Read Online Ice in the Bedroom by P. G. Wodehouse - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: P. G. Wodehouse
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did.'
'Yes, I knew that, of course, but I was just leading up to the big moment. She told me the place belonged to Keggs and he was in Singapore or somewhere on his round-the-world cruise, and I said well, that was too bad, because I'd set my heart on getting it and this was going to be a great disappointment to my friends on the other side, who were all great admirers of hers, same as me. "But you won't mind me just rambling about and taking a look at this shrine where you live and work?" I said, and was starting to head for the bedroom when she said, "Excuse me."'
'Went to powder her nose?'
'No, she went to get this shot-gun of hers. She came back with it, and pointed it at my wishbone. "Listen, rat!" she said. "Your kind attention for a moment, please. You have just three seconds to get out of here."'
'For Pete's sake! Why?'
'The very question I asked her. And she said, "So you made your money out of oil, did you? I'll say you did, my rugged millionaire, and a thousand pounds of it was donated by me. Le Touquet three years ago. Remember?" Baby, she was the dame in the Casino I told you about, the one I sold that Silver River to. Naturally I hadn't placed her. When we did our deal, she was wearing dark glasses, and one meets so many people. But she remembered me all right. "I shall count three," she said, "and if by the time I say 'ee' you aren't half-way back to America, you'll get a charge of shot in the seat of the pants." Well, I can take a hint. I didn't stand loitering about. I left. So there you are, honey. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred that line of talk of mine would have dragged home the gravy, but this was the one time it didn't. Too bad, but nobody to blame.'
Dolly was all wifely sympathy.
'I'm not blaming, you, sweetie. You did all that man could do…unless…You couldn't have beaned her with a chair, I suppose?'
'Not a hope. If I'd made a move or so much as stirred a finger, I wouldn't be sitting down like this. I'd be lying on my face with you picking shot out of me with your eyebrow tweezers. She meant business,' said Soapy, and stirred uneasily in his chair as he thought of what might have been. He was a highly-strung man, and vivid mental pictures came easily to him.
Dolly sat frowning thoughtfully. A lesser woman would have been crushed by this tale of disaster, but she never allowed a temporary setback to make her forget the lesson of the story of Bruce and the spider. Like the poet, she held it truth with him who sings to one clear harp in divers tones that men - or, in her case, women - can rise on stepping stones of their dead selves to higher things.
'We must have another try,' she said, and Soapy started as if Leila Yorke and her shot-gun had materialized themselves before him.
'You aren't suggesting I go to Castlewood again?'
'Not you, sweetie, me.'
'But what sort of spiel can you give her?'
'Ah, that wants thinking out. But I'll dig up something. The thought of all that ice laying there on top of that wardrobes when at any moment someone might get the idea of dusting there and put their hooks on it, goes right against my better nature. Come on, honey, let's lunch. You need some nourishing food inside you after going through that…what's the word?'
'Ordeal,' said Mr. Molloy, whose life work had given him a good vocabulary. 'When you're up against a dame with glittering eyes and one ringer on the trigger of a shot-gun, that's an ordeal, and don't let anyone tell you different.'
There is something about lunch at a place like Barribault's that raises the spirits and stimulates the brain. The hors d'oeuvres seem to whisper that the sun will some day shine once more, the cold salmon with tartare sauce points out that though the skies are dark, the silver lining will be along at any moment, and with the fruit salad or whatever it may be that tops off the meal, there comes a growing conviction that the bluebird, though admittedly asleep at the switch of late, has not formally gone out
'Yes, I knew that, of course, but I was just leading up to the big moment. She told me the place belonged to Keggs and he was in Singapore or somewhere on his round-the-world cruise, and I said well, that was too bad, because I'd set my heart on getting it and this was going to be a great disappointment to my friends on the other side, who were all great admirers of hers, same as me. "But you won't mind me just rambling about and taking a look at this shrine where you live and work?" I said, and was starting to head for the bedroom when she said, "Excuse me."'
'Went to powder her nose?'
'No, she went to get this shot-gun of hers. She came back with it, and pointed it at my wishbone. "Listen, rat!" she said. "Your kind attention for a moment, please. You have just three seconds to get out of here."'
'For Pete's sake! Why?'
'The very question I asked her. And she said, "So you made your money out of oil, did you? I'll say you did, my rugged millionaire, and a thousand pounds of it was donated by me. Le Touquet three years ago. Remember?" Baby, she was the dame in the Casino I told you about, the one I sold that Silver River to. Naturally I hadn't placed her. When we did our deal, she was wearing dark glasses, and one meets so many people. But she remembered me all right. "I shall count three," she said, "and if by the time I say 'ee' you aren't half-way back to America, you'll get a charge of shot in the seat of the pants." Well, I can take a hint. I didn't stand loitering about. I left. So there you are, honey. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred that line of talk of mine would have dragged home the gravy, but this was the one time it didn't. Too bad, but nobody to blame.'
Dolly was all wifely sympathy.
'I'm not blaming, you, sweetie. You did all that man could do…unless…You couldn't have beaned her with a chair, I suppose?'
'Not a hope. If I'd made a move or so much as stirred a finger, I wouldn't be sitting down like this. I'd be lying on my face with you picking shot out of me with your eyebrow tweezers. She meant business,' said Soapy, and stirred uneasily in his chair as he thought of what might have been. He was a highly-strung man, and vivid mental pictures came easily to him.
Dolly sat frowning thoughtfully. A lesser woman would have been crushed by this tale of disaster, but she never allowed a temporary setback to make her forget the lesson of the story of Bruce and the spider. Like the poet, she held it truth with him who sings to one clear harp in divers tones that men - or, in her case, women - can rise on stepping stones of their dead selves to higher things.
'We must have another try,' she said, and Soapy started as if Leila Yorke and her shot-gun had materialized themselves before him.
'You aren't suggesting I go to Castlewood again?'
'Not you, sweetie, me.'
'But what sort of spiel can you give her?'
'Ah, that wants thinking out. But I'll dig up something. The thought of all that ice laying there on top of that wardrobes when at any moment someone might get the idea of dusting there and put their hooks on it, goes right against my better nature. Come on, honey, let's lunch. You need some nourishing food inside you after going through that…what's the word?'
'Ordeal,' said Mr. Molloy, whose life work had given him a good vocabulary. 'When you're up against a dame with glittering eyes and one ringer on the trigger of a shot-gun, that's an ordeal, and don't let anyone tell you different.'
There is something about lunch at a place like Barribault's that raises the spirits and stimulates the brain. The hors d'oeuvres seem to whisper that the sun will some day shine once more, the cold salmon with tartare sauce points out that though the skies are dark, the silver lining will be along at any moment, and with the fruit salad or whatever it may be that tops off the meal, there comes a growing conviction that the bluebird, though admittedly asleep at the switch of late, has not formally gone out
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