Read Online Blandings Castle and Elsewhere by P. G. Wodehouse - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: P. G. Wodehouse
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Emsworth blinked. This was not an encouraging start,
but the Emsworths were a fighting clan. He had another try.
'I have seldom seen such a blaze of colour as was to be
witnessed there during the month of June. Both McAllister
and I adopted a very strong policy with the slugs and plant lice,
with the result that the place was a mass of flourishing Damasks
and Ayrshires and—'
'Properly to appreciate roses,' said James Belford, 'You want
to see them as a setting for a girl like Angela. With her fair hair
gleaming against the green leaves she makes a rose garden seem
a veritable Paradise.'
'No doubt,' said Lord Emsworth. 'No doubt. I am glad you
liked my rose garden. At Blandings, of course, we have the
natural advantage of loamy soil, rich in plant food and humus;
but, as I often say to McAllister, and on this point we have never
had the slightest disagreement, loamy soil by itself is not
enough. You must have manure. If every autumn a liberal
mulch of stable manure is spread upon the beds and the coarser
parts removed in the spring before the annual forking—'
Angela tells me,' said James Belford, 'that you have forbidden
our marriage.'
Lord Emsworth choked dismally over his chicken. Directness
of this kind, he told himself with a pang of self-pity, was the
sort of thing young Englishmen picked up in America. Diplomatic
circumlocution flourished only in a more leisurely civilization,
and in those energetic and forceful surroundings you
learned to Talk Quick and Do It Now, and all sorts of uncomfortable
things.
'Er – well, yes, now you mention it, I believe some informal
decision of that nature was arrived at. You see, my dear fellow,
my sister Constance feels rather strongly—'
'I understand. I suppose she thinks I'm a sort of prodigal.'
'No, no, my dear fellow. She never said that. Wastrel was the
term she employed.'
'Well, perhaps I did start out in business on those lines. But
you can take it from me that when you find yourself employed
on a farm in Nebraska belonging to an applejack-nourished
patriarch with strong views on work and a good vocabulary,
you soon develop a certain liveliness.'
'Are you employed on a farm?'
'I was employed on a farm.'
'Pigs?' said Lord Emsworth in a low, eager voice.
'Among other things.'
Lord Emsworth gulped. His fingers clutched at the
table-cloth.
'Then perhaps, my dear fellow, you can give me some advice.
For the last two days my prize sow, Empress of Blandings, has
declined all nourishment. And the Agricultural Show is on
Wednesday week. I am distracted with anxiety.'
James Belford frowned thoughtfully.
'What does your pig-man say about it?'
'My pig-man was sent to prison two days ago. Two days!' For
the first time the significance of the coincidence struck him. 'You
don't think that can have anything to do with the animal's loss
of appetite?'
'Certainly. I imagine she is missing him and pining away
because he isn't there.'
Lord Emsworth was surprised. He had only a distant
acquaintance with George Cyril Wellbeloved, but from what
he had seen of him he had not credited him with this fatal
allure.
'She probably misses his afternoon call.'
Again his lordship found himself perplexed. He had had
no notion that pigs were such sticklers for the formalities of
social life.
'His call?'
'He must have had some special call that he used when he
wanted her to come to dinner. One of the first things you learn
on a farm is hog-calling. Pigs are temperamental. Omit to call
them, and they'll starve rather than put on the nose-bag.
Call them right, and they will follow you to the ends of the
earth with their mouths watering.'
'God bless my soul! Fancy that.'
'A fact, I assure you. These calls vary in different parts of
America. In Wisconsin, for example, the words "Poig, Poig,
Poig" bring home – in both the literal and the figurative sense
– the bacon. In Illinois, I believe they call "Burp, Burp, Burp,"
while in Iowa the phrase "Kus, Kus, Kus" is preferred. Proceeding
to
but the Emsworths were a fighting clan. He had another try.
'I have seldom seen such a blaze of colour as was to be
witnessed there during the month of June. Both McAllister
and I adopted a very strong policy with the slugs and plant lice,
with the result that the place was a mass of flourishing Damasks
and Ayrshires and—'
'Properly to appreciate roses,' said James Belford, 'You want
to see them as a setting for a girl like Angela. With her fair hair
gleaming against the green leaves she makes a rose garden seem
a veritable Paradise.'
'No doubt,' said Lord Emsworth. 'No doubt. I am glad you
liked my rose garden. At Blandings, of course, we have the
natural advantage of loamy soil, rich in plant food and humus;
but, as I often say to McAllister, and on this point we have never
had the slightest disagreement, loamy soil by itself is not
enough. You must have manure. If every autumn a liberal
mulch of stable manure is spread upon the beds and the coarser
parts removed in the spring before the annual forking—'
Angela tells me,' said James Belford, 'that you have forbidden
our marriage.'
Lord Emsworth choked dismally over his chicken. Directness
of this kind, he told himself with a pang of self-pity, was the
sort of thing young Englishmen picked up in America. Diplomatic
circumlocution flourished only in a more leisurely civilization,
and in those energetic and forceful surroundings you
learned to Talk Quick and Do It Now, and all sorts of uncomfortable
things.
'Er – well, yes, now you mention it, I believe some informal
decision of that nature was arrived at. You see, my dear fellow,
my sister Constance feels rather strongly—'
'I understand. I suppose she thinks I'm a sort of prodigal.'
'No, no, my dear fellow. She never said that. Wastrel was the
term she employed.'
'Well, perhaps I did start out in business on those lines. But
you can take it from me that when you find yourself employed
on a farm in Nebraska belonging to an applejack-nourished
patriarch with strong views on work and a good vocabulary,
you soon develop a certain liveliness.'
'Are you employed on a farm?'
'I was employed on a farm.'
'Pigs?' said Lord Emsworth in a low, eager voice.
'Among other things.'
Lord Emsworth gulped. His fingers clutched at the
table-cloth.
'Then perhaps, my dear fellow, you can give me some advice.
For the last two days my prize sow, Empress of Blandings, has
declined all nourishment. And the Agricultural Show is on
Wednesday week. I am distracted with anxiety.'
James Belford frowned thoughtfully.
'What does your pig-man say about it?'
'My pig-man was sent to prison two days ago. Two days!' For
the first time the significance of the coincidence struck him. 'You
don't think that can have anything to do with the animal's loss
of appetite?'
'Certainly. I imagine she is missing him and pining away
because he isn't there.'
Lord Emsworth was surprised. He had only a distant
acquaintance with George Cyril Wellbeloved, but from what
he had seen of him he had not credited him with this fatal
allure.
'She probably misses his afternoon call.'
Again his lordship found himself perplexed. He had had
no notion that pigs were such sticklers for the formalities of
social life.
'His call?'
'He must have had some special call that he used when he
wanted her to come to dinner. One of the first things you learn
on a farm is hog-calling. Pigs are temperamental. Omit to call
them, and they'll starve rather than put on the nose-bag.
Call them right, and they will follow you to the ends of the
earth with their mouths watering.'
'God bless my soul! Fancy that.'
'A fact, I assure you. These calls vary in different parts of
America. In Wisconsin, for example, the words "Poig, Poig,
Poig" bring home – in both the literal and the figurative sense
– the bacon. In Illinois, I believe they call "Burp, Burp, Burp,"
while in Iowa the phrase "Kus, Kus, Kus" is preferred. Proceeding
to
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