Read Online A Few Quick Ones by P. G. Wodehouse - Free Book Online
Authors: P. G. Wodehouse
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breach and take his place. It would be more effective, of course, had I some musical instrument such as a clavicord or sackbut on which to accompany myself, but if you would hum the bass, I think the performance should be adequate. I beg your pardon?"
Mr. Clutterbuck had muttered something about launching the ship. He shook his head, as if demurring.
"Gotta launch ship first," he said. "Customary ceremony," and raising the bottle he held he flung it adroitly through the pane of one of the upper windows.
"Good luck to all who sail in you," he said.
It was Oswald Stoker's turn to shake his head.
"Now there, my dear fellow, if you don't mind me saying so, I think you deviated from the usual programme. It is surely the bottle, not the ship that should be broken. However," he went on, as the upper slopes of Staniforth the butler thrust themselves out of the window, "it has produced results. We have assembled an audience. You were saying?" he said, addressing Staniforth.
The butler, like the dog, seemed to be cross about something.
"Who," he demanded, "is there?"
"Augustus Mulliner speaking. Or, rather," said Oswald Stoker, starting to do so, "singing."
The sight of the protruding head had had the effect of stirring Mr. Clutterbuck to give of his best. Once more Oswald Stoker was privileged to witness his impersonation of a baseball pitcher winding up, which in its essentials rather closely resembles the first stages of an epileptic fit. The next moment an egg, unerringly aimed, had found its target.
"Right in the groove," said Mr. Clutterbuck contentedly. He wandered off, conscious of a good night's work done, and Oswald Stoker had scarcely had time to fight a cigarette and enjoy a few refreshing puffs when he was joined by Mrs. Gudgeon's major-domo, carrying a shot gun.
"Ah, Staniforth," he said genially. "Out for a day with the birds?"
"Good evening, Mr. Stoker. I am looking for Mr. Mulliner," said the butler with cold menace.
"Mulliner, eh? He was here a moment ago. I remember noticing. You want him for some special reason?"
"I think he should be overpowered and placed under restraint before the ladies return."
"Why, what has he been doing?"
"He sang beneath my window."
"Rather a compliment. What was the burden of his song?"
"As far as I could understand him, he was requesting me to throw him a rose from my hair."
"You didn't?"
"No, sir."
"Quite right. Roses cost money."
"He also threw an egg at me."
"So that is why you have so much yolk on your face. I thought it might be one of those beauty treatments, like the mud-pack. Ah well, young blood, Staniforth."
"Sir?"
"At Mulliner's age one has these ebullitions of high spirits. Much must be excused in the young."
"Not singing under windows and throwing eggs at three in the morning."
"No, there perhaps he went too far. He has been a little over-excited all the evening. We dined together, and he got us bounced in rapid succession from three grillrooms and a milk bar. Would keep throwing eggs at the electric fan. Hullo!" said Oswald Stoker, as a distant splash sounded in the night. "I think a friend of mine has fallen in the pond. I will go and investigate. He may need a helping hand."
He hurried off, and Augustus was glad to see him go. But his pleasure was rendered imperfect by the fact that the butler did not follow his example. Staniforth had plainly decided to make a night of it. He remained in statu quo, and presently there was the sound of a vehicle stopping at the gate, and Mrs. Gudgeon and Hermione came walking down the drive.
"Staniforth!" the former cried. It was a novel experience for her to find the domestic staff prowling the grounds in the small hours, and Augustus received the impression that if she had been less carefully brought up and had known fewer bishops, she would have said "Gorblimey!".
"Good evening, madam."
"What are you doing out here at this time?"
"I am pursuing Mr. Mulliner, madam."
"Pursuing what?"
The butler, having
Mr. Clutterbuck had muttered something about launching the ship. He shook his head, as if demurring.
"Gotta launch ship first," he said. "Customary ceremony," and raising the bottle he held he flung it adroitly through the pane of one of the upper windows.
"Good luck to all who sail in you," he said.
It was Oswald Stoker's turn to shake his head.
"Now there, my dear fellow, if you don't mind me saying so, I think you deviated from the usual programme. It is surely the bottle, not the ship that should be broken. However," he went on, as the upper slopes of Staniforth the butler thrust themselves out of the window, "it has produced results. We have assembled an audience. You were saying?" he said, addressing Staniforth.
The butler, like the dog, seemed to be cross about something.
"Who," he demanded, "is there?"
"Augustus Mulliner speaking. Or, rather," said Oswald Stoker, starting to do so, "singing."
The sight of the protruding head had had the effect of stirring Mr. Clutterbuck to give of his best. Once more Oswald Stoker was privileged to witness his impersonation of a baseball pitcher winding up, which in its essentials rather closely resembles the first stages of an epileptic fit. The next moment an egg, unerringly aimed, had found its target.
"Right in the groove," said Mr. Clutterbuck contentedly. He wandered off, conscious of a good night's work done, and Oswald Stoker had scarcely had time to fight a cigarette and enjoy a few refreshing puffs when he was joined by Mrs. Gudgeon's major-domo, carrying a shot gun.
"Ah, Staniforth," he said genially. "Out for a day with the birds?"
"Good evening, Mr. Stoker. I am looking for Mr. Mulliner," said the butler with cold menace.
"Mulliner, eh? He was here a moment ago. I remember noticing. You want him for some special reason?"
"I think he should be overpowered and placed under restraint before the ladies return."
"Why, what has he been doing?"
"He sang beneath my window."
"Rather a compliment. What was the burden of his song?"
"As far as I could understand him, he was requesting me to throw him a rose from my hair."
"You didn't?"
"No, sir."
"Quite right. Roses cost money."
"He also threw an egg at me."
"So that is why you have so much yolk on your face. I thought it might be one of those beauty treatments, like the mud-pack. Ah well, young blood, Staniforth."
"Sir?"
"At Mulliner's age one has these ebullitions of high spirits. Much must be excused in the young."
"Not singing under windows and throwing eggs at three in the morning."
"No, there perhaps he went too far. He has been a little over-excited all the evening. We dined together, and he got us bounced in rapid succession from three grillrooms and a milk bar. Would keep throwing eggs at the electric fan. Hullo!" said Oswald Stoker, as a distant splash sounded in the night. "I think a friend of mine has fallen in the pond. I will go and investigate. He may need a helping hand."
He hurried off, and Augustus was glad to see him go. But his pleasure was rendered imperfect by the fact that the butler did not follow his example. Staniforth had plainly decided to make a night of it. He remained in statu quo, and presently there was the sound of a vehicle stopping at the gate, and Mrs. Gudgeon and Hermione came walking down the drive.
"Staniforth!" the former cried. It was a novel experience for her to find the domestic staff prowling the grounds in the small hours, and Augustus received the impression that if she had been less carefully brought up and had known fewer bishops, she would have said "Gorblimey!".
"Good evening, madam."
"What are you doing out here at this time?"
"I am pursuing Mr. Mulliner, madam."
"Pursuing what?"
The butler, having
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