Read Online A Pelican at Blandings by Sir P G Wodehouse - Free Book Online
Authors: Sir P G Wodehouse
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much too fond of his comforts to marry
anyone. Don't fool yourself. He may put on an act and make
you think he's going to jump off the dock, but he'll always
remember how snug he is as a widower and draw back in time.'
And so saying Gally trotted off to Beach's pantry to fulfil his
mission.
Beach was polishing silver when he arrived. Abandoning
this duty for the moment, he called the veterinary surgeon at
his office in Market Blandings and bade him hasten to the
Empress's sty; and he had scarcely replaced the receiver when
the telephone rang again.
'For you, Mr. Galahad. A Mr. Halliday.'
'Ah, I was expecting him to call. Hullo, Johnny.'
The conversation that ensued was brief, too brief for Beach,
whose curiosity had been aroused. He gathered that this Mr.
Halliday was speaking from the Emsworth Arms and wished
to see Mr. Galahad at the earliest possible moment, but
beyond that all was mystery.
At length Gally hung up, and with a curt 'Got to go to
Market Blandings' hurried out.
Odd, thought Beach, most peculiar. Sinister, too, if you
came to think of it, like those telephone calls in the novels of
suspense which were his favourite reading.
He hoped Mr. Galahad had not got mixed up with a gang
of some kind.
4
The hollowness of John's voice over the telephone had
deepened Gally's conviction that this rift between him and the
Gilpin popsy must be the real West End stuff, and when he
reached his destination and saw him, he realized how well-founded
his apprehensions had been.
What with the excellence of its beer and the charm of the
shady garden running down to the river in which its patrons
drink it, haggard faces are rarely seen at the Emsworth Arms,
and the haggardness of John's was all the more noticeable. In
these idyllic surroundings it could not but attract attention,
and Gally was reminded of his old friend Fruity Biffen on the
occasion when he had gone into the ring at Hurst Park
wearing a long Assyrian beard in order to avoid recognition by
the half dozen bookmakers there to whom he owed money,
and the beard, insufficiently smeared with fish glue, had come
off. The same wan, drawn look.
Until they were seated at one of the garden tables with
tankards of Emsworth Arms beer before them no word was
spoken. But it was never in Gally to refrain from speech for
long, and after he had fortified himself with a draft of the elixir
he leaned forward and gave his companion's shoulder a
fatherly pat.
'Tell me all about it, my boy,' he said in the hushed voice of
one addressing a stretcher case on his stretcher. 'I should
mention that it was only an hour or so ago that Miss Gilpin
and I were in conference, so I understand the situation more
or less. That is to say, while short on details, I'm pretty clear
on the general all-over picture. Your engagement, I gather
from her, is off, and as it's only a day or so since you plighted
your troth it struck me as quick work. I was mystified.'
'What did she say about me?'
'Better, far better not to enquire. Suffice it that her obiter
dicta differed substantially from the sort of thing Juliet used to
say about Romeo. What on earth happened?'
A beetle, descending from the tree in the shade of which
they were sitting, fell on the table. John gave it a cold look.
'It wasn't my fault,' he said. 'I was simply doing my duty.
Women don't understand these things.'
'What things?'
'She ought to have realized that I couldn't let Clutterbuck
down.'
'Clutterbuck?'
'G. G. Clutterbuck.'
Gally had intended to be all gentleness and sympathy at this
interview, but he could not repress an irritated snort. If he had
to listen to a story instead of telling one, he liked it to be clear
and straightforward.
'Who the hell is G. G. Clutterbuck?'
'A chartered accountant for whom I was appearing in the
action of Clutterbuck versus Frisby. And Frisby is the retired
meat salesman whose car collided with Clutterbuck's in the
Fulham Road, shaking Clutterbuck up and possibly causing
internal injuries.
anyone. Don't fool yourself. He may put on an act and make
you think he's going to jump off the dock, but he'll always
remember how snug he is as a widower and draw back in time.'
And so saying Gally trotted off to Beach's pantry to fulfil his
mission.
Beach was polishing silver when he arrived. Abandoning
this duty for the moment, he called the veterinary surgeon at
his office in Market Blandings and bade him hasten to the
Empress's sty; and he had scarcely replaced the receiver when
the telephone rang again.
'For you, Mr. Galahad. A Mr. Halliday.'
'Ah, I was expecting him to call. Hullo, Johnny.'
The conversation that ensued was brief, too brief for Beach,
whose curiosity had been aroused. He gathered that this Mr.
Halliday was speaking from the Emsworth Arms and wished
to see Mr. Galahad at the earliest possible moment, but
beyond that all was mystery.
At length Gally hung up, and with a curt 'Got to go to
Market Blandings' hurried out.
Odd, thought Beach, most peculiar. Sinister, too, if you
came to think of it, like those telephone calls in the novels of
suspense which were his favourite reading.
He hoped Mr. Galahad had not got mixed up with a gang
of some kind.
4
The hollowness of John's voice over the telephone had
deepened Gally's conviction that this rift between him and the
Gilpin popsy must be the real West End stuff, and when he
reached his destination and saw him, he realized how well-founded
his apprehensions had been.
What with the excellence of its beer and the charm of the
shady garden running down to the river in which its patrons
drink it, haggard faces are rarely seen at the Emsworth Arms,
and the haggardness of John's was all the more noticeable. In
these idyllic surroundings it could not but attract attention,
and Gally was reminded of his old friend Fruity Biffen on the
occasion when he had gone into the ring at Hurst Park
wearing a long Assyrian beard in order to avoid recognition by
the half dozen bookmakers there to whom he owed money,
and the beard, insufficiently smeared with fish glue, had come
off. The same wan, drawn look.
Until they were seated at one of the garden tables with
tankards of Emsworth Arms beer before them no word was
spoken. But it was never in Gally to refrain from speech for
long, and after he had fortified himself with a draft of the elixir
he leaned forward and gave his companion's shoulder a
fatherly pat.
'Tell me all about it, my boy,' he said in the hushed voice of
one addressing a stretcher case on his stretcher. 'I should
mention that it was only an hour or so ago that Miss Gilpin
and I were in conference, so I understand the situation more
or less. That is to say, while short on details, I'm pretty clear
on the general all-over picture. Your engagement, I gather
from her, is off, and as it's only a day or so since you plighted
your troth it struck me as quick work. I was mystified.'
'What did she say about me?'
'Better, far better not to enquire. Suffice it that her obiter
dicta differed substantially from the sort of thing Juliet used to
say about Romeo. What on earth happened?'
A beetle, descending from the tree in the shade of which
they were sitting, fell on the table. John gave it a cold look.
'It wasn't my fault,' he said. 'I was simply doing my duty.
Women don't understand these things.'
'What things?'
'She ought to have realized that I couldn't let Clutterbuck
down.'
'Clutterbuck?'
'G. G. Clutterbuck.'
Gally had intended to be all gentleness and sympathy at this
interview, but he could not repress an irritated snort. If he had
to listen to a story instead of telling one, he liked it to be clear
and straightforward.
'Who the hell is G. G. Clutterbuck?'
'A chartered accountant for whom I was appearing in the
action of Clutterbuck versus Frisby. And Frisby is the retired
meat salesman whose car collided with Clutterbuck's in the
Fulham Road, shaking Clutterbuck up and possibly causing
internal injuries.
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