Salvatore's manner that disturbed Archie. The man appeared to have the pip. Whether he was merely homesick and brooding on the lost delights of his sunny native land, or whether his trouble was more definite could only be ascertained by inquiry. So Archie inquired. What's the matter, laddie? he said sympathetically. Something on your mind. Sir. I say there seems to be something on your mind. What's the trouble? The waiter shrugged his shoulders as if indicating an unwillingness to inflict his grievances on one of the tipping classes. Come on, persisted Archie encouragingly. All pals here. Barge along, old thing. Let's have it. Salvatore, thus admonished, proceeded in a hurried undertone, with one eye on the head waiter, to lay bare his soul. What he said was not very coherent, but Archie could make out enough of it to gather that it was a sad story of excessive hours and insufficient pay. He mused awhile. The waiter's hard case touched him. I'll tell you what, he said at last. When jolly old Brewster cones back to town, he's away just now, I'll take you along to him, and we'll beer the old boy in his den. I'll introduce you, and you get that extract from Italian opera off your chest, which you've just been singing to me, and you'll find it'll be all right. He isn't what you might call one of my greatest admirers, but everybody says he's a square sort of cove, and he'll see you aren't snooted. And now, laddie, touching the matter of that steak. The waiter disappeared, greatly cheered, and Archie, turning, perceived that his friend Reggie Van Teel was entering the room. He waved him to join his table. He liked Reggie, and it also occurred to him that a man of the world, like the heir of the Van Teels, who had been popping about New York for years, might be able to give him some much-needed information on the procedure at an auction sale, a matter on which he himself was profoundly ignorant. End of Chapter 9 Chapter 10 of Indiscretions of Archie by P. G. Woodhouse Read by Mark Nelson This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, visit LibriVox.org Indiscretions of Archie Chapter 10 Doing Father a Bit of Good Reggie Van Teel approached the table languidly and sank down into a chair. He was a long youth with a rather subdued and deflated look, as though the burden of the Van Teel millions was more than his frail strength could support. Most things tired him. I say Reggie, old top, said Archie. You're just the lad I wanted to see. I require the assistance of a blighter of ripe intellect. Tell me, laddie, do you know anything about sales? Reggie eyed him sleepily. Sales? Auction sales? Reggie considered. Well, they're sales, you know. He checked a yawn. Auction sales, you understand. Yes, said Archie, encouragingly. Something, the name or something, seemed to tell me that. Fellows put up things for sale, you know, and other fellows go in and buy them, if you follow me. Yes, but what's the procedure? I mean, what do I do? That's what I'm after. I've got to buy something at Beals this afternoon. How do I set about it? Well, said Reggie drowsily. There are several ways of bidding, you know. You can shout, or you can nod, or you can twiddle your fingers. The effort of concentration was too much for him. He leaned back, limply, in his chair. I'll tell you what. I've nothing to do this afternoon. I'll come with you and show you. When he entered the art galleries a few minutes later, Archie was glad of the moral support of even such a wobbly reed as Reggie Vanteel. There is something about an auction room which weighs heavily upon the novice. The hushed interior was bathed in a dim religious light, and the congregation seated on small wooden chairs gazed in reverent silence at the pulpit, where a gentleman of commanding presence and sparkling pince-nay was delivering a species of chant. Behind a gold curtain at the end of the room mysterious forms flitted to and fro. Archie, who had been expecting something on the lines of the New York Stock Exchange, which he had once been privileged to visit when it was in a more than usually feverish mood, found the atmosphere oppressively ecclesiastical. He sat down and looked about him. The presiding priest went on with his chant. He stopped and eyed the worshipers with a glittering and reproachful eye. They had, it seemed, disappointed him. His lips curled, and he waved a hand towards the grimly uncomfortable-looking chair, with insecure legs and a good deal of gold paint about it. Twenty, twenty, twenty, twenty, your opportunity, priceless, very few extant. Twenty-five, twenty-five, five, five, thirty, thirty, just what you are looking for, the only one in the city of New York. Thirty, five, five, five, five, forty, forty, forty, forty, forty, look at those legs. Back it into the light, Willie. Let the light fall on those legs. Willie, a sort of acolyte, manoeuvred the chair as directed. Reggie Vanteel, who had been yawning in a hopeless sort of way, showed his first flicker of interest. Willie, he observed, eyeing that youth more with pity than reproach, as a face like Joe Joe the dog-faced boy, don't you think so? Archie nodded briefly. Precisely the same criticism had occurred to him. Forty-five, five, five, five, five, chanted the high priest. Once, forty-five, twice, forty-five, third and last call, forty-five, sold at forty-five, gentlemen in the fifth row. Archie looked up and down the row with a keen eye. He was anxious to see who had been chomp enough to give forty-five dollars for such a frightful object. He became aware of the dog-faced Willie leaning towards him. Name, please, said the canine one. Hey, what, said Archie? Oh, my name's Moom, don't you know? The eyes of the multitude made him feel a little nervous. Oh, glad to meet you and all that sort of rot. Ten dollars deposit, please, said Willie. I don't absolutely follow you, old bean. What is the big thought at the back of all this? Ten dollars deposit on the chair. What chair? You bid forty-five dollars for the chair. Me? You nodded, said Willie accusingly. If, he went on, reasoning closely, you didn't want to bid, why did you nod? Archie was embarrassed. He could, of course, have pointed out that he had merely nodded in adhesion to the statement that the other had a face like Joe Joe the dog-faced boy, but something seemed to tell him that a purist might consider the excuse deficient intact. He hesitated a moment, then handed over a ten-dollar bill, the price of Willie's feelings. Willie withdrew like a tiger slinking from the body of its victim. I say, old thing, said Archie to Reggie. This is a bit thick, you know. No purse will stand this drain. Reggie considered the matter. His face seemed drawn under the mental strain. Don't nod again, he advised. If you aren't careful, you get into the habit of it. When you want to bid, just twiddle your fingers. Yes, that's the thing, twiddle. He sighed drowsily. The atmosphere of the auction room was close. You weren't allowed to smoke, and altogether he was beginning to regret that he had come. The service continued. Objects of varying unattractiveness came and went, eulogized by the officiating priest, but coldly received by the congregation. Relations between the former and the latter were growing more and more distant. The congregation seemed to suspect the priest of having an ulterior motive in his eulogies, and the priest seemed to suspect the congregation of a frivolous desire to waste his time. He had begun to speculate openly as to why they were there at all. Once when a particularly repellent statuette of a nude female with an unwholesome green skin had been offered at two dollars and found no bidders, the congregation appearing silently grateful for his statement that it was the only specimen of its kind on the continent, he had specifically accused them of having come into the auction room merely with the purpose of sitting down and taking the weight off their feet. If your thing, or whatever it is, doesn't come up soon, aren't you? Said Reggie, fighting off with an effort the mists of sleep. I rather think I shall be toddling along. What was it you came to get? It's rather difficult to describe. It's a brummy-looking sort of what-not, made of china, or something. I call it pongo. At least this one isn't pongo, don't you know? It's his little brother, but presumably equally foul in every respect. It's all rather complicated, I know, but hello! He pointed excitedly. By Jove, we're off! There it is! Look, Willie's unleasing it now! Willie, who had disappeared through the gold curtain, had now returned and was placing on a pedestal a small china figure of delicate workmanship. It was the figure of a warrior in a suit of armour advancing with raised spear upon an adversary. A thrill permeated Archie's frame. Parker had not been mistaken. This was undoubtedly the companion figure to the redoubtable pongo. The two were identical. Even from where he sat, Archie could detect on the features of the figure on the pedestal the same expression of insufferable complacency which had alienated his sympathies from the original pongo. The high priest, undaunted by previous rebuffs, regarded the figure with a gloating enthusiasm wholly unshared by the congregation, who were plainly looking upon pongo's little brother as just another of those things. This, he said with a shake in his voice, is something very special. China figure, said to date back to the Ming dynasty. Unique. Nothing like it on either side of the Atlantic. If I were selling this at Christie's in London, where people, he said nastily, have an educated appreciation of the beautiful, the rare, and the exquisite, I should start the bidding at a thousand dollars. This afternoon's experience has taught me that that might possibly be too high. His pinch-nay sparkled militantly as he gazed upon the stolid throng. Will anyone offer me a dollar for this unique figure? Leap at it, old top, said Reggie Vantille. Twiddle, dear boy, twiddle, a dollar's reasonable. Archie twiddled. One dollar I am offered, said the high priest bitterly. One gentleman here is not afraid to take a chance. One gentleman here knows a good thing when he sees one. He abandoned the gently sarcastic manner for one of crisp and direct reproach. Come, come, gentlemen, we are not here to waste time. Will anyone offer me one hundred dollars for this superb piece of—? He broke off and seemed for a moment almost unnerved. He stared at someone in one of the seats in front of Archie. Thank you, he said, with a sort of gulp. One hundred dollars I am offered. One hundred, one hundred, one hundred. Archie was startled. This sudden, tremendous jump, this holy, unforeseen boom in Pongos, if one might so describe it, was more than a little disturbing. He could not see who his rival was, but it was evident that at least one among those present did not intend to allow Pongo's brother to slip by without a fight. He looked helplessly at Reggie for counsel. But Reggie had now definitely given up the struggle. Exhausted nature had done its utmost, and now he was leaning back with closed eyes, breathing softly through his nose. Thrown on his own resources, Archie could think of no better course than to twiddle his fingers again. He did so, and the high priest's chant took on a note of positive exuberance. Two hundred I am offered. Much better. Turn the pedestal round, willy, and let them look at it. Slowly, slowly, you aren't spitting a roulette wheel. Two hundred. Two, two, two, two, two. He became suddenly lyrical. Two, two, two, there was a young lady named Lou who was catching a train at two, two, said the porter, don't worry or hurry or scurry. It's a minute or two, two, two, two, two, two, two, two, two. Archie's concern increased. He seemed to be twiddling at his voluble man across the seas of misunderstanding. Nothing is harder to interpret to a nicety than a twiddle, and Archie's idea of the language of twiddles and the high priest's idea did not coincide by a mile. The high priest appeared to consider that, when Archie twiddled, it was his intention to bid in hundreds, whereas in fact Archie had meant to signify that he raised the previous bid by just one dollar. Archie felt that, if given time, he could make this clear to the high priest, but the latter gave him no time. He had got his audience, so to speak, on the run, and he proposed to hustle them before they could rally. Two hundred, two hundred, two, three, thank you, sir, three, three, three, four, four, five, five, six, six, seven, seven, seven. Archie sat limply in his wooden chair. He was conscious of a feeling which he had only experienced twice in his life. Once, when he had taken his first lesson in driving a motor and had trodden on the accelerator instead of the brake, the second time, more recently, when he had made his first down-trip on an express lift. He had now precisely the same sensation of being run away with by an uncontrollable machine and of having left most of his internal organs at some little distance from the rest of his body. Emerging from this welter of emotion stood out the one clear fact that, be the opposition bidding what it might, he must nevertheless secure the prize. Lucille had sent him to New York expressly to do so. She had sacrificed her jewelry for the cause. She relied on him. The Enterprise had become for Archie something almost sacred. He felt dimly like a night of old hot on the track of the Holy Grail. He twiddled again. The ring and the bracelet had fetched nearly twelve hundred dollars. Up to that figure his hat was in the ring. Eight hundred, I am offered. Eight hundred. Eight, eight, eight, eight. A voice spoke from somewhere at the back of the room. A quiet, cold, nasty, determined voice. Nine. Archie rose from his seat and spun round. This mean attack from the rear stung his fighting spirit. As he rose, a young man sitting immediately in front of him rose too and stared likewise. He was a square-built, resolute-looking young man who reminded Archie vaguely of somebody he had seen before. But Archie was too busy trying to locate the man at the back to pay much attention to him. He detected him at last owing to the fact that the eyes of everybody in that part of the room were fixed upon him. He was a small man of middle age with tortoise-shell-rimmed spectacles. He might have been a professor or something of the kind. Whatever he was, he was obviously a man to be reckoned with. He had a rich sort of look, and his demeanor was the demeanor of a man who is prepared to fight it out on these lines if it takes all the summer. Nine hundred, I am offered. Nine, nine, nine, nine. Archie glared defiantly at the speckled man. A thousand, he cried. The eruption of high finance into the placid course of the afternoon's proceedings had stirred the congregation out of its lethargy. There were excited murmurs. Necks were craned, feet shuffled. As for the High Priest, his cheerfulness was now more than restored, and his faith in his fellow man had soared from the depths to a very lofty altitude. He beamed with approval. Despite the warmth of his praise, he would have been quite satisfied to see Pongo's little brother go it at twenty dollars, and the reflection that the bidding had already reached one thousand, and that his commission was twenty percent, had engendered a mood of sunny happiness. One thousand is bid, he carrelled. Now, gentlemen, I don't want to hurry you over this. You are all connoisseurs here, and you don't want to see a priceless China figure of the Ming dynasty get away from you at a sacrifice price. Perhaps you can't all see the figure where it is. Willie, take it round and show it to him. We'll take a little intermission while you look carefully at this wonderful figure. Get a move on, Willie, pick up your feet. Archie, sitting daisily, was aware that Reggie Van Thiel had finished his beauty-sleep, and was addressing the young man in the seat in front. Why, hello, said Reggie. I didn't know you were back. You remember me, don't you? Reggie Van Thiel. I know your sister very well. Archie, old man, I want you to meet my friend Bill Brewster. Why dash it. He chuckled sleepily. I was forgetting. Of course, he's your— How are you, said the young man. Talking of my sister, he said to Reggie. I suppose you haven't met her husband by any chance. I suppose you know she married some awful chump. Me, said Archie. How's that? I married your sister. My name's Moom. The young man seemed a trifle taken aback. Sorry, he said. Not at all, said Archie. I was only going by what my father said in his letters. He explained in extenuation. Archie nodded. I'm afraid your jolly old father doesn't appreciate me. But I'm hoping for the best. If I can rope in that rummy-looking little china thing that Jojo the dog-faced boy is showing the customers, he will be all over me. I mean to say, you know, he's got another like it, and if he can get a full house as it were, I'm given to understand he'll be bucked, cheered, and even braced. The young man stared. Are you the fellow who's been bidding against me? A what? Were you bidding against me? I wanted to buy the thing for my father. I have a special reason for wanting to get in right with him just now. Are you buying it for him, too? Absolutely. As a surprise. It was Lucille's idea. His valet, a choppy named Parker, tipped us off that the thing was to be sold. Parker. Great Scott! 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 have 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. Righto, 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 bonamy. 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 commonplace. Twenty two, two, two, two, one hardly noticed it. Three, three, twenty three, three, three, twenty three hundred dollars I am offered. He gazed expectantly at Archie as a man gazes at some favorite dog which 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 Venteel had dozed off again. Archie tapped his brother-in-law on the shoulder. Maze will 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 chap he 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 Venteel, he said, because he's such a talking machine, and it would have been all over New York before dinnertime. But you're one of the family, and you can keep a secret. Absolutely, silent tomb and whatnot. The reason I wanted that darn 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 reviews 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. End of Chapter 10 CHAPTER 11 OF INDISCRETIONS OF ARCHIE by P. G. Woodhouse Read by Mark Nelson This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, visit LibriVox.org INDISCRETIONS OF ARCHIE CHAPTER 11 Salvatore Chooses the Wrong Moment Archie reclaimed the family jewelry 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 that 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. "'Luddy!' cried Archie. "'Sire!' "'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. "'Sire, 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 bankroll and colostud. 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 unwanted 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. 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 mantle-piece 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 tortoise shell-rimmed spectacles who was bustling across the lobby. "'Well, Binstead, so you got it.' "'Yes. I suppose the price wasn't particularly stiff.' "'2,300.' "'2,300.' Mr. Brewster seemed to reel in his tracks. "'2,300.' "'You gave me carte blanche.' "'Yes, but 2,300?' "'I could have got it for a few dollars, but unfortunately I was a little late, and when I arrived some young fool had bidded up to a thousand, and he stuck to me till I finally shook him off at 2,300. "'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 a rather fruity scheme. We talked it over and came to the conclusion that it was an egg. We 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?' "'Paca, the valet-chapi, 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.' "'Bell? 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 carefree 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 the parcel?' "'This is it. I wouldn't trust an express company to deliver it. As 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 partying 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 four-waiter had manifested himself silently in answer to the bell and was standing in the doorway. "'Semmonds,' 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 suppose 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?' "'Dash it, sorry,' murmured Archie, acted for the best, meant well, and all that sort of wrought. 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 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 Mohamed'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, an in-walk to 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 honors. 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 chappy 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 realize that the waiter was dissatisfied with conditions in his hotel, and Mr. Brewster, as has been indicated, had a short way with people who criticized the Cosmopolis. "'You're fired,' said Mr. Brewster. "'Oh, I say,' protested Archie. You're muttered what sounded like a passage from Dante. "'Fired,' repeated Mr. Brewster resolutely. "'And I wished 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 check, here 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 OF IN DISCRETIONS OF ARCHIE By P. G. Woodhouse CHAPTER XII Bright Eyes and a Fly The hermitage, unrivalled scenery, superb cuisine, Daniel Brewster, the 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 unrivaled 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, the proprietor, filled Archie at any rate with no sense of aching loss. He bore it with equanimity and even with positive enthusiasm. In Archie's opinion practically all the place needed to make it an earthly paradise was for Mr. Daniel Brewster to be about forty-seven miles away from it. It was Lucille's suggestion that they had come to the hermitage. After 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 tomorrow 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 appreciatively. 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! 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. Archie could not always share Archie's fresh young enthousiasms. Do you think so? Wonderful figure, too. Yes. Well, 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. You know her, don't you? Probably not, and far from it, said Archie hastily. Never met her in my life. You've seen her on the stage. Her name's Vera Silverton. We saw her in—of course, yes! So we did. I say, I wonder what she's doing here. She ought to be in New York, rehearsing. I remember meeting what's his name, you know, Chappie who writes plays and what not. George Benham. I remember meeting George Benham, and he told me she was rehearsing in a piece of his called—I forget the name—but I know it was called something or other. Well, why isn't she? She probably lost her temper and broke her contract and came away. She's always doing that sort of thing. She's known for it. She must be a horrid woman. Yes. I don't want to talk about her. She used to be married to someone, and she divorced him. And then she was married to someone else, and he divorced her. And I'm certain her hair wasn't that color two years ago, and I don't think a woman ought to make up like that, and her dress is all wrong for the country. And those pearls can't be genuine, and I hate the way she rolls her eyes about. And pink doesn't suit her a bit. I think she's an awful woman, and I wish you wouldn't keep on talking about her. Riteau, said Archie dutifully. They finished breakfast, and Lucille went up to pack her bag. Archie strolled out onto the terrace outside the hotel, where he smoked, communed with nature, and thought of Lucille. He always thought of Lucille when he was alone, especially when he chanced to find himself in poetic surroundings like those provided by the unrivaled scenery encircling the hotel hermitage. The longer he was married to her, the more did the sacred institution seem to him a good egg. Mr. Brewster might regard their marriage as one of the world's most unfortunate incidents, but to Archie it was, and always had been, a bit of all right. The more he thought of it, the more did he marvel that a girl like Lucille should have been content to link her lot with that of a class C. specimen like himself. His meditations were, in fact, precisely what a happily married man's meditations ought to be. He was roused from them by a species of exclamation or cry almost at his elbow, and turned to find that the spectacular Miss Silverton was standing beside him. Her dubious hair gleamed in the sunlight, and one of the criticised eyes was screwed up. The other gazed at Archie with an expression of appeal. There's something in my eye, she said. No, really. I wonder if he wouldn't mind it would be so kind of you. Archie would have preferred to remove himself, but no man worthy of the name can decline to come to the rescue of womanhood in distress. To twist the lady's upper lid back and peer into it and jab at it with the corner of his handkerchief was the only course open to him. His conduct may be classed as not merely blameless, but definitely praiseworthy. King Arthur's knights used to do this sort of thing all the time, and look what people think of them. Lucille, therefore, coming out of the hotel just as the operation was concluded, ought not to have felt the annoyance she did. But, of course, there is a certain superficial intimacy about the attitude of a man who is taking a fly out of a woman's eye which may exclusively jar upon the sensibilities of his wife. It is an attitude which suggests a sort of rapprochement, or camaraderie, or, as Archie would have put it, what not. Thanks so much, said Miss Silverton. Oh, no, rather not, said Archie. Such a nuisance getting things in your eye. Absolutely! I'm always doing it. Rotten luck! But I don't often find anyone as clever as you to help me. Lucille felt called upon to break in on this feast of reason and flow of soul. Archie, she said, if you go and get your clubs now, I shall just have time to walk round with you before my train goes. Oh, ah, said Archie, perceiving her for the first time. Oh, ah, yes, righto, yes, yes, yes. On the way to the first tea it seemed to Archie that Lucille was distraite and abstracted in her manner, and it occurred to him, not for the first time in his life, what a poor support a clear conscience is in moments of crisis. Dash it all, he didn't see what else he could have done. Can leave the poor female, staggering about the place, with squads of flies wedged in her eyeball, nevertheless? Rotten thing getting a fly in your eye, he hazarded at length, dash it awkward, I mean. Or convenient, eh? Well, it's a very good way of dispensing with an introduction. Oh, I say, you don't mean you think she's a horrid woman. Absolutely, can't think what people see in her. Well, you seem to enjoy fussing over her. No, no, nothing of the kind. She inspired me with absolute, what you call it, the sort of thing chapies do get inspired with, you know. You were beaming all over your face. I wasn't, I was just screwing up my face because the sun was in my eye. All sorts of things seem to be in people's eyes this morning. Archie was saddened, that this sort of misunderstanding should have occurred on such a topping day, and at a moment when they were to be torn asunder for about thirty-six hours, made him feel, well, it gave him the pip. He had an idea that there were words which would have straightened everything out, but he was not an eloquent young man and could not find them. He felt aggrieved. Lucille, he considered, ought to have known that he was immune as regarded females with flashing eyes and experimentally colored hair. Why, dash it, he could have extracted flies from the eyes of Cleopatra with one hand and Helen of Troy with the other simultaneously, without giving them a second thought. It was in depressed mood that he played a listless nine holes. Nor had life brightened for him when he came back to the hotel two hours later, after seeing Lucille off in the train to New York. Never till now had they had anything remotely resembling a quarrel. What Archie felt was a bit of a wash-out. He was disturbed and jumpy, and the sight of Miss Silverton, talking to somebody on a set tee in the corner of the hotel lobby, sent him shooting off at right angles and brought him up with a bump against the desk behind which the room clerk sat. The room clerk, always of a chatty disposition, was saying something to him, but Archie did not listen. He nodded mechanically. It was something about this room. He caught the word satisfactory. Oh, rather, quite, said Archie. A fussy devil the room clerk. He knew perfectly well that Archie found his room satisfactory. These chappies gassed on like this so as to try to make you feel that the management took a personal interest in you. It was part of their job. Archie beamed absently and went into lunch. Lucille's empty seat stared at him mournfully, increasing his sense of desolation. He was halfway through his lunch when the chair opposite ceased to be vacant. Archie, transferring his gaze from the scenery outside the window, perceived that his friend, George Benham, the playwright, had materialized from nowhere and was now in his midst. Hello, he said. George Benham was a grave young man whose spectacles gave him the look of a mournful owl. He seemed to have something on his mind besides the artistically-stragling mop of black hair which swept down over his brow. He sighed wearily and ordered fish pie. I thought I saw you come through the lobby just now, he said. Oh! Was that you on the settee talking to Miss Silverton? She was talking to me, said the playwright, moodily. What are you doing here? asked Archie. He could have wished Mr. Benham elsewhere, for he intruded on his gloom. But the chappy, being amongst those present, it was only civil to talk to him. I thought you were in New York watching the rehearsals of your jolly old drama. The rehearsals are hung up, and it looks as though there wasn't going to be any drama. Good Lord! cried George Benham, with honest warmth, with opportunities opening out before one on every side, with life extending prizes to one with both hands, when you see cold heavers making fifty dollars a week, and the fellows who clean out the sewers going happy and singing about their work, why does a man deliberately choose a job like writing plays? Job was the only man that ever lived who was really qualified to write a play, and he would have found it pretty tough going if his leading woman had been anyone like Vera Silverton. Archie, and it was this fact, no doubt, which accounted for his possession of such a large and varied circle of friends, was always able to shelve his own troubles in order to listen to other people's hard luck stories. Tell me all, laddie, he said. Release the film. Has she walked out on you? Left us flat. How did you hear about it? Oh, she told you, of course. Archie hastened to try to dispel the idea that he was on any such terms of intimacy with Miss Silverton. No, no, my wife said she thought it must be something of that nature or order when we saw her come into breakfast. I mean to say, said Archie, reasoning closely, woman can't come into breakfast here and be rehearsing in New York at the same time. Why did she administer the raspberry, old friend? Mr. Benham helped himself to fish pie and smoke dully through the steam. Well, what happened was this. Knowing her as intimately as you do, I don't know her. Well, anyway, it was like this. As you know, she has a dog. I didn't know she had a dog, protested, Archie. It seemed to him that the world was in conspiracy to link him with this woman. Well, she has a dog, a beastly great whacking brute of a bulldog, and she brings it to rehearsal. Mr. Benham's eyes filled with tears, as in his emotion he swallowed a mouth full of fish pie some 83 degrees Fahrenheit hotter than it looked. In the intermission caused by this disaster his agile mind skipped a few chapters of the story, and when he was able to speak again he said, so then there was a lot of trouble. Everything broke loose. Why? Archie was puzzled. Did the management object to her bringing the dog to rehearsal? A lot of good that would have done. She does what she likes in the theatre. Then why was there trouble? You weren't listening, said Mr. Benham reproachfully. I told you. This dog came snuffling up to where I was sitting. It was quite dark in the body of the theatre, you know, and I got up to say something about something that was happening on the stage, and somehow I must have given it a push with my foot. I see, said Archie, beginning to get the run of the plot. You kicked her dog. Pushed it, accidentally, with my foot. I understand. And when you brought off this kick, push! said Mr. Benham austerely. This kick or push. When you administered this kick or push, it was more a sort of light shove. Well, when you did whatever you did, the trouble started. Mr. Benham gave a slight shiver. She talked for a while, and then walked out, taking the dog with her. You see, this wasn't the first time it had happened. Good Lord! Do you spend your whole time doing that sort of thing? It wasn't me the first time. It was the stage manager. He didn't know whose dog it was. And it came waddling on to the stage, and he gave it a sort of pat. A kind of flick. A slosh? Not a slosh, corrected Mr. Benham firmly. You might call it a tap, with the prompt script. Well, we had a lot of difficulty smoothing her over that time. Still, we managed to do it, but she said that if anything of the sort occurred again, she would chuck up her part. She must be fond of the dog, said Archie, for the first time feeling a touch of goodwill and sympathy towards the lady. She's crazy about it. That's what made it so awkward when I happened, quite inadvertently, to give it this sort of accidental shove. Well, we spent the rest of the day trying to get her on the phone at her apartment, and finally we heard that she had come here. So I took the next train and tried to persuade her to come back. She wouldn't listen, and that's how matters stand. Pretty rotten, said Archie, sympathetically. You can bet it's pretty rotten, for me. There's nobody else who can play the part. Like a chump, I wrote the thing specially for her. It means the play won't be produced at all, if she doesn't do it. So you're my last hope. Archie, who was lighting a cigarette, nearly swallowed it. I am? I thought you might persuade her. Point out to her what a lot hangs on her coming back. Jolly her along. You know the sort of thing. But, my dear old friend, I tell you I don't know her. Mr. Benham's eyes opened behind the Zareba of Glass. Well, she knows you. When you came through the lobby just now, she said that you were the only real human being she had ever met. Well, as a matter of fact, I did take a fly out of her eye. But you did. Well, then, the whole thing's simple. All you have to do is to ask her how the eye is, and tell her she has the most beautiful eyes you ever saw, and coo a bit. But, my dear old son, the frightful program which his friend had mapped out, stunned Archie. I simply can't. Anything to oblige, and all that sort of thing, but when it comes to cooing distinctly Nappu. Nonsense! It isn't hard to coo. You don't understand, Ladi. You're not a married man. I mean to say, whatever you say for or against marriage, personally, I'm all for it and consider it a ripe egg. The fact remains that it practically makes a chappy a spent force as a cooer. I don't want to dish you in any way, old being, but I must firmly and resolutely decline to coo. Mr. Benham rose and looked at his watch. I'll have to be moving, he said. I've got to get back to New York and report. I'll tell them that I haven't been able to do anything myself, but that I've left the matter in good hands. I know you will do your best. But, Ladi... Think, said Mr. Benham solemnly, of all that depends on it. The other actors, the small part people thrown out of a job. Myself, but no. Perhaps you had better touch very lightly, or not at all on my connection with the thing. Well, you know how to handle it. I feel I can leave it to you. Pitch it strong. Goodbye, my dear old man, and a thousand thanks. I'll do the same for you another time. He moved towards the door, leaving Archie transfixed. Halfway there he turned and came back. Oh, by the way, he said, my lunch, have it put on your bill, will you? I haven't time to stay and settle. Goodbye, goodbye. End of Chapter 12