The Little Nugget Read online

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  THE LITTLE NUGGET

  By P. G. Wodehouse

  Part One

  In which the Little Nugget is introduced to the reader, and plansare made for his future by several interested parties. In which,also, the future Mr Peter Burns is touched upon. The whole concludingwith a momentous telephone-call.

  THE LITTLE NUGGET

  I

  If the management of the Hotel Guelph, that London landmark, couldhave been present at three o'clock one afternoon in early Januaryin the sitting-room of the suite which they had assigned to MrsElmer Ford, late of New York, they might well have felt a littleaggrieved. Philosophers among them would possibly have meditatedon the limitations of human effort; for they had done their bestfor Mrs Ford. They had housed her well. They had fed her well.They had caused inspired servants to anticipate her every need.Yet here she was, in the midst of all these aids to a contentedmind, exhibiting a restlessness and impatience of her surroundingsthat would have been noticeable in a caged tigress or a prisonerof the Bastille. She paced the room. She sat down, picked up anovel, dropped it, and, rising, resumed her patrol. The clockstriking, she compared it with her watch, which she had consultedtwo minutes before. She opened the locket that hung by a goldchain from her neck, looked at its contents, and sighed. Finally,going quickly into the bedroom, she took from a suit-case a framedoil-painting, and returning with it to the sitting-room, placed iton a chair, and stepped back, gazing at it hungrily. Her largebrown eyes, normally hard and imperious, were strangely softened.Her mouth quivered.

  'Ogden!' she whispered.

  The picture which had inspired this exhibition of feeling wouldprobably not have affected the casual spectator to quite the samedegree. He would have seen merely a very faulty and amateurishportrait of a singularly repellent little boy of about eleven, whostared out from the canvas with an expression half stolid, halfquerulous; a bulgy, overfed little boy; a little boy who lookedexactly what he was, the spoiled child of parents who had far moremoney than was good for them.

  As Mrs Ford gazed at the picture, and the picture stared back ather, the telephone bell rang. She ran to it eagerly. It was theoffice of the hotel, announcing a caller.

  'Yes? Yes? Who?' Her voice fell, as if the name was not the oneshe had expected. 'Oh, yes,' she said. 'Yes, ask Lord Mountry tocome to me here, please.'

  She returned to the portrait. The look of impatience, which hadleft her face as the bell sounded, was back now. She suppressed itwith an effort as her visitor entered.

  Lord Mountry was a blond, pink-faced, fair-moustached young man ofabout twenty-eight--a thick-set, solemn young man. He winced as hecaught sight of the picture, which fixed him with a stony eyeimmediately on his entry, and quickly looked away.

  'I say, it's all right, Mrs Ford.' He was of the type which wastesno time on preliminary greetings. 'I've got him.'

  'Got him!'

  Mrs Ford's voice was startled.

  'Stanborough, you know.'

  'Oh! I--I was thinking of something else. Won't you sit down?'

  Lord Mountry sat down.

  'The artist, you know. You remember you said at lunch the otherday you wanted your little boy's portrait painted, as you only hadone of him, aged eleven--'

  'This is Ogden, Lord Mountry. I painted this myself.'

  His lordship, who had selected a chair that enabled him to presenta shoulder to the painting, and was wearing a slightly dogged looksuggestive of one who 'turns no more his head, because he knows afrightful fiend doth close behind him tread', forced himselfround, and met his gaze with as much nonchalance as he couldsummon up.

  'Er, yes,' he said.

  He paused.

  'Fine manly little fellow--what?' he continued.

  'Yes, isn't he?'

  His lordship stealthily resumed his former position.

  'I recommended this fellow, Stanborough, if you remember. He's agreat pal of mine, and I'd like to give him a leg up if I could.They tell me he's a topping artist. Don't know much about itmyself. You told me to bring him round here this afternoon, youremember, to talk things over. He's waiting downstairs.'

  'Oh yes, yes. Of course, I've not forgotten. Thank you so much,Lord Mountry.'

  'Rather a good scheme occurred to me, that is, if you haven'tthought over the idea of that trip on my yacht and decided itwould bore you to death. You still feel like making one of theparty--what?'

  Mrs Ford shot a swift glance at the clock.

  'I'm looking forward to it,' she said.

  'Well, then, why shouldn't we kill two birds with one stone?Combine the voyage and the portrait, don't you know. You couldbring your little boy along--he'd love the trip--and I'd bringStanborough--what?'

  This offer was not the outcome of a sudden spasm of warm-heartednesson his lordship's part. He had pondered the matter deeply, and hadcome to the conclusion that, though it had flaws, it was the bestplan. He was alive to the fact that a small boy was not an absoluteessential to the success of a yachting trip, and, since seeingOgden's portrait, he had realized still more clearly that thescheme had draw-backs. But he badly wanted Stanborough to makeone of the party. Whatever Ogden might be, there was no doubt thatBilly Stanborough, that fellow of infinite jest, was the idealcompanion for a voyage. It would make just all the difference havinghim. The trouble was that Stanborough flatly refused to take anindefinite holiday, on the plea that he could not afford the time.Upon which his lordship, seldom blessed with great ideas, had surprisedhimself by producing the scheme he had just sketched out to Mrs Ford.

  He looked at her expectantly, as he finished speaking, and wassurprised to see a swift cloud of distress pass over her face. Herapidly reviewed his last speech. No, nothing to upset anyone inthat. He was puzzled.

  She looked past him at the portrait. There was pain in her eyes.

  'I'm afraid you don't quite understand the position of affairs,'she said. Her voice was harsh and strained.

  'Eh?'

  'You see--I have not--' She stopped. 'My little boy is not--Ogdenis not living with me just now.'

  'At school, eh?'

  'No, not at school. Let me tell you the whole position. Mr Fordand I did not get on very well together, and a year ago we weredivorced in Washington, on the ground of incompatibility,and--and--'

  She choked. His lordship, a young man with a shrinking horror ofthe deeper emotions, whether exhibited in woman or man, writhedsilently. That was the worst of these Americans! Always gettingdivorced and causing unpleasantness. How was a fellow to know? Whyhadn't whoever it was who first introduced them--he couldn'tremember who the dickens it was--told him about this? He hadsupposed she was just the ordinary American woman doing Europewith an affectionate dollar-dispensing husband in the backgroundsomewhere.

  'Er--' he said. It was all he could find to say.

  'And--and the court,' said Mrs Ford, between her teeth, 'gave himthe custody of Ogden.'

  Lord Mountry, pink with embarrassment, gurgled sympathetically.

  'Since then I have not seen Ogden. That was why I was interestedwhen you mentioned your friend Mr Stanborough. It struck me thatMr Ford could hardly object to my having a portrait of my sonpainted at my own expense. Nor do I suppose that he will, when--ifthe matter is put to him. But, well, you see it would be prematureto make any arrangements at present for having the picture paintedon our yacht trip.'

  'I'm afraid it knocks that scheme on the head,' said Lord Mountrymournfully.

  'Not necessarily.'

  'Eh?'

  'I don't want to make plans yet, but--it is possible that Ogdenmay be with us after all. Something may be--arranged.'

  'You think you may be able
to bring him along on the yacht afterall?'

  'I am hoping so.'

  Lord Mountry, however willing to emit sympathetic gurgles, was tooplain and straightforward a young man to approve of wilfulblindness to obvious facts.

  'I don't see how you are going to override the decision of thecourt. It holds good in England, I suppose?'

  'I am hoping something may be--arranged.'

  'Oh, same here, same here. Certainly.' Having done his duty by notallowing plain facts to be ignored, his lordship was ready tobecome sympathetic again. 'By the way, where is Ogden?'

  'He is down at Mr Ford's house in the country. But--'

  She was interrupted by the ringing of the telephone bell. She wasout of her seat and across the room at the receiver with whatappeared to Lord Mountry's startled gaze one bound. As she put theinstrument to her ear a wave of joy swept over her face. She gavea little cry of delight and excitement.

  'Send them right up at once,' she said, and turned to Lord Mountrytransformed.

  'Lord Mountry,' she said quickly, 'please don't think meimpossibly rude if I turn you out. Some--some people are coming tosee me. I must--'

  His lordship rose hurriedly.

  'Of course. Of course. Certainly. Where did I put my--ah, here.'He seized his hat, and by way of economizing effort, knocked hisstick on to the floor with the same movement. Mrs Ford watched hisbendings and gropings with growing impatience, till finally herose, a little flushed but with a full hand--stick, gloves, andhat, all present and correct.

  'Good-bye, then, Mrs Ford, for the present. You'll let me know ifyour little boy will be able to make one of our party on theyacht?'

  'Yes, yes. Thank you ever so much. Good-bye.'

  'Good-bye.'

  He reached the door and opened it.

  'By Jove,' he said, springing round--'Stanborough! What aboutStanborough? Shall I tell him to wait? He's down below, you know!'

  'Yes, yes. Tell Mr Stanborough I'm dreadfully sorry to have tokeep him waiting, and ask him if he won't stay for a few minutesin the Palm Room.'

  Inspiration came to Lord Mountry.

  'I'll give him a drink,' he said.

  'Yes, yes, anything. Lord Mountry, you really must go. I know I'mrude. I don't know what I'm saying. But--my boy is returning tome.'

  The accumulated chivalry of generations of chivalrous ancestorsacted like a spur on his lordship. He understood but dimly, yetenough to enable him to realize that a scene was about to takeplace in which he was most emphatically not 'on'. A mother'smeeting with her long-lost child, this is a sacred thing. This wasquite clear to him, so, turning like a flash, he bounded throughthe doorway, and, as somebody happened to be coming in at the sametime, there was a collision, which left him breathing apologies inhis familiar attitude of stooping to pick up his hat.

  The new-comers were a tall, strikingly handsome girl, with arather hard and cynical cast of countenance. She was leading bythe hand a small, fat boy of about fourteen years of age, whoselikeness to the portrait on the chair proclaimed his identity. Hehad escaped the collision, but seemed offended by it; for, eyeingthe bending peer with cold distaste, he summed up his opinion ofhim in the one word 'Chump!'

  Lord Mountry rose.

  'I beg your pardon,' he said for perhaps the seventh time. He wasthoroughly unstrung. Always excessively shy, he was embarrassednow by quite a variety of causes. The world was full of eyes--MrsFord's saying 'Go!' Ogden's saying 'Fool!' the portrait saying'Idiot!' and, finally, the eyes of this wonderfully handsome girl,large, grey, cool, amused, and contemptuous saying--so it seemedto him in that feverish moment--'Who is this curious pink personwho cumbers the ground before me?'

  'I--I beg your pardon.' he repeated.

  'Ought to look where you're going,' said Ogden severely.

  'Not at all,' said the girl. 'Won't you introduce me, Nesta?'

  'Lord Mountry--Miss Drassilis,' said Mrs Ford.

  'I'm afraid we're driving Lord Mountry away,' said the girl. Hereyes seemed to his lordship larger, greyer, cooler, more amused,and more contemptuous than ever. He floundered in them like anunskilful swimmer in deep waters.

  'No, no,' he stammered. 'Give you my word. Just going. Good-bye.You won't forget to let me know about the yacht, Mrs Ford--what?It'll be an awfully jolly party. Good-bye, good-bye, MissDrassilis.'

  He looked at Ogden for an instant, as if undecided whether to takethe liberty of addressing him too, and then, his heart apparentlyfailing him, turned and bolted. From down the corridor came theclatter of a dropped stick.

  Cynthia Drassilis closed the door and smiled.

  'A nervous young person!' she said. 'What was he saying about ayacht, Nesta?'

  Mrs Ford roused herself from her fascinated contemplation ofOgden.

  'Oh, nothing. Some of us are going to the south of France in hisyacht next week.'

  'What a delightful idea!'

  There was a certain pensive note in Cynthia's voice.

  'A splendid idea!' she murmured.

  Mrs Ford swooped. She descended on Ogden in a swirl and rustle ofexpensive millinery, and clasped him to her.

  'My boy!'

  It is not given to everybody to glide neatly into a scene of tenseemotion. Ogden failed to do so. He wriggled roughly from theembrace.

  'Got a cigarette?' he said.

  He was an extraordinarily unpleasant little boy. Physically theportrait standing on the chair did him more than justice. Paintedby a mother's loving hand, it flattered him. It was bulgy. He wasmore bulgy. It was sullen. He scowled. And, art having itslimitations, particularly amateur art, the portrait gave no hintof his very repellent manner. He was an intensely sophisticatedchild. He had the air of one who has seen all life has to offer,and is now permanently bored. His speech and bearing were those ofa young man, and a distinctly unlovable young man.

  Even Mrs Ford was momentarily chilled. She laughed shakily.

  'How very matter-of-fact you are, darling!' she said.

  Cynthia was regarding the heir to the Ford millions with her usualsteady, half-contemptuous gaze.

  'He has been that all day,' she said. 'You have no notion what ahelp it was to me.'

  Mrs Ford turned to her effusively.

  'Oh, Cynthia, dear, I haven't thanked you.'

  'No,' interpolated the girl dryly.

  'You're a wonder, darling. You really are. I've been repeatingthat ever since I got your telegram from Eastnor.' She broke off.'Ogden, come near me, my little son.'

  He lurched towards her sullenly.

  'Don't muss a fellow now,' he stipulated, before allowing himselfto be enfolded in the outstretched arms.

  'Tell me, Cynthia,' resumed Mrs Ford, 'how did you do it? I wastelling Lord Mountry that I _hoped_ I might see my Ogden againsoon, but I never really hoped. It seemed too impossible that youshould succeed.'

  'This Lord Mountry of yours,' said Cynthia. 'How did you get toknow him? Why have I not seen him before?'

  'I met him in Paris in the fall. He has been out of London for along time, looking after his father, who was ill.'

  'I see.'

  'He has been most kind, making arrangements about getting Ogden'sportrait painted. But, bother Lord Mountry. How did we getsidetracked on to him? Tell me how you got Ogden away.'

  Cynthia yawned.

  'It was extraordinarily easy, as it turned out, you see.'

  'Ogden, darling,' observed Mrs Ford, 'don't go away. I want younear me.'

  'Oh, all right.'

  'Then stay by me, angel-face.'

  'Oh, slush!' muttered angel-face beneath his breath. 'Say, I'mdarned hungry,' he added.

  It was if an electric shock had been applied to Mrs Ford. Shesprang to her feet.

  'My poor child! Of course you must have some lunch. Ring the bell,Cynthia. I'll have them send up some here.'

  'I'll have _mine_ here,' said Cynthia.

  'Oh, you've had no lunch either! I was forgetting that.'

  'I thought you were.'

  'You
must both lunch here.'

  'Really,' said Cynthia, 'I think it would be better if Ogden hadhis downstairs in the restaurant.'

  'Want to talk scandal, eh?'

  'Ogden, _dearest!_' said Mrs Ford. 'Very well, Cynthia. Go,Ogden. You will order yourself something substantial, marvel-child?'

  'Bet your life,' said the son and heir tersely.

  There was a brief silence as the door closed. Cynthia gazed at herfriend with a peculiar expression.

  'Well, I did it, dear,' she said.

  'Yes. It's splendid. You're a wonder, darling.'

  'Yes,' said Cynthia.

  There was another silence.

  'By the way,' said Mrs Ford, 'didn't you say there was a littlething, a small bill, that was worrying you?'

  'Did I mention it? Yes, there is. It's rather pressing. In fact,it's taking up most of the horizon at present. Here it is.'

  'Is it a large sum?' Mrs Ford took the slip of paper and gave a slightgasp. Then, coming to the bureau, she took out her cheque-book.

  'It's very kind of you, Nesta,' said Cynthia. 'They were beginningto show quite a vindictive spirit about it.'

  She folded the cheque calmly and put it in her purse.

  'And now tell me how you did it,' said Mrs Ford.

  She dropped into a chair and leaned back, her hands behind herhead. For the first time, she seemed to enjoy perfect peace ofmind. Her eyes half closed, as if she had been making ready tolisten to some favourite music.

  'Tell me from the very beginning,' she said softly.

  Cynthia checked a yawn.

  'Very well, dear,' she said. 'I caught the 10.20 to Eastnor, whichisn't a bad train, if you ever want to go down there. I arrived ata quarter past twelve, and went straight up to the house--you'venever seen the house, of course? It's quite charming--and told thebutler that I wanted to see Mr Ford on business. I had taken theprecaution to find out that he was not there. He is at Droitwich.'

  'Rheumatism,' murmured Mrs Ford. 'He has it sometimes.'

  'The man told me he was away, and then he seemed to think that Iought to go. I stuck like a limpet. I sent him to fetch Ogden'stutor. His name is Broster--Reggie Broster. He is a very niceyoung man. Big, broad shoulders, and such a kind face.'

  'Yes, dear, yes?'

  'I told him I was doing a series of drawings for a magazine of theinteriors of well-known country houses.'

  'He believed you?'

  'He believed everything. He's that kind of man. He believed mewhen I told him that my editor particularly wanted me to sketchthe staircase. They had told me about the staircase at the inn. Iforget what it is exactly, but it's something rather special instaircases.'

  'So you got in?'

  'So I got in.'

  'And saw Ogden?'

  'Only for a moment--then Reggie--'

  'Who?'

  'Mr Broster. I always think of him as Reggie. He's one of Nature'sReggies. _Such_ a kind, honest face. Well, as I was saying,Reggie discovered that it was time for lessons, and sent Ogdenupstairs.'

  'By himself?'

  'By himself! Reggie and I chatted for a while.'

  Mrs Ford's eyes opened, brown and bright and hard.

  'Mr Broster is not a proper tutor for my boy,' she said coldly.

  'I suppose it was wrong of Reggie,' said Cynthia. 'But--I waswearing this hat.'

  'Go on.'

  'Well, after a time, I said I must be starting my work. He wantedme to start with the room we were in. I said no, I was going outinto the grounds to sketch the house from the EAST. I chose theEAST because it happens to be nearest the railway station. I addedthat I supposed he sometimes took Ogden for a little walk in thegrounds. He said yes, he did, and it was just about due. He saidpossibly he might come round my way. He said Ogden would beinterested in my sketch. He seemed to think a lot of Ogden'sfondness for art.'

  'Mr Broster is _not_ a proper tutor for my boy.'

  'Well, he isn't your boy's tutor now, is he, dear?'

  'What happened then?'

  'I strolled off with my sketching things. After a while Reggie andOgden came up. I said I hadn't been able to work because I hadbeen frightened by a bull.'

  'Did he believe _that_?'

  '_Certainly_ he believed it. He was most kind and sympathetic.We had a nice chat. He told me all about himself. He used to bevery good at football. He doesn't play now, but he often thinks ofthe past.'

  'But he must have seen that you couldn't sketch. Then what becameof your magazine commission story?'

  'Well, somehow the sketch seemed to get shelved. I didn't evenhave to start it. We were having our chat, you see. Reggie wastelling me how good he had been at football when he was at Oxford,and he wanted me to see a newspaper clipping of a Varsity match hehad played in. I said I'd love to see it. He said it was in hissuit-case in the house. So I promised to look after Ogden while hefetched it. I sent him off to get it just in time for us to catchthe train. Off he went, and here we are. And now, won't you orderthat lunch you mentioned? I'm starving.'

  Mrs Ford rose. Half-way to the telephone she stopped suddenly.

  'My dear child! It has only just struck me! We must leave here atonce. He will have followed you. He will guess that Ogden has beenkidnapped.'

  Cynthia smiled.

  'Believe me, it takes Reggie quite a long time to guess anything.Besides, there are no trains for hours. We are quite safe.'

  'Are you sure?'

  'Absolutely. I made certain of that before I left.'

  Mrs Ford kissed her impulsively.

  'Oh, Cynthia, you really are wonderful!'

  She started back with a cry as the bell rang sharply.

  'For goodness' sake, Nesta,' said Cynthia, with irritation, 'dokeep control of yourself. There's nothing to be frightened about.I tell you Mr Broster can't possibly have got here in the time,even if he knew where to go to, which I don't see how he could.It's probably Ogden.'

  The colour came back into Mrs Ford's cheeks.

  'Why, of course.'

  Cynthia opened the door.

  'Come in, darling,' said Mrs Ford fondly. And a wiry little manwith grey hair and spectacles entered.

  'Good afternoon, Mrs Ford,' he said. 'I have come to take Ogdenback.'