Read Online The Girl in Blue by P.G. Wodehouse - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: P.G. Wodehouse
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fishy eyes staring at her? “That
reminds me,” she said, “I have a Wednesday matinée.” But I didn’t ring you up
to tell you funny stories. My mission is a serious one. I have just been seeing
Vera off to Brussels and she gave me a most unpleasant task to perform.’
‘Oh, I’m
sorry.’
‘I’m
afraid you will be even sorrier when you hear what it is,’ said Dame Flora,
cooing like a turtle dove in springtime.
2
Dame Flora was a woman of
her word. She had promised her ewe lamb that she would get her betrothed on the
telephone and make it clear to him that his idea that wedding bells were going
to ring out was a mistaken one, and this she proceeded to do. It was a masterly
performance, for which she would have been justified in charging him the price
of an orchestra stall.
‘I know
you will understand, Gerald,’ she concluded. ‘And Vera wants me to tell you
that she will always look on you as a dear, dear friend. Goodbye, Gerald,
goodbye, goodbye.’
The
receiver shook in Jerry’s hand as he replaced it. In the course of her remarks
Dame Flora had stressed the fact that the ewe lamb considered him weak, and
weak was what he was feeling, if weak is not too weak a word. Boneless is more
the one a stylist like Gustave Flaubert would have chosen, though being French
he would have used whatever the French is for boneless — étourdit perhaps,
or something like that.
It was,
of course, the bonelessness of relief, yet there again one needs a stronger
word. One does not speak of the condemned man on the scaffold who sees a
messenger galloping up on a foaming horse with a reprieve in his hand as
feeling relieved. Perhaps the best way out of the difficulty is to say that
Jerry’s emotions at this high spot in his life were very much those of Crispin
Scrope as he watched his brother Willoughby write a cheque for two hundred and
three pounds six shillings and fourpence.
For an
age he sat stunned, his mind a mere welter of incoherence, conscious only of a
reverent awe for the guardian angel who had somehow — he could not imagine how —engineered
this astounding coup. Then there crept in the realization that it is not enough
merely to contemplate a good thing; to get the best results one must push it
along. Free now to woo the girl he loved, he must lose no time in starting to
do so. They would be dining together next Saturday, but it would be madness to
hang about twiddling his thumbs till then. At times like this every minute
counts. Who knew that long before Saturday some dashing young spark at
Bournemouth might not have snapped her up? He had never been in Bournemouth,
but he presumed they had dashing young sparks there. He must go instantly to
Bournemouth and make his presence felt.
And his
first move must be to find out her name, a thing he had once again carelessly
omitted to do. A wooer who attempts to woo without having this vital fact at
his fingers’ ends can never hope to make a real success of his courtship.
Fortunately
it was simple. She had gone off to see his Uncle Bill and learn of something to
her advantage, so all he had to do was pick up the telephone…
‘Uncle
Bill? This is Jerry.’
Willoughby’s
reception of the information lacked cordiality. He was on the point of leaving
for his short golfing holiday, and he had not given himself too much time for
his train.
‘It
would be,’ he said churlishly. ‘You would come ringing up when I’ve about five
minutes to get to the station.’
‘Are
you off somewhere?’
‘Sandwich.
Golfing.’
‘Well,
I won’t keep you a minute. It’s a girl. I’m giving her dinner on Saturday.’
‘Doesn’t
your Vera object?’
‘No,
that’s all right. Vera’s broken the engagement.’
‘I’m
delighted to hear it. She’s no good to man or beast.’
‘And
this other girl’s wonderful.’
‘Then
what’s your problem?’
‘I don’t
know her name.’
‘Didn’t
you ask her?’
‘No.’
‘Why
not?’
‘We
reminds me,” she said, “I have a Wednesday matinée.” But I didn’t ring you up
to tell you funny stories. My mission is a serious one. I have just been seeing
Vera off to Brussels and she gave me a most unpleasant task to perform.’
‘Oh, I’m
sorry.’
‘I’m
afraid you will be even sorrier when you hear what it is,’ said Dame Flora,
cooing like a turtle dove in springtime.
2
Dame Flora was a woman of
her word. She had promised her ewe lamb that she would get her betrothed on the
telephone and make it clear to him that his idea that wedding bells were going
to ring out was a mistaken one, and this she proceeded to do. It was a masterly
performance, for which she would have been justified in charging him the price
of an orchestra stall.
‘I know
you will understand, Gerald,’ she concluded. ‘And Vera wants me to tell you
that she will always look on you as a dear, dear friend. Goodbye, Gerald,
goodbye, goodbye.’
The
receiver shook in Jerry’s hand as he replaced it. In the course of her remarks
Dame Flora had stressed the fact that the ewe lamb considered him weak, and
weak was what he was feeling, if weak is not too weak a word. Boneless is more
the one a stylist like Gustave Flaubert would have chosen, though being French
he would have used whatever the French is for boneless — étourdit perhaps,
or something like that.
It was,
of course, the bonelessness of relief, yet there again one needs a stronger
word. One does not speak of the condemned man on the scaffold who sees a
messenger galloping up on a foaming horse with a reprieve in his hand as
feeling relieved. Perhaps the best way out of the difficulty is to say that
Jerry’s emotions at this high spot in his life were very much those of Crispin
Scrope as he watched his brother Willoughby write a cheque for two hundred and
three pounds six shillings and fourpence.
For an
age he sat stunned, his mind a mere welter of incoherence, conscious only of a
reverent awe for the guardian angel who had somehow — he could not imagine how —engineered
this astounding coup. Then there crept in the realization that it is not enough
merely to contemplate a good thing; to get the best results one must push it
along. Free now to woo the girl he loved, he must lose no time in starting to
do so. They would be dining together next Saturday, but it would be madness to
hang about twiddling his thumbs till then. At times like this every minute
counts. Who knew that long before Saturday some dashing young spark at
Bournemouth might not have snapped her up? He had never been in Bournemouth,
but he presumed they had dashing young sparks there. He must go instantly to
Bournemouth and make his presence felt.
And his
first move must be to find out her name, a thing he had once again carelessly
omitted to do. A wooer who attempts to woo without having this vital fact at
his fingers’ ends can never hope to make a real success of his courtship.
Fortunately
it was simple. She had gone off to see his Uncle Bill and learn of something to
her advantage, so all he had to do was pick up the telephone…
‘Uncle
Bill? This is Jerry.’
Willoughby’s
reception of the information lacked cordiality. He was on the point of leaving
for his short golfing holiday, and he had not given himself too much time for
his train.
‘It
would be,’ he said churlishly. ‘You would come ringing up when I’ve about five
minutes to get to the station.’
‘Are
you off somewhere?’
‘Sandwich.
Golfing.’
‘Well,
I won’t keep you a minute. It’s a girl. I’m giving her dinner on Saturday.’
‘Doesn’t
your Vera object?’
‘No,
that’s all right. Vera’s broken the engagement.’
‘I’m
delighted to hear it. She’s no good to man or beast.’
‘And
this other girl’s wonderful.’
‘Then
what’s your problem?’
‘I don’t
know her name.’
‘Didn’t
you ask her?’
‘No.’
‘Why
not?’
‘We
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