Read Online Hot Water by Sir P G Wodehouse - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sir P G Wodehouse
Ads: Link
rigging in excellent shape, boat fully found including cooking utensils, silver, etc.
He sighed wistfully. An advertisement like that, he felt, was not the sort of thing to dangle before the eyes of a young man whose fiancée had told him to stay in London and go to concerts.
It was as he threw away the magazine so that he should be tortured no more by all those pictures of ketches and sloops and combination keel and centre-board schooners that the telephone rang. He went to it, prepared to work off his depression by being very terse with whoever it was that intruded on his sorrow, but became instantly cordial on recognizing the voice of Jane Opal.
A gregarious young man, Packy liked most people at sight, but he could not remember ever having been so completely attracted to anyone at a first meeting as he had been attracted to this Jane Opal.
There was something about her – he had noticed it even when she had been very properly ticking him off – which had seemed to speak – perfectly platonically – to the depths of his soul. A kindred spirit, if there ever was one, and the thought that she was madly throwing herself away on a fellow like Blair Eggleston rather saddened him. Not that it mattered to him, personally, of course, but he felt it was a pity.
'Hello!' he said with marked good-will.
'Oh, Mr Franklyn!'
It became evident to Packy that something had occurred to induce in this girl an overwhelming excitement. She was gurgling and bubbling and squeaking. So much so that he felt impelled to utter a kindly protest.
'Pull yourself together, chump,' he urged. 'I can't hear a word.'
'But I'm telling you.'
'I dare say. But do it slower.'
'Can you hear now?'
'Yes.'
'Well, listen.'
There was a gulp at the other end of the wire. Jane was apparently going through some process of self-mastery.
'Are you listening?'
'I am.'
'Well – oh, darn it, where shall I begin? Do you remember, when you were cutting Father's hair, something he said about a letter?'
'I didn't miss a word. He had decided not to make Mr Gedge Ambassador to France, and he had written to Mrs Gedge telling her so.'
'That's right.' There was a pause. 'Gosh, I'm all jellied with excitement.'
An idea occurred to Packy, He remembered that Mrs Gedge had interrupted Blair Eggleston's interview with the Senator by announcing herself on the telephone.
'Did she call and sock your father with her umbrella?'
'No, no, no! Nothing like that. Listen! I'd better go back to the beginning. Father wrote this letter to Mrs Gedge.'
'Right.'
'But – this is the point – he didn't. I mean – by the same mail he happened to be writing to his bootlegger in New York, kicking about the overcharges in his last bill.... Yes, his bootlegger. ... And what did he do but get the envelopes mixed up, so that Mrs Gedge got the bootlegger's letter and Mrs Gedge's letter is now on its way to New York.'
'Good heavens! Not really?'
Packy was stunned. There came upon him a feeling of respectful awe as he contemplated Senator Ambrose Opal, that intrepid man who, with a million Drys on his voting-list, dared to order his private life so moistly. It was, he felt, the spirit of... well, he could not say exactly what it was the spirit of, but it was most certainly the spirit of something. He would have liked to pat Senator Opal on the back and tell him he had misjudged him.
'Have you got all that?' enquired Jane anxiously.
'Every syllable.'
'Well, listen. When I got to the suite, Mrs Gedge had just left, and I've never seen Father a brighter purple. And I must say, poor darling, he had every right to look as purple as he liked. Because, I mean, picture his embarrassment.'
'I do.'
'He told me the whole thing. Mrs Gedge says she is going to hold him up. If he doesn't make Mr Gedge Ambassador to France, she swears she will give his letter to the papers and the whole nation will know that he employs a bootlegger. And that will be his absolute finish politically, because, you
He sighed wistfully. An advertisement like that, he felt, was not the sort of thing to dangle before the eyes of a young man whose fiancée had told him to stay in London and go to concerts.
It was as he threw away the magazine so that he should be tortured no more by all those pictures of ketches and sloops and combination keel and centre-board schooners that the telephone rang. He went to it, prepared to work off his depression by being very terse with whoever it was that intruded on his sorrow, but became instantly cordial on recognizing the voice of Jane Opal.
A gregarious young man, Packy liked most people at sight, but he could not remember ever having been so completely attracted to anyone at a first meeting as he had been attracted to this Jane Opal.
There was something about her – he had noticed it even when she had been very properly ticking him off – which had seemed to speak – perfectly platonically – to the depths of his soul. A kindred spirit, if there ever was one, and the thought that she was madly throwing herself away on a fellow like Blair Eggleston rather saddened him. Not that it mattered to him, personally, of course, but he felt it was a pity.
'Hello!' he said with marked good-will.
'Oh, Mr Franklyn!'
It became evident to Packy that something had occurred to induce in this girl an overwhelming excitement. She was gurgling and bubbling and squeaking. So much so that he felt impelled to utter a kindly protest.
'Pull yourself together, chump,' he urged. 'I can't hear a word.'
'But I'm telling you.'
'I dare say. But do it slower.'
'Can you hear now?'
'Yes.'
'Well, listen.'
There was a gulp at the other end of the wire. Jane was apparently going through some process of self-mastery.
'Are you listening?'
'I am.'
'Well – oh, darn it, where shall I begin? Do you remember, when you were cutting Father's hair, something he said about a letter?'
'I didn't miss a word. He had decided not to make Mr Gedge Ambassador to France, and he had written to Mrs Gedge telling her so.'
'That's right.' There was a pause. 'Gosh, I'm all jellied with excitement.'
An idea occurred to Packy, He remembered that Mrs Gedge had interrupted Blair Eggleston's interview with the Senator by announcing herself on the telephone.
'Did she call and sock your father with her umbrella?'
'No, no, no! Nothing like that. Listen! I'd better go back to the beginning. Father wrote this letter to Mrs Gedge.'
'Right.'
'But – this is the point – he didn't. I mean – by the same mail he happened to be writing to his bootlegger in New York, kicking about the overcharges in his last bill.... Yes, his bootlegger. ... And what did he do but get the envelopes mixed up, so that Mrs Gedge got the bootlegger's letter and Mrs Gedge's letter is now on its way to New York.'
'Good heavens! Not really?'
Packy was stunned. There came upon him a feeling of respectful awe as he contemplated Senator Ambrose Opal, that intrepid man who, with a million Drys on his voting-list, dared to order his private life so moistly. It was, he felt, the spirit of... well, he could not say exactly what it was the spirit of, but it was most certainly the spirit of something. He would have liked to pat Senator Opal on the back and tell him he had misjudged him.
'Have you got all that?' enquired Jane anxiously.
'Every syllable.'
'Well, listen. When I got to the suite, Mrs Gedge had just left, and I've never seen Father a brighter purple. And I must say, poor darling, he had every right to look as purple as he liked. Because, I mean, picture his embarrassment.'
'I do.'
'He told me the whole thing. Mrs Gedge says she is going to hold him up. If he doesn't make Mr Gedge Ambassador to France, she swears she will give his letter to the papers and the whole nation will know that he employs a bootlegger. And that will be his absolute finish politically, because, you
Similar Books
