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Authors: P. G. Wodehouse
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that he was unsound on the subject of pigs, had
drawn back while there was still time and refused to marry him.
A pleasant glow suffused Lord Emsworth's bosom, to be
frozen out a few moments later as he perceived his sister Constance
bearing down upon him. Lady Constance was a beautiful
woman, but there were times when the charm of her face was
marred by a rather curious expression; and from nursery days
onward his lordship had learned that this expression meant
trouble. She was wearing it now.
'Clarence,' She said, 'I have had enough of this nonsense of
Angela and young Belford. The thing cannot be allowed to go
drifting on. You must catch the two o'clock train to London.'
'What! Why?'
'You must see this man Belford and tell him that, if Angela
insists on marrying him, she will not have a penny for four years.
I shall be greatly surprised if that piece of information does not
put an end to the whole business.'
Lord Emsworth scratched meditatively at the Empress's
tank-like back. A mutinous expression was on his mild face.
'Don't see why she shouldn't marry the fellow,' he mumbled.
'Marry James Belford?'
'I don't see why not. Seems fond of him and all that.'
'You never have had a grain of sense in your head, Clarence.
Angela is going to marry Heacham.'
'Can't stand that man. All wrong about pigs.'
'Clarence, I don't wish to have any more discussion and
argument. You will go to London on the two o'clock train.
You will see Mr Belford. And you will tell him about Angela's
money. Is that quite clear?'
'Oh, all right,' said his lordship moodily. All right, all
right, all right.'
The emotions of the Earl of Emsworth, as he sat next day
facing his luncheon-guest, James Bartholomew Belford, across a
table in the main dining-room of the Senior Conservative Club,
were not of the liveliest and most agreeable. It was bad enough
to be in London at all on such a day of golden sunshine. To be
charged, while there, with the task of blighting the romance of
two young people for whom he entertained a warm regard was
unpleasant to a degree.
For, now that he had given the matter thought, Lord
Emsworth recalled that he had always liked this boy Belford.
A pleasant lad, with, he remembered now, a healthy fondness for
that rural existence which so appealed to himself. By no means
the sort of fellow who, in the very presence and hearing of
Empress of Blandings, would have spoken disparagingly and
with oaths of pigs as a class. It occurred to Lord Emsworth, as it
has occurred to so many people, that the distribution of money
in this world is all wrong. Why should a man like pig-despising
Heacham have a rent roll that ran into the tens of thousands,
while this very deserving youngster had nothing?
These thoughts not only saddened Lord Emsworth – they
embarrassed him. He hated unpleasantness, and it was suddenly
borne in upon him that, after he had broken the news that
Angela's bit of capital was locked up and not likely to get
loose, conversation with his young friend during the remainder
of lunch would tend to be somewhat difficult.
He made up his mind to postpone the revelation. During the
meal, he decided, he would chat pleasantly of this and that; and
then, later, while bidding his guest good-bye, he would spring
the thing on him suddenly and dive back into the recesses of
the club.
Considerably cheered at having solved a delicate problem
with such adroitness, he started to prattle.
'The gardens at Blandings,' he said, 'are looking particularly
attractive this summer. My head-gardener, Angus McAllister, is
a man with whom I do not always find myself seeing eye to eye,
notably in the matter of hollyhocks, on which I consider his
views subversive to a degree; but there is no denying that he
understands roses. The rose garden—'
'How well I remember that rose garden,' said James Belford,
sighing slightly and helping himself to brussels sprouts. 'It was
there that Angela and I used to meet on summer mornings.'
Lord
drawn back while there was still time and refused to marry him.
A pleasant glow suffused Lord Emsworth's bosom, to be
frozen out a few moments later as he perceived his sister Constance
bearing down upon him. Lady Constance was a beautiful
woman, but there were times when the charm of her face was
marred by a rather curious expression; and from nursery days
onward his lordship had learned that this expression meant
trouble. She was wearing it now.
'Clarence,' She said, 'I have had enough of this nonsense of
Angela and young Belford. The thing cannot be allowed to go
drifting on. You must catch the two o'clock train to London.'
'What! Why?'
'You must see this man Belford and tell him that, if Angela
insists on marrying him, she will not have a penny for four years.
I shall be greatly surprised if that piece of information does not
put an end to the whole business.'
Lord Emsworth scratched meditatively at the Empress's
tank-like back. A mutinous expression was on his mild face.
'Don't see why she shouldn't marry the fellow,' he mumbled.
'Marry James Belford?'
'I don't see why not. Seems fond of him and all that.'
'You never have had a grain of sense in your head, Clarence.
Angela is going to marry Heacham.'
'Can't stand that man. All wrong about pigs.'
'Clarence, I don't wish to have any more discussion and
argument. You will go to London on the two o'clock train.
You will see Mr Belford. And you will tell him about Angela's
money. Is that quite clear?'
'Oh, all right,' said his lordship moodily. All right, all
right, all right.'
The emotions of the Earl of Emsworth, as he sat next day
facing his luncheon-guest, James Bartholomew Belford, across a
table in the main dining-room of the Senior Conservative Club,
were not of the liveliest and most agreeable. It was bad enough
to be in London at all on such a day of golden sunshine. To be
charged, while there, with the task of blighting the romance of
two young people for whom he entertained a warm regard was
unpleasant to a degree.
For, now that he had given the matter thought, Lord
Emsworth recalled that he had always liked this boy Belford.
A pleasant lad, with, he remembered now, a healthy fondness for
that rural existence which so appealed to himself. By no means
the sort of fellow who, in the very presence and hearing of
Empress of Blandings, would have spoken disparagingly and
with oaths of pigs as a class. It occurred to Lord Emsworth, as it
has occurred to so many people, that the distribution of money
in this world is all wrong. Why should a man like pig-despising
Heacham have a rent roll that ran into the tens of thousands,
while this very deserving youngster had nothing?
These thoughts not only saddened Lord Emsworth – they
embarrassed him. He hated unpleasantness, and it was suddenly
borne in upon him that, after he had broken the news that
Angela's bit of capital was locked up and not likely to get
loose, conversation with his young friend during the remainder
of lunch would tend to be somewhat difficult.
He made up his mind to postpone the revelation. During the
meal, he decided, he would chat pleasantly of this and that; and
then, later, while bidding his guest good-bye, he would spring
the thing on him suddenly and dive back into the recesses of
the club.
Considerably cheered at having solved a delicate problem
with such adroitness, he started to prattle.
'The gardens at Blandings,' he said, 'are looking particularly
attractive this summer. My head-gardener, Angus McAllister, is
a man with whom I do not always find myself seeing eye to eye,
notably in the matter of hollyhocks, on which I consider his
views subversive to a degree; but there is no denying that he
understands roses. The rose garden—'
'How well I remember that rose garden,' said James Belford,
sighing slightly and helping himself to brussels sprouts. 'It was
there that Angela and I used to meet on summer mornings.'
Lord
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