My Man Jeeves Page 7

  DOING CLARENCE A BIT OF GOOD

  Have you ever thought about--and, when I say thought about, I meanreally carefully considered the question of--the coolness, the cheek,or, if you prefer it, the gall with which Woman, as a sex, fairlybursts? _I_ have, by Jove! But then I've had it thrust on mynotice, by George, in a way I should imagine has happened to prettyfew fellows. And the limit was reached by that business of theYeardsley "Venus."

  To make you understand the full what-d'you-call-it of the situation, Ishall have to explain just how matters stood between Mrs. Yeardsley andmyself.

  When I first knew her she was Elizabeth Shoolbred. Old Worcestershirefamily; pots of money; pretty as a picture. Her brother Bill was atOxford with me.

  I loved Elizabeth Shoolbred. I loved her, don't you know. And there wasa time, for about a week, when we were engaged to be married. But justas I was beginning to take a serious view of life and study furniturecatalogues and feel pretty solemn when the restaurant orchestra played"The Wedding Glide," I'm hanged if she didn't break it off, and a monthlater she was married to a fellow of the name of Yeardsley--ClarenceYeardsley, an artist.

  What with golf, and billiards, and a bit of racing, and fellows at theclub rallying round and kind of taking me out of myself, as it were, Igot over it, and came to look on the affair as a closed page in thebook of my life, if you know what I mean. It didn't seem likely to methat we should meet again, as she and Clarence had settled down in thecountry somewhere and never came to London, and I'm bound to own that,by the time I got her letter, the wound had pretty well healed, and Iwas to a certain extent sitting up and taking nourishment. In fact, tobe absolutely honest, I was jolly thankful the thing had ended as ithad done.

  This letter I'm telling you about arrived one morning out of a bluesky, as it were. It ran like this:

  "MY DEAR OLD REGGIE,--What ages it seems since I saw anything of you. How are you? We have settled down here in the most perfect old house, with a lovely garden, in the middle of delightful country. Couldn't you run down here for a few days? Clarence and I would be so glad to see you. Bill is here, and is most anxious to meet you again. He was speaking of you only this morning. _Do_ come. Wire your train, and I will send the car to meet you. --Yours most sincerely,

  ELIZABETH YEARDSLEY.

  "P.S.--We can give you new milk and fresh eggs. Think of that!

  "P.P.S.--Bill says our billiard-table is one of the best he has ever played on.

  "P.P.S.S.--We are only half a mile from a golf course. Bill says it is better than St. Andrews.

  "P.P.S.S.S.--You _must_ come!"

  Well, a fellow comes down to breakfast one morning, with a bit of ahead on, and finds a letter like that from a girl who might quiteeasily have blighted his life! It rattled me rather, I must confess.

  However, that bit about the golf settled me. I knew Bill knew what hewas talking about, and, if he said the course was so topping, it mustbe something special. So I went.

  Old Bill met me at the station with the car. I hadn't come across himfor some months, and I was glad to see him again. And he apparently wasglad to see me.

  "Thank goodness you've come," he said, as we drove off. "I was justabout at my last grip."

  "What's the trouble, old scout?" I asked.

  "If I had the artistic what's-its-name," he went on, "if the meremention of pictures didn't give me the pip, I dare say it wouldn't beso bad. As it is, it's rotten!"

  "Pictures?"

  "Pictures. Nothing else is mentioned in this household. Clarence is anartist. So is his father. And you know yourself what Elizabeth is likewhen one gives her her head?"

  I remembered then--it hadn't come back to me before--that most of mytime with Elizabeth had been spent in picture-galleries. During theperiod when I had let her do just what she wanted to do with me, I hadhad to follow her like a dog through gallery after gallery, thoughpictures are poison to me, just as they are to old Bill. Somehow it hadnever struck me that she would still be going on in this way aftermarrying an artist. I should have thought that by this time the meresight of a picture would have fed her up. Not so, however, according toold Bill.

  "They talk pictures at every meal," he said. "I tell you, it makes achap feel out of it. How long are you down for?"

  "A few days."

  "Take my tip, and let me send you a wire from London. I go thereto-morrow. I promised to play against the Scottish. The idea wasthat I was to come back after the match. But you couldn't get meback with a lasso."

  I tried to point out the silver lining.

  "But, Bill, old scout, your sister says there's a most corking linksnear here."

  He turned and stared at me, and nearly ran us into the bank.

  "You don't mean honestly she said that?"

  "She said you said it was better than St. Andrews."

  "So I did. Was that all she said I said?"

  "Well, wasn't it enough?"

  "She didn't happen to mention that I added the words, 'I don't think'?"

  "No, she forgot to tell me that."

  "It's the worst course in Great Britain."

  I felt rather stunned, don't you know. Whether it's a bad habit to havegot into or not, I can't say, but I simply can't do without my dailyallowance of golf when I'm not in London.

  I took another whirl at the silver lining.

  "We'll have to take it out in billiards," I said. "I'm glad the table'sgood."

  "It depends what you call good. It's half-size, and there's a seven-inchcut just out of baulk where Clarence's cue slipped. Elizabeth has mendedit with pink silk. Very smart and dressy it looks, but it doesn't improvethe thing as a billiard-table."

  "But she said you said----"

  "Must have been pulling your leg."

  We turned in at the drive gates of a good-sized house standing wellback from the road. It looked black and sinister in the dusk, and Icouldn't help feeling, you know, like one of those Johnnies you readabout in stories who are lured to lonely houses for rummy purposes andhear a shriek just as they get there. Elizabeth knew me well enough toknow that a specially good golf course was a safe draw to me. And shehad deliberately played on her knowledge. What was the game? That waswhat I wanted to know. And then a sudden thought struck me which broughtme out in a cold perspiration. She had some girl down here and was goingto have a stab at marrying me off. I've often heard that young marriedwomen are all over that sort of thing. Certainly she had said there wasnobody at the house but Clarence and herself and Bill and Clarence'sfather, but a woman who could take the name of St. Andrews in vain asshe had done wouldn't be likely to stick at a trifle.

  "Bill, old scout," I said, "there aren't any frightful girls or any rotof that sort stopping here, are there?"

  "Wish there were," he said. "No such luck."

  As we pulled up at the front door, it opened, and a woman's figureappeared.

  "Have you got him, Bill?" she said, which in my present frame of mindstruck me as a jolly creepy way of putting it. The sort of thing LadyMacbeth might have said to Macbeth, don't you know.

  "Do you mean me?" I said.

  She came down into the light. It was Elizabeth, looking just the sameas in the old days.

  "Is that you, Reggie? I'm so glad you were able to come. I was afraidyou might have forgotten all about it. You know what you are. Comealong in and have some tea."

  * * * * *

  Have you ever been turned down by a girl who afterwards married andthen been introduced to her husband? If so you'll understand how I feltwhen Clarence burst on me. You know the feeling. First of all, when youhear about the marriage, you say to yourself, "I wonder what he's like."Then you meet him, and think, "There must be some mistake. She can't havepreferred _this_ to me!" That's what I thought, when I set eyes onClarence.

  He was a little thin, nervous-looking chappie of about thirty-five. Hishair was getting grey at the temples and straggl
y on top. He worepince-nez, and he had a drooping moustache. I'm no Bombardier Wellsmyself, but in front of Clarence I felt quite a nut. And Elizabeth,mind you, is one of those tall, splendid girls who look like princesses.Honestly, I believe women do it out of pure cussedness.

  "How do you do, Mr. Pepper? Hark! Can you hear a mewing cat?" saidClarence. All in one breath, don't you know.

  "Eh?" I said.

  "A mewing cat. I feel sure I hear a mewing cat. Listen!"

  While we were listening the door opened, and a white-haired oldgentleman came in. He was built on the same lines as Clarence, but wasan earlier model. I took him correctly, to be Mr. Yeardsley, senior.Elizabeth introduced us.

  "Father," said Clarence, "did you meet a mewing cat outside? I feelpositive I heard a cat mewing."

  "No," said the father, shaking his head; "no mewing cat."

  "I can't bear mewing cats," said Clarence. "A mewing cat gets on mynerves!"

  "A mewing cat is so trying," said Elizabeth.

  "_I_ dislike mewing cats," said old Mr. Yeardsley.

  That was all about mewing cats for the moment. They seemed to thinkthey had covered the ground satisfactorily, and they went back topictures.

  We talked pictures steadily till it was time to dress for dinner. Atleast, they did. I just sort of sat around. Presently the subject ofpicture-robberies came up. Somebody mentioned the "Monna Lisa," andthen I happened to remember seeing something in the evening paper, as Iwas coming down in the train, about some fellow somewhere having had avaluable painting pinched by burglars the night before. It was thefirst time I had had a chance of breaking into the conversation withany effect, and I meant to make the most of it. The paper was in thepocket of my overcoat in the hall. I went and fetched it.

  "Here it is," I said. "A Romney belonging to Sir Bellamy Palmer----"

  They all shouted "What!" exactly at the same time, like a chorus.Elizabeth grabbed the paper.

  "Let me look! Yes. 'Late last night burglars entered the residence ofSir Bellamy Palmer, Dryden Park, Midford, Hants----'"

  "Why, that's near here," I said. "I passed through Midford----"

  "Dryden Park is only two miles from this house," said Elizabeth. Inoticed her eyes were sparkling.

  "Only two miles!" she said. "It might have been us! It might have beenthe 'Venus'!"

  Old Mr. Yeardsley bounded in his chair.

  "The 'Venus'!" he cried.

  They all seemed wonderfully excited. My little contribution to theevening's chat had made quite a hit.

  Why I didn't notice it before I don't know, but it was not till Elizabethshowed it to me after dinner that I had my first look at the Yeardsley"Venus." When she led me up to it, and switched on the light, it seemedimpossible that I could have sat right through dinner without noticingit. But then, at meals, my attention is pretty well riveted on thefoodstuffs. Anyway, it was not till Elizabeth showed it to me that Iwas aware of its existence.

  She and I were alone in the drawing-room after dinner. Old Yeardsleywas writing letters in the morning-room, while Bill and Clarence wererollicking on the half-size billiard table with the pink silk tapestryeffects. All, in fact, was joy, jollity, and song, so to speak, whenElizabeth, who had been sitting wrapped in thought for a bit, benttowards me and said, "Reggie."

  And the moment she said it I knew something was going to happen. Youknow that pre-what-d'you-call-it you get sometimes? Well, I got itthen.

  "What-o?" I said nervously.

  "Reggie," she said, "I want to ask a great favour of you."

  "Yes?"

  She stooped down and put a log on the fire, and went on, with her backto me:

  "Do you remember, Reggie, once saying you would do anything in theworld for me?"

  There! That's what I meant when I said that about the cheek of Woman asa sex. What I mean is, after what had happened, you'd have thought shewould have preferred to let the dead past bury its dead, and all thatsort of thing, what?

  Mind you, I _had_ said I would do anything in the world for her.I admit that. But it was a distinctly pre-Clarence remark. He hadn'tappeared on the scene then, and it stands to reason that a fellow whomay have been a perfect knight-errant to a girl when he was engaged toher, doesn't feel nearly so keen on spreading himself in that directionwhen she has given him the miss-in-baulk, and gone and married a manwho reason and instinct both tell him is a decided blighter.

  I couldn't think of anything to say but "Oh, yes."

  "There's something you can do for me now, which will make meeverlastingly grateful."

  "Yes," I said.

  "Do you know, Reggie," she said suddenly, "that only a few months agoClarence was very fond of cats?"

  "Eh! Well, he still seems--er--_interested_ in them, what?"

  "Now they get on his nerves. Everything gets on his nerves."

  "Some fellows swear by that stuff you see advertised all over the----"

  "No, that wouldn't help him. He doesn't need to take anything. He wantsto get rid of something."

  "I don't quite fellow. Get rid of something?"

  "The 'Venus,'" said Elizabeth.

  She looked up and caught my bulging eye.

  "You saw the 'Venus,'" she said.

  "Not that I remember."

  "Well, come into the dining-room."

  We went into the dining-room, and she switched on the lights.

  "There," she said.

  On the wall close to the door--that may have been why I hadn't noticedit before; I had sat with my back to it--was a large oil-painting. Itwas what you'd call a classical picture, I suppose. What I mean is--well,you know what I mean. All I can say is that it's funny I _hadn't_noticed it.

  "Is that the 'Venus'?" I said.

  She nodded.

  "How would you like to have to look at that every time you sat down toa meal?"

  "Well, I don't know. I don't think it would affect me much. I'd worrythrough all right."

  She jerked her head impatiently.

  "But you're not an artist," she said. "Clarence is."

  And then I began to see daylight. What exactly was the trouble I didn'tunderstand, but it was evidently something to do with the good oldArtistic Temperament, and I could believe anything about that. Itexplains everything. It's like the Unwritten Law, don't you know,which you plead in America if you've done anything they want to sendyou to chokey for and you don't want to go. What I mean is, if you'reabsolutely off your rocker, but don't find it convenient to be scoopedinto the luny-bin, you simply explain that, when you said you were ateapot, it was just your Artistic Temperament, and they apologize andgo away. So I stood by to hear just how the A.T. had affected Clarence,the Cat's Friend, ready for anything.

  And, believe me, it had hit Clarence badly.

  It was this way. It seemed that old Yeardsley was an amateur artist andthat this "Venus" was his masterpiece. He said so, and he ought to haveknown. Well, when Clarence married, he had given it to him, as a weddingpresent, and had hung it where it stood with his own hands. All right sofar, what? But mark the sequel. Temperamental Clarence, being aprofessional artist and consequently some streets ahead of the dad atthe game, saw flaws in the "Venus." He couldn't stand it at any price.He didn't like the drawing. He didn't like the expression of the face.He didn't like the colouring. In fact, it made him feel quite ill tolook at it. Yet, being devoted to his father and wanting to do anythingrather than give him pain, he had not been able to bring himself tostore the thing in the cellar, and the strain of confronting thepicture three times a day had begun to tell on him to such an extentthat Elizabeth felt something had to be done.

  "Now you see," she said.

  "In a way," I said. "But don't you think it's making rather heavyweather over a trifle?"

  "Oh, can't you understand? Look!" Her voice dropped as if she was inchurch, and she switched on another light. It shone on the picture nextto old Yeardsley's. "There!" she said. "Clarence painted that!"

  She looked at me expectantly, as if she were
waiting for me to swoon,or yell, or something. I took a steady look at Clarence's effort. Itwas another Classical picture. It seemed to me very much like the otherone.

  Some sort of art criticism was evidently expected of me, so I made adash at it.

  "Er--'Venus'?" I said.

  Mark you, Sherlock Holmes would have made the same mistake. On theevidence, I mean.

  "No. 'Jocund Spring,'" she snapped. She switched off the light. "I seeyou don't understand even now. You never had any taste about pictures.When we used to go to the galleries together, you would far rather havebeen at your club."

  This was so absolutely true, that I had no remark to make. She came upto me, and put her hand on my arm.

  "I'm sorry, Reggie. I didn't mean to be cross. Only I do want to make youunderstand that Clarence is _suffering_. Suppose--suppose--well, letus take the case of a great musician. Suppose a great musician had to sitand listen to a cheap vulgar tune--the same tune--day after day, day afterday, wouldn't you expect his nerves to break! Well, it's just like thatwith Clarence. Now you see?"

  "Yes, but----"

  "But what? Surely I've put it plainly enough?"

  "Yes. But what I mean is, where do I come in? What do you want me todo?"

  "I want you to steal the 'Venus.'"

  I looked at her.

  "You want me to----?"

  "Steal it. Reggie!" Her eyes were shining with excitement. "Don't yousee? It's Providence. When I asked you to come here, I had just got theidea. I knew I could rely on you. And then by a miracle this robbery ofthe Romney takes place at a house not two miles away. It removes thelast chance of the poor old man suspecting anything and having hisfeelings hurt. Why, it's the most wonderful compliment to him. Think!One night thieves steal a splendid Romney; the next the same gang takehis 'Venus.' It will be the proudest moment of his life. Do it to-night,Reggie. I'll give you a sharp knife. You simply cut the canvas out ofthe frame, and it's done."

  "But one moment," I said. "I'd be delighted to be of any use to you,but in a purely family affair like this, wouldn't it be better--infact, how about tackling old Bill on the subject?"

  "I have asked Bill already. Yesterday. He refused."

  "But if I'm caught?"

  "You can't be. All you have to do is to take the picture, open one ofthe windows, leave it open, and go back to your room."

  It sounded simple enough.

  "And as to the picture itself--when I've got it?"

  "Burn it. I'll see that you have a good fire in your room."

  "But----"

  She looked at me. She always did have the most wonderful eyes.

  "Reggie," she said; nothing more. Just "Reggie."

  She looked at me.

  "Well, after all, if you see what I mean--The days that are no more,don't you know. Auld Lang Syne, and all that sort of thing. You followme?"

  "All right," I said. "I'll do it."

  I don't know if you happen to be one of those Johnnies who are steepedin crime, and so forth, and think nothing of pinching diamond necklaces.If you're not, you'll understand that I felt a lot less keen on the jobI'd taken on when I sat in my room, waiting to get busy, than I had donewhen I promised to tackle it in the dining-room. On paper it all seemedeasy enough, but I couldn't help feeling there was a catch somewhere,and I've never known time pass slower. The kick-off was scheduled forone o'clock in the morning, when the household might be expected to bepretty sound asleep, but at a quarter to I couldn't stand it any longer.I lit the lantern I had taken from Bill's bicycle, took a grip of myknife, and slunk downstairs.

  The first thing I did on getting to the dining-room was to open thewindow. I had half a mind to smash it, so as to give an extra bit oflocal colour to the affair, but decided not to on account of the noise.I had put my lantern on the table, and was just reaching out for it,when something happened. What it was for the moment I couldn't havesaid. It might have been an explosion of some sort or an earthquake.Some solid object caught me a frightful whack on the chin. Sparks andthings occurred inside my head and the next thing I remember is feelingsomething wet and cold splash into my face, and hearing a voice thatsounded like old Bill's say, "Feeling better now?"

  I sat up. The lights were on, and I was on the floor, with old Billkneeling beside me with a soda siphon.

  "What happened?" I said.

  "I'm awfully sorry, old man," he said. "I hadn't a notion it was you. Icame in here, and saw a lantern on the table, and the window open and achap with a knife in his hand, so I didn't stop to make inquiries. Ijust let go at his jaw for all I was worth. What on earth do you thinkyou're doing? Were you walking in your sleep?"

  "It was Elizabeth," I said. "Why, you know all about it. She said shehad told you."

  "You don't mean----"

  "The picture. You refused to take it on, so she asked me."

  "Reggie, old man," he said. "I'll never believe what they say aboutrepentance again. It's a fool's trick and upsets everything. If Ihadn't repented, and thought it was rather rough on Elizabeth not todo a little thing like that for her, and come down here to do it afterall, you wouldn't have stopped that sleep-producer with your chin. I'msorry."

  "Me, too," I said, giving my head another shake to make certain it wasstill on.

  "Are you feeling better now?"

  "Better than I was. But that's not saying much."

  "Would you like some more soda-water? No? Well, how about getting thisjob finished and going to bed? And let's be quick about it too. You madea noise like a ton of bricks when you went down just now, and it's onthe cards some of the servants may have heard. Toss you who carves."

  "Heads."

  "Tails it is," he said, uncovering the coin. "Up you get. I'll hold thelight. Don't spike yourself on that sword of yours."

  It was as easy a job as Elizabeth had said. Just four quick cuts, andthe thing came out of its frame like an oyster. I rolled it up. OldBill had put the lantern on the floor and was at the sideboard,collecting whisky, soda, and glasses.

  "We've got a long evening before us," he said. "You can't burn a pictureof that size in one chunk. You'd set the chimney on fire. Let's do thething comfortably. Clarence can't grudge us the stuff. We've done hima bit of good this trip. To-morrow'll be the maddest, merriest day ofClarence's glad New Year. On we go."

  We went up to my room, and sat smoking and yarning away and sipping ourdrinks, and every now and then cutting a slice off the picture andshoving it in the fire till it was all gone. And what with the cosinessof it and the cheerful blaze, and the comfortable feeling of doing goodby stealth, I don't know when I've had a jollier time since the dayswhen we used to brew in my study at school.

  We had just put the last slice on when Bill sat up suddenly, andgripped my arm.

  "I heard something," he said.

  I listened, and, by Jove, I heard something, too. My room was just overthe dining-room, and the sound came up to us quite distinctly. Stealthyfootsteps, by George! And then a chair falling over.

  "There's somebody in the dining-room," I whispered.

  There's a certain type of chap who takes a pleasure in positivelychivvying trouble. Old Bill's like that. If I had been alone, it wouldhave taken me about three seconds to persuade myself that I hadn'treally heard anything after all. I'm a peaceful sort of cove, andbelieve in living and letting live, and so forth. To old Bill, however,a visit from burglars was pure jam. He was out of his chair in onejump.

  "Come on," he said. "Bring the poker."

  I brought the tongs as well. I felt like it. Old Bill collared theknife. We crept downstairs.

  "We'll fling the door open and make a rush," said Bill.

  "Supposing they shoot, old scout?"

  "Burglars never shoot," said Bill.

  Which was comforting provided the burglars knew it.

  Old Bill took a grip of the handle, turned it quickly, and in he went.And then we pulled up sharp, staring.

  The room was in darkness except for a feeble splash of light at the
near end. Standing on a chair in front of Clarence's "Jocund Spring,"holding a candle in one hand and reaching up with a knife in the other,was old Mr. Yeardsley, in bedroom slippers and a grey dressing-gown. Hehad made a final cut just as we rushed in. Turning at the sound, hestopped, and he and the chair and the candle and the picture came downin a heap together. The candle went out.

  "What on earth?" said Bill.

  I felt the same. I picked up the candle and lit it, and then a mostfearful thing happened. The old man picked himself up, and suddenlycollapsed into a chair and began to cry like a child. Of course, Icould see it was only the Artistic Temperament, but still, believe me,it was devilish unpleasant. I looked at old Bill. Old Bill looked atme. We shut the door quick, and after that we didn't know what to do. Isaw Bill look at the sideboard, and I knew what he was looking for. Butwe had taken the siphon upstairs, and his ideas of first-aid stoppedshort at squirting soda-water. We just waited, and presently oldYeardsley switched off, sat up, and began talking with a rush.

  "Clarence, my boy, I was tempted. It was that burglary at Dryden Park.It tempted me. It made it all so simple. I knew you would put it downto the same gang, Clarence, my boy. I----"

  It seemed to dawn upon him at this point that Clarence was not amongthose present.

  "Clarence?" he said hesitatingly.

  "He's in bed," I said.

  "In bed! Then he doesn't know? Even now--Young men, I throw myselfon your mercy. Don't be hard on me. Listen." He grabbed at Bill, whosidestepped. "I can explain everything--everything."

  He gave a gulp.

  "You are not artists, you two young men, but I will try to make youunderstand, make you realise what this picture means to me. I was twoyears painting it. It is my child. I watched it grow. I loved it. Itwas part of my life. Nothing would have induced me to sell it. And thenClarence married, and in a mad moment I gave my treasure to him. Youcannot understand, you two young men, what agonies I suffered. Thething was done. It was irrevocable. I saw how Clarence valued thepicture. I knew that I could never bring myself to ask him for it back.And yet I was lost without it. What could I do? Till this evening Icould see no hope. Then came this story of the theft of the Romney froma house quite close to this, and I saw my way. Clarence would neversuspect. He would put the robbery down to the same band of criminalswho stole the Romney. Once the idea had come, I could not drive it out.I fought against it, but to no avail. At last I yielded, and crept downhere to carry out my plan. You found me." He grabbed again, at me thistime, and got me by the arm. He had a grip like a lobster. "Young man,"he said, "you would not betray me? You would not tell Clarence?"

  I was feeling most frightfully sorry for the poor old chap by thistime, don't you know, but I thought it would be kindest to give it himstraight instead of breaking it by degrees.

  "I won't say a word to Clarence, Mr. Yeardsley," I said. "I quiteunderstand your feelings. The Artistic Temperament, and all that sortof thing. I mean--what? _I_ know. But I'm afraid--Well, look!"

  I went to the door and switched on the electric light, and there,staring him in the face, were the two empty frames. He stood gogglingat them in silence. Then he gave a sort of wheezy grunt.

  "The gang! The burglars! They _have_ been here, and they havetaken Clarence's picture!" He paused. "It might have been mine! MyVenus!" he whispered It was getting most fearfully painful, you know,but he had to know the truth.

  "I'm awfully sorry, you know," I said. "But it _was_."

  He started, poor old chap.

  "Eh? What do you mean?"

  "They _did_ take your Venus."

  "But I have it here."

  I shook my head.

  "That's Clarence's 'Jocund Spring,'" I said.

  He jumped at it and straightened it out.

  "What! What are you talking about? Do you think I don't know my ownpicture--my child--my Venus. See! My own signature in the corner. Canyou read, boy? Look: 'Matthew Yeardsley.' This is _my_ picture!"

  And--well, by Jove, it _was_, don't you know!

  * * * * *

  Well, we got him off to bed, him and his infernal Venus, and we settleddown to take a steady look at the position of affairs. Bill said it wasmy fault for getting hold of the wrong picture, and I said it was Bill'sfault for fetching me such a crack on the jaw that I couldn't be expectedto see what I was getting hold of, and then there was a pretty massivesilence for a bit.

  "Reggie," said Bill at last, "how exactly do you feel about facingClarence and Elizabeth at breakfast?"

  "Old scout," I said. "I was thinking much the same myself."

  "Reggie," said Bill, "I happen to know there's a milk-train leavingMidford at three-fifteen. It isn't what you'd call a flier. It gets toLondon at about half-past nine. Well--er--in the circumstances, howabout it?"

  THE AUNT AND THE SLUGGARD

  Now that it's all over, I may as well admit that there was a timeduring the rather funny affair of Rockmetteller Todd when I thoughtthat Jeeves was going to let me down. The man had the appearance ofbeing baffled.

  Jeeves is my man, you know. Officially he pulls in his weekly wagesfor pressing my clothes and all that sort of thing; but actually he'smore like what the poet Johnnie called some bird of his acquaintance whowas apt to rally round him in times of need--a guide, don't you know;philosopher, if I remember rightly, and--I rather fancy--friend. I relyon him at every turn.

  So naturally, when Rocky Todd told me about his aunt, I didn'thesitate. Jeeves was in on the thing from the start.

  The affair of Rocky Todd broke loose early one morning of spring. I wasin bed, restoring the good old tissues with about nine hours of thedreamless, when the door flew open and somebody prodded me in the lowerribs and began to shake the bedclothes. After blinking a bit andgenerally pulling myself together, I located Rocky, and my firstimpression was that it was some horrid dream.

  Rocky, you see, lived down on Long Island somewhere, miles away fromNew York; and not only that, but he had told me himself more than oncethat he never got up before twelve, and seldom earlier than one.Constitutionally the laziest young devil in America, he had hit on awalk in life which enabled him to go the limit in that direction. Hewas a poet. At least, he wrote poems when he did anything; but most ofhis time, as far as I could make out, he spent in a sort of trance. Hetold me once that he could sit on a fence, watching a worm andwondering what on earth it was up to, for hours at a stretch.

  He had his scheme of life worked out to a fine point. About once amonth he would take three days writing a few poems; the other threehundred and twenty-nine days of the year he rested. I didn't know therewas enough money in poetry to support a chappie, even in the way inwhich Rocky lived; but it seems that, if you stick to exhortations toyoung men to lead the strenuous life and don't shove in any rhymes,American editors fight for the stuff. Rocky showed me one of his thingsonce. It began:

  Be! Be! The past is dead. To-morrow is not born. Be to-day! To-day! Be with every nerve, With every muscle, With every drop of your red blood! Be!

  It was printed opposite the frontispiece of a magazine with a sort ofscroll round it, and a picture in the middle of a fairly-nude chappie,with bulging muscles, giving the rising sun the glad eye. Rocky saidthey gave him a hundred dollars for it, and he stayed in bed till fourin the afternoon for over a month.

  As regarded the future he was pretty solid, owing to the fact that hehad a moneyed aunt tucked away somewhere in Illinois; and, as he hadbeen named Rockmetteller after her, and was her only nephew, hisposition was pretty sound. He told me that when he did come into themoney he meant to do no work at all, except perhaps an occasional poemrecommending the young man with life opening out before him, with allits splendid possibilities, to light a pipe and shove his feet upon themantelpiece.

  And this was the man who was prodding me in the ribs in the grey dawn!

  "Read this, Bertie!" I could just see that he was waving a letter orsomething equall
y foul in my face. "Wake up and read this!"

  I can't read before I've had my morning tea and a cigarette. I gropedfor the bell.

  Jeeves came in looking as fresh as a dewy violet. It's a mystery to mehow he does it.

  "Tea, Jeeves."

  "Very good, sir."

  He flowed silently out of the room--he always gives you the impressionof being some liquid substance when he moves; and I found that Rockywas surging round with his beastly letter again.

  "What is it?" I said. "What on earth's the matter?"

  "Read it!"

  "I can't. I haven't had my tea."

  "Well, listen then."

  "Who's it from?"

  "My aunt."

  At this point I fell asleep again. I woke to hear him saying:

  "So what on earth am I to do?"

  Jeeves trickled in with the tray, like some silent stream meanderingover its mossy bed; and I saw daylight.

  "Read it again, Rocky, old top," I said. "I want Jeeves to hear it. Mr.Todd's aunt has written him a rather rummy letter, Jeeves, and we wantyour advice."

  "Very good, sir."

  He stood in the middle of the room, registering devotion to the cause,and Rocky started again:

  "MY DEAR ROCKMETTELLER.--I have been thinking things over for a long while, and I have come to the conclusion that I have been very thoughtless to wait so long before doing what I have made up my mind to do now."

  "What do you make of that, Jeeves?"

  "It seems a little obscure at present, sir, but no doubt it becomescleared at a later point in the communication."

  "It becomes as clear as mud!" said Rocky.

  "Proceed, old scout," I said, champing my bread and butter.

  "You know how all my life I have longed to visit New York and see for myself the wonderful gay life of which I have read so much. I fear that now it will be impossible for me to fulfil my dream. I am old and worn out. I seem to have no strength left in me."

  "Sad, Jeeves, what?"

  "Extremely, sir."

  "Sad nothing!" said Rocky. "It's sheer laziness. I went to see her lastChristmas and she was bursting with health. Her doctor told me himselfthat there was nothing wrong with her whatever. But she will insistthat she's a hopeless invalid, so he has to agree with her. She's got afixed idea that the trip to New York would kill her; so, though it'sbeen her ambition all her life to come here, she stays where she is."

  "Rather like the chappie whose heart was 'in the Highlands a-chasing ofthe deer,' Jeeves?"

  "The cases are in some respects parallel, sir."

  "Carry on, Rocky, dearboy."

  "So I have decided that, if I cannot enjoy all the marvels of the city myself, I can at least enjoy them through you. I suddenly thought of this yesterday after reading a beautiful poem in the Sunday paper about a young man who had longed all his life for a certain thing and won it in the end only when he was too old to enjoy it. It was very sad, and it touched me."

  "A thing," interpolated Rocky bitterly, "that I've not been able to doin ten years."

  "As you know, you will have my money when I am gone; but until now I have never been able to see my way to giving you an allowance. I have now decided to do so--on one condition. I have written to a firm of lawyers in New York, giving them instructions to pay you quite a substantial sum each month. My one condition is that you live in New York and enjoy yourself as I have always wished to do. I want you to be my representative, to spend this money for me as I should do myself. I want you to plunge into the gay, prismatic life of New York. I want you to be the life and soul of brilliant supper parties.

  "Above all, I want you--indeed, I insist on this--to write me letters at least once a week giving me a full description of all you are doing and all that is going on in the city, so that I may enjoy at second-hand what my wretched health prevents my enjoying for myself. Remember that I shall expect full details, and that no detail is too trivial to interest.--Your affectionate Aunt,

  "ISABEL ROCKMETTELLER."

  "What about it?" said Rocky.

  "What about it?" I said.

  "Yes. What on earth am I going to do?"

  It was only then that I really got on to the extremely rummy attitudeof the chappie, in view of the fact that a quite unexpected mess of theright stuff had suddenly descended on him from a blue sky. To my mindit was an occasion for the beaming smile and the joyous whoop; yet herethe man was, looking and talking as if Fate had swung on his solarplexus. It amazed me.

  "Aren't you bucked?" I said.

  "Bucked!"

  "If I were in your place I should be frightfully braced. I considerthis pretty soft for you."

  He gave a kind of yelp, stared at me for a moment, and then began totalk of New York in a way that reminded me of Jimmy Mundy, the reformerchappie. Jimmy had just come to New York on a hit-the-trail campaign,and I had popped in at the Garden a couple of days before, for half anhour or so, to hear him. He had certainly told New York some prettystraight things about itself, having apparently taken a dislike to theplace, but, by Jove, you know, dear old Rocky made him look like apublicity agent for the old metrop.!

  "Pretty soft!" he cried. "To have to come and live in New York! To haveto leave my little cottage and take a stuffy, smelly, over-heated holeof an apartment in this Heaven-forsaken, festering Gehenna. To have tomix night after night with a mob who think that life is a sort of St.Vitus's dance, and imagine that they're having a good time becausethey're making enough noise for six and drinking too much for ten. Iloathe New York, Bertie. I wouldn't come near the place if I hadn't gotto see editors occasionally. There's a blight on it. It's got moraldelirium tremens. It's the limit. The very thought of staying more thana day in it makes me sick. And you call this thing pretty soft for me!"

  I felt rather like Lot's friends must have done when they dropped infor a quiet chat and their genial host began to criticise the Cities ofthe Plain. I had no idea old Rocky could be so eloquent.

  "It would kill me to have to live in New York," he went on. "To have toshare the air with six million people! To have to wear stiff collarsand decent clothes all the time! To----" He started. "Good Lord! Isuppose I should have to dress for dinner in the evenings. What aghastly notion!"

  I was shocked, absolutely shocked.

  "My dear chap!" I said reproachfully.

  "Do you dress for dinner every night, Bertie?"

  "Jeeves," I said coldly. The man was still standing like a statue bythe door. "How many suits of evening clothes have I?"

  "We have three suits full of evening dress, sir; two dinner jackets----"

  "Three."

  "For practical purposes two only, sir. If you remember we cannot wearthe third. We have also seven white waistcoats."

  "And shirts?"

  "Four dozen, sir."

  "And white ties?"

  "The first two shallow shelves in the chest of drawers are completelyfilled with our white ties, sir."

  I turned to Rocky.

  "You see?"

  The chappie writhed like an electric fan.

  "I won't do it! I can't do it! I'll be hanged if I'll do it! How onearth can I dress up like that? Do you realize that most days I don'tget out of my pyjamas till five in the afternoon, and then I just puton an old sweater?"

  I saw Jeeves wince, poor chap! This sort of revelation shocked hisfinest feelings.

  "Then, what are you going to do about it?" I said.

  "That's what I want to know."

  "You might write and explain to your aunt."

  "I might--if I wanted her to get round to her lawyer's in two rapidleaps and cut me out of her will."

  I saw his point.

  "What do you suggest, Jeeves?" I said.

  Jeeves cleared his throat respectfully.

  "The crux of the matter would appear to be, sir, that Mr. Todd isobliged by the conditions under wh
ich the money is delivered into hispossession to write Miss Rockmetteller long and detailed lettersrelating to his movements, and the only method by which this can beaccomplished, if Mr. Todd adheres to his expressed intention ofremaining in the country, is for Mr. Todd to induce some second partyto gather the actual experiences which Miss Rockmetteller wishesreported to her, and to convey these to him in the shape of a carefulreport, on which it would be possible for him, with the aid of hisimagination, to base the suggested correspondence."

  Having got which off the old diaphragm, Jeeves was silent. Rocky lookedat me in a helpless sort of way. He hasn't been brought up on Jeeves asI have, and he isn't on to his curves.

  "Could he put it a little clearer, Bertie?" he said. "I thought at thestart it was going to make sense, but it kind of flickered. What's theidea?"

  "My dear old man, perfectly simple. I knew we could stand on Jeeves.All you've got to do is to get somebody to go round the town for youand take a few notes, and then you work the notes up into letters.That's it, isn't it, Jeeves?"

  "Precisely, sir."

  The light of hope gleamed in Rocky's eyes. He looked at Jeeves in astartled way, dazed by the man's vast intellect.

  "But who would do it?" he said. "It would have to be a pretty smartsort of man, a man who would notice things."

  "Jeeves!" I said. "Let Jeeves do it."

  "But would he?"

  "You would do it, wouldn't you, Jeeves?"

  For the first time in our long connection I observed Jeeves almostsmile. The corner of his mouth curved quite a quarter of an inch, andfor a moment his eye ceased to look like a meditative fish's.

  "I should be delighted to oblige, sir. As a matter of fact, I havealready visited some of New York's places of interest on my eveningout, and it would be most enjoyable to make a practice of the pursuit."

  "Fine! I know exactly what your aunt wants to hear about, Rocky. Shewants an earful of cabaret stuff. The place you ought to go to first,Jeeves, is Reigelheimer's. It's on Forty-second Street. Anybody willshow you the way."

  Jeeves shook his head.

  "Pardon me, sir. People are no longer going to Reigelheimer's. Theplace at the moment is Frolics on the Roof."

  "You see?" I said to Rocky. "Leave it to Jeeves. He knows."

  It isn't often that you find an entire group of your fellow-humanshappy in this world; but our little circle was certainly an example ofthe fact that it can be done. We were all full of beans. Everythingwent absolutely right from the start.

  Jeeves was happy, partly because he loves to exercise his giant brain,and partly because he was having a corking time among the bright lights.I saw him one night at the Midnight Revels. He was sitting at a tableon the edge of the dancing floor, doing himself remarkably well with afat cigar and a bottle of the best. I'd never imagined he could look sonearly human. His face wore an expression of austere benevolence, and hewas making notes in a small book.

  As for the rest of us, I was feeling pretty good, because I was fondof old Rocky and glad to be able to do him a good turn. Rocky wasperfectly contented, because he was still able to sit on fences in hispyjamas and watch worms. And, as for the aunt, she seemed tickled todeath. She was getting Broadway at pretty long range, but it seemed tobe hitting her just right. I read one of her letters to Rocky, and itwas full of life.

  But then Rocky's letters, based on Jeeves's notes, were enough to buckanybody up. It was rummy when you came to think of it. There was I,loving the life, while the mere mention of it gave Rocky a tiredfeeling; yet here is a letter I wrote to a pal of mine in London:

  "DEAR FREDDIE,--Well, here I am in New York. It's not a bad place. I'm not having a bad time. Everything's pretty all right. The cabarets aren't bad. Don't know when I shall be back. How's everybody? Cheer-o!--Yours,

  "BERTIE.

  "PS.--Seen old Ted lately?"

  Not that I cared about Ted; but if I hadn't dragged him in I couldn'thave got the confounded thing on to the second page.

  Now here's old Rocky on exactly the same subject:

  "DEAREST AUNT ISABEL,--How can I ever thank you enough for giving me the opportunity to live in this astounding city! New York seems more wonderful every day.

  "Fifth Avenue is at its best, of course, just now. The dresses are magnificent!"

  Wads of stuff about the dresses. I didn't know Jeeves was such anauthority.

  "I was out with some of the crowd at the Midnight Revels the other night. We took in a show first, after a little dinner at a new place on Forty-third Street. We were quite a gay party. Georgie Cohan looked in about midnight and got off a good one about Willie Collier. Fred Stone could only stay a minute, but Doug. Fairbanks did all sorts of stunts and made us roar. Diamond Jim Brady was there, as usual, and Laurette Taylor showed up with a party. The show at the Revels is quite good. I am enclosing a programme.

  "Last night a few of us went round to Frolics on the Roof----"

  And so on and so forth, yards of it. I suppose it's the artistictemperament or something. What I mean is, it's easier for a chappiewho's used to writing poems and that sort of tosh to put a bit of apunch into a letter than it is for a chappie like me. Anyway, there'sno doubt that Rocky's correspondence was hot stuff. I called Jeeves inand congratulated him.

  "Jeeves, you're a wonder!"

  "Thank you, sir."

  "How you notice everything at these places beats me. I couldn't tellyou a thing about them, except that I've had a good time."

  "It's just a knack, sir."

  "Well, Mr. Todd's letters ought to brace Miss Rockmetteller all right,what?"

  "Undoubtedly, sir," agreed Jeeves.

  And, by Jove, they did! They certainly did, by George! What I mean tosay is, I was sitting in the apartment one afternoon, about a monthafter the thing had started, smoking a cigarette and resting the oldbean, when the door opened and the voice of Jeeves burst the silencelike a bomb.

  It wasn't that he spoke loud. He has one of those soft, soothing voicesthat slide through the atmosphere like the note of a far-off sheep. Itwas what he said made me leap like a young gazelle.

  "Miss Rockmetteller!"

  And in came a large, solid female.

  The situation floored me. I'm not denying it. Hamlet must have feltmuch as I did when his father's ghost bobbed up in the fairway. I'dcome to look on Rocky's aunt as such a permanency at her own home thatit didn't seem possible that she could really be here in New York. Istared at her. Then I looked at Jeeves. He was standing there in anattitude of dignified detachment, the chump, when, if ever he shouldhave been rallying round the young master, it was now.

  Rocky's aunt looked less like an invalid than any one I've ever seen,except my Aunt Agatha. She had a good deal of Aunt Agatha about her, asa matter of fact. She looked as if she might be deucedly dangerous ifput upon; and something seemed to tell me that she would certainlyregard herself as put upon if she ever found out the game which poorold Rocky had been pulling on her.

  "Good afternoon," I managed to say.

  "How do you do?" she said. "Mr. Cohan?"

  "Er--no."

  "Mr. Fred Stone?"

  "Not absolutely. As a matter of fact, my name's Wooster--BertieWooster."

  She seemed disappointed. The fine old name of Wooster appeared to meannothing in her life.

  "Isn't Rockmetteller home?" she said. "Where is he?"

  She had me with the first shot. I couldn't think of anything to say. Icouldn't tell her that Rocky was down in the country, watching worms.

  There was the faintest flutter of sound in the background. It was therespectful cough with which Jeeves announces that he is about to speakwithout having been spoken to.

  "If you remember, sir, Mr. Todd went out in the automobile with a partyin the afternoon."

  "So he did, Jeeves; so he did," I said, looking at my watch. "Did hesay when he would be back?"

  "He gave me to understand, sir
, that he would be somewhat late inreturning."

  He vanished; and the aunt took the chair which I'd forgotten to offerher. She looked at me in rather a rummy way. It was a nasty look. Itmade me feel as if I were something the dog had brought in and intendedto bury later on, when he had time. My own Aunt Agatha, back in England,has looked at me in exactly the same way many a time, and it never failsto make my spine curl.

  "You seem very much at home here, young man. Are you a great friend ofRockmetteller's?"

  "Oh, yes, rather!"

  She frowned as if she had expected better things of old Rocky.

  "Well, you need to be," she said, "the way you treat his flat as yourown!"

  I give you my word, this quite unforeseen slam simply robbed me of thepower of speech. I'd been looking on myself in the light of the dashinghost, and suddenly to be treated as an intruder jarred me. It wasn't,mark you, as if she had spoken in a way to suggest that she consideredmy presence in the place as an ordinary social call. She obviouslylooked on me as a cross between a burglar and the plumber's man cometo fix the leak in the bathroom. It hurt her--my being there.

  At this juncture, with the conversation showing every sign of beingabout to die in awful agonies, an idea came to me. Tea--the good oldstand-by.

  "Would you care for a cup of tea?" I said.

  "Tea?"

  She spoke as if she had never heard of the stuff.

  "Nothing like a cup after a journey," I said. "Bucks you up! Puts a bitof zip into you. What I mean is, restores you, and so on, don't youknow. I'll go and tell Jeeves."

  I tottered down the passage to Jeeves's lair. The man was reading theevening paper as if he hadn't a care in the world.

  "Jeeves," I said, "we want some tea."

  "Very good, sir."

  "I say, Jeeves, this is a bit thick, what?"

  I wanted sympathy, don't you know--sympathy and kindness. The old nervecentres had had the deuce of a shock.

  "She's got the idea this place belongs to Mr. Todd. What on earth putthat into her head?"

  Jeeves filled the kettle with a restrained dignity.

  "No doubt because of Mr. Todd's letters, sir," he said. "It was mysuggestion, sir, if you remember, that they should be addressed fromthis apartment in order that Mr. Todd should appear to possess a goodcentral residence in the city."

  I remembered. We had thought it a brainy scheme at the time.

  "Well, it's bally awkward, you know, Jeeves. She looks on me as anintruder. By Jove! I suppose she thinks I'm someone who hangs abouthere, touching Mr. Todd for free meals and borrowing his shirts."

  "Yes, sir."

  "It's pretty rotten, you know."

  "Most disturbing, sir."

  "And there's another thing: What are we to do about Mr. Todd? We've gotto get him up here as soon as ever we can. When you have brought thetea you had better go out and send him a telegram, telling him to comeup by the next train."

  "I have already done so, sir. I took the liberty of writing the messageand dispatching it by the lift attendant."

  "By Jove, you think of everything, Jeeves!"

  "Thank you, sir. A little buttered toast with the tea? Just so, sir.Thank you."

  I went back to the sitting-room. She hadn't moved an inch. She was stillbolt upright on the edge of her chair, gripping her umbrella like ahammer-thrower. She gave me another of those looks as I came in. Therewas no doubt about it; for some reason she had taken a dislike to me. Isuppose because I wasn't George M. Cohan. It was a bit hard on a chap.

  "This is a surprise, what?" I said, after about five minutes' restfulsilence, trying to crank the conversation up again.

  "What is a surprise?"

  "Your coming here, don't you know, and so on."

  She raised her eyebrows and drank me in a bit more through her glasses.

  "Why is it surprising that I should visit my only nephew?" she said.

  Put like that, of course, it did seem reasonable.

  "Oh, rather," I said. "Of course! Certainly. What I mean is----"

  Jeeves projected himself into the room with the tea. I was jolly gladto see him. There's nothing like having a bit of business arranged forone when one isn't certain of one's lines. With the teapot to foolabout with I felt happier.

  "Tea, tea, tea--what? What?" I said.

  It wasn't what I had meant to say. My idea had been to be a good dealmore formal, and so on. Still, it covered the situation. I poured herout a cup. She sipped it and put the cup down with a shudder.

  "Do you mean to say, young man," she said frostily, "that you expect meto drink this stuff?"

  "Rather! Bucks you up, you know."

  "What do you mean by the expression 'Bucks you up'?"

  "Well, makes you full of beans, you know. Makes you fizz."

  "I don't understand a word you say. You're English, aren't you?"

  I admitted it. She didn't say a word. And somehow she did it in a waythat made it worse than if she had spoken for hours. Somehow it wasbrought home to me that she didn't like Englishmen, and that if she hadhad to meet an Englishman, I was the one she'd have chosen last.

  Conversation languished again after that.

  Then I tried again. I was becoming more convinced every moment that youcan't make a real lively _salon_ with a couple of people,especially if one of them lets it go a word at a time.

  "Are you comfortable at your hotel?" I said.

  "At which hotel?"

  "The hotel you're staying at."

  "I am not staying at an hotel."

  "Stopping with friends--what?"

  "I am naturally stopping with my nephew."

  I didn't get it for the moment; then it hit me.

  "What! Here?" I gurgled.

  "Certainly! Where else should I go?"

  The full horror of the situation rolled over me like a wave. I couldn'tsee what on earth I was to do. I couldn't explain that this wasn'tRocky's flat without giving the poor old chap away hopelessly, becauseshe would then ask me where he did live, and then he would be right inthe soup. I was trying to induce the old bean to recover from the shockand produce some results when she spoke again.

  "Will you kindly tell my nephew's man-servant to prepare my room? Iwish to lie down."

  "Your nephew's man-servant?"

  "The man you call Jeeves. If Rockmetteller has gone for an automobileride, there is no need for you to wait for him. He will naturally wishto be alone with me when he returns."

  I found myself tottering out of the room. The thing was too much forme. I crept into Jeeves's den.

  "Jeeves!" I whispered.

  "Sir?"

  "Mix me a b.-and-s., Jeeves. I feel weak."

  "Very good, sir."

  "This is getting thicker every minute, Jeeves."

  "Sir?"

  "She thinks you're Mr. Todd's man. She thinks the whole place is his,and everything in it. I don't see what you're to do, except stay on andkeep it up. We can't say anything or she'll get on to the whole thing,and I don't want to let Mr. Todd down. By the way, Jeeves, she wantsyou to prepare her bed."

  He looked wounded.

  "It is hardly my place, sir----"

  "I know--I know. But do it as a personal favour to me. If you come tothat, it's hardly my place to be flung out of the flat like this andhave to go to an hotel, what?"

  "Is it your intention to go to an hotel, sir? What will you do forclothes?"

  "Good Lord! I hadn't thought of that. Can you put a few things in a bagwhen she isn't looking, and sneak them down to me at the St. Aurea?"

  "I will endeavour to do so, sir."

  "Well, I don't think there's anything more, is there? Tell Mr. Toddwhere I am when he gets here."

  "Very good, sir."

  I looked round the place. The moment of parting had come. I felt sad.The whole thing reminded me of one of those melodramas where they drivechappies out of the old homestead into the snow.

  "Good-bye, Jeeves," I said.

  "Good-bye, sir."
br />   And I staggered out.

  * * * * *

  You know, I rather think I agree with those poet-and-philosopherJohnnies who insist that a fellow ought to be devilish pleased if hehas a bit of trouble. All that stuff about being refined by suffering,you know. Suffering does give a chap a sort of broader and moresympathetic outlook. It helps you to understand other people'smisfortunes if you've been through the same thing yourself.

  As I stood in my lonely bedroom at the hotel, trying to tie my whitetie myself, it struck me for the first time that there must be wholesquads of chappies in the world who had to get along without a man tolook after them. I'd always thought of Jeeves as a kind of naturalphenomenon; but, by Jove! of course, when you come to think of it,there must be quite a lot of fellows who have to press their ownclothes themselves and haven't got anybody to bring them tea in themorning, and so on. It was rather a solemn thought, don't you know. Imean to say, ever since then I've been able to appreciate the frightfulprivations the poor have to stick.

  I got dressed somehow. Jeeves hadn't forgotten a thing in his packing.Everything was there, down to the final stud. I'm not sure this didn'tmake me feel worse. It kind of deepened the pathos. It was like whatsomebody or other wrote about the touch of a vanished hand.

  I had a bit of dinner somewhere and went to a show of some kind; butnothing seemed to make any difference. I simply hadn't the heart to goon to supper anywhere. I just sucked down a whisky-and-soda in thehotel smoking-room and went straight up to bed. I don't know when I'vefelt so rotten. Somehow I found myself moving about the room softly, asif there had been a death in the family. If I had anybody to talk to Ishould have talked in a whisper; in fact, when the telephone-bell rangI answered in such a sad, hushed voice that the fellow at the other endof the wire said "Halloa!" five times, thinking he hadn't got me.

  It was Rocky. The poor old scout was deeply agitated.

  "Bertie! Is that you, Bertie! Oh, gosh? I'm having a time!"

  "Where are you speaking from?"

  "The Midnight Revels. We've been here an hour, and I think we're afixture for the night. I've told Aunt Isabel I've gone out to call up afriend to join us. She's glued to a chair, with this-is-the-lifewritten all over her, taking it in through the pores. She loves it, andI'm nearly crazy."

  "Tell me all, old top," I said.

  "A little more of this," he said, "and I shall sneak quietly off to theriver and end it all. Do you mean to say you go through this sort ofthing every night, Bertie, and enjoy it? It's simply infernal! I wasjust snatching a wink of sleep behind the bill of fare just now whenabout a million yelling girls swooped down, with toy balloons. Thereare two orchestras here, each trying to see if it can't play louderthan the other. I'm a mental and physical wreck. When your telegramarrived I was just lying down for a quiet pipe, with a sense ofabsolute peace stealing over me. I had to get dressed and sprint twomiles to catch the train. It nearly gave me heart-failure; and on topof that I almost got brain fever inventing lies to tell Aunt Isabel.And then I had to cram myself into these confounded evening clothes ofyours."

  I gave a sharp wail of agony. It hadn't struck me till then that Rockywas depending on my wardrobe to see him through.

  "You'll ruin them!"

  "I hope so," said Rocky, in the most unpleasant way. His troublesseemed to have had the worst effect on his character. "I should like toget back at them somehow; they've given me a bad enough time. They'reabout three sizes too small, and something's apt to give at any moment.I wish to goodness it would, and give me a chance to breathe. I haven'tbreathed since half-past seven. Thank Heaven, Jeeves managed to get outand buy me a collar that fitted, or I should be a strangled corpse bynow! It was touch and go till the stud broke. Bertie, this is pureHades! Aunt Isabel keeps on urging me to dance. How on earth can Idance when I don't know a soul to dance with? And how the deuce couldI, even if I knew every girl in the place? It's taking big chances evento move in these trousers. I had to tell her I've hurt my ankle. Shekeeps asking me when Cohan and Stone are going to turn up; and it'ssimply a question of time before she discovers that Stone is sittingtwo tables away. Something's got to be done, Bertie! You've got tothink up some way of getting me out of this mess. It was you who got meinto it."

  "Me! What do you mean?"

  "Well, Jeeves, then. It's all the same. It was you who suggestedleaving it to Jeeves. It was those letters I wrote from his notes thatdid the mischief. I made them too good! My aunt's just been telling meabout it. She says she had resigned herself to ending her life whereshe was, and then my letters began to arrive, describing the joys ofNew York; and they stimulated her to such an extent that she pulledherself together and made the trip. She seems to think she's had somemiraculous kind of faith cure. I tell you I can't stand it, Bertie!It's got to end!"

  "Can't Jeeves think of anything?"

  "No. He just hangs round saying: 'Most disturbing, sir!' A fat lot ofhelp that is!"

  "Well, old lad," I said, "after all, it's far worse for me than it isfor you. You've got a comfortable home and Jeeves. And you're saving alot of money."

  "Saving money? What do you mean--saving money?"

  "Why, the allowance your aunt was giving you. I suppose she's payingall the expenses now, isn't she?"

  "Certainly she is; but she's stopped the allowance. She wrote thelawyers to-night. She says that, now she's in New York, there is nonecessity for it to go on, as we shall always be together, and it'ssimpler for her to look after that end of it. I tell you, Bertie, I'veexamined the darned cloud with a microscope, and if it's got a silverlining it's some little dissembler!"

  "But, Rocky, old top, it's too bally awful! You've no notion of whatI'm going through in this beastly hotel, without Jeeves. I must getback to the flat."

  "Don't come near the flat."

  "But it's my own flat."

  "I can't help that. Aunt Isabel doesn't like you. She asked me what youdid for a living. And when I told her you didn't do anything she saidshe thought as much, and that you were a typical specimen of a uselessand decaying aristocracy. So if you think you have made a hit, forgetit. Now I must be going back, or she'll be coming out here after me.Good-bye."

  * * * * *

  Next morning Jeeves came round. It was all so home-like when he floatednoiselessly into the room that I nearly broke down.

  "Good morning, sir," he said. "I have brought a few more of yourpersonal belongings."

  He began to unstrap the suit-case he was carrying.

  "Did you have any trouble sneaking them away?"

  "It was not easy, sir. I had to watch my chance. Miss Rockmetteller isa remarkably alert lady."

  "You know, Jeeves, say what you like--this is a bit thick, isn't it?"

  "The situation is certainly one that has never before come under mynotice, sir. I have brought the heather-mixture suit, as the climaticconditions are congenial. To-morrow, if not prevented, I will endeavourto add the brown lounge with the faint green twill."

  "It can't go on--this sort of thing--Jeeves."

  "We must hope for the best, sir."

  "Can't you think of anything to do?"

  "I have been giving the matter considerable thought, sir, but so farwithout success. I am placing three silk shirts--the dove-coloured, thelight blue, and the mauve--in the first long drawer, sir."

  "You don't mean to say you can't think of anything, Jeeves?"

  "For the moment, sir, no. You will find a dozen handkerchiefs and thetan socks in the upper drawer on the left." He strapped the suit-caseand put it on a chair. "A curious lady, Miss Rockmetteller, sir."

  "You understate it, Jeeves."

  He gazed meditatively out of the window.

  "In many ways, sir, Miss Rockmetteller reminds me of an aunt of minewho resides in the south-east portion of London. Their temperaments aremuch alike. My aunt has the same taste for the pleasures of the greatcity. It is a passion with her to ride in hansom cabs, sir. Wheneverthe
family take their eyes off her she escapes from the house andspends the day riding about in cabs. On several occasions she hasbroken into the children's savings bank to secure the means to enableher to gratify this desire."

  "I love to have these little chats with you about your femalerelatives, Jeeves," I said coldly, for I felt that the man had let medown, and I was fed up with him. "But I don't see what all this has gotto do with my trouble."

  "I beg your pardon, sir. I am leaving a small assortment of neckties onthe mantelpiece, sir, for you to select according to your preference. Ishould recommend the blue with the red domino pattern, sir."

  Then he streamed imperceptibly toward the door and flowed silently out.

  * * * * *

  I've often heard that chappies, after some great shock or loss, have ahabit, after they've been on the floor for a while wondering what hitthem, of picking themselves up and piecing themselves together, andsort of taking a whirl at beginning a new life. Time, the great healer,and Nature, adjusting itself, and so on and so forth. There's a lot init. I know, because in my own case, after a day or two of what youmight call prostration, I began to recover. The frightful loss ofJeeves made any thought of pleasure more or less a mockery, but atleast I found that I was able to have a dash at enjoying life again.What I mean is, I was braced up to the extent of going round the cabaretsonce more, so as to try to forget, if only for the moment.

  New York's a small place when it comes to the part of it that wakes upjust as the rest is going to bed, and it wasn't long before my tracksbegan to cross old Rocky's. I saw him once at Peale's, and again atFrolics on the roof. There wasn't anybody with him either time exceptthe aunt, and, though he was trying to look as if he had struck theideal life, it wasn't difficult for me, knowing the circumstances, tosee that beneath the mask the poor chap was suffering. My heart bledfor the fellow. At least, what there was of it that wasn't bleeding formyself bled for him. He had the air of one who was about to crack underthe strain.

  It seemed to me that the aunt was looking slightly upset also. I tookit that she was beginning to wonder when the celebrities were going tosurge round, and what had suddenly become of all those wild, carelessspirits Rocky used to mix with in his letters. I didn't blame her. Ihad only read a couple of his letters, but they certainly gave theimpression that poor old Rocky was by way of being the hub of New Yorknight life, and that, if by any chance he failed to show up at acabaret, the management said: "What's the use?" and put up theshutters.

  The next two nights I didn't come across them, but the night after thatI was sitting by myself at the Maison Pierre when somebody tapped me onthe shoulder-blade, and I found Rocky standing beside me, with a sortof mixed expression of wistfulness and apoplexy on his face. How thechappie had contrived to wear my evening clothes so many times withoutdisaster was a mystery to me. He confided later that early in theproceedings he had slit the waistcoat up the back and that that hadhelped a bit.

  For a moment I had the idea that he had managed to get away from hisaunt for the evening; but, looking past him, I saw that she was inagain. She was at a table over by the wall, looking at me as if I weresomething the management ought to be complained to about.

  "Bertie, old scout," said Rocky, in a quiet, sort of crushed voice,"we've always been pals, haven't we? I mean, you know I'd do you a goodturn if you asked me?"

  "My dear old lad," I said. The man had moved me.

  "Then, for Heaven's sake, come over and sit at our table for the restof the evening."

  Well, you know, there are limits to the sacred claims of friendship.

  "My dear chap," I said, "you know I'd do anything in reason; but----"

  "You must come, Bertie. You've got to. Something's got to be done todivert her mind. She's brooding about something. She's been like thatfor the last two days. I think she's beginning to suspect. She can'tunderstand why we never seem to meet anyone I know at these joints. Afew nights ago I happened to run into two newspaper men I used to knowfairly well. That kept me going for a while. I introduced them to AuntIsabel as David Belasco and Jim Corbett, and it went well. But the effecthas worn off now, and she's beginning to wonder again. Something's got tobe done, or she will find out everything, and if she does I'd take anickel for my chance of getting a cent from her later on. So, for thelove of Mike, come across to our table and help things along."

  I went along. One has to rally round a pal in distress. Aunt Isabel wassitting bolt upright, as usual. It certainly did seem as if she hadlost a bit of the zest with which she had started out to exploreBroadway. She looked as if she had been thinking a good deal aboutrather unpleasant things.

  "You've met Bertie Wooster, Aunt Isabel?" said Rocky.

  "I have."

  There was something in her eye that seemed to say:

  "Out of a city of six million people, why did you pick on me?"

  "Take a seat, Bertie. What'll you have?" said Rocky.

  And so the merry party began. It was one of those jolly, happy,bread-crumbling parties where you cough twice before you speak, andthen decide not to say it after all. After we had had an hour of thiswild dissipation, Aunt Isabel said she wanted to go home. In the lightof what Rocky had been telling me, this struck me as sinister. I hadgathered that at the beginning of her visit she had had to be draggedhome with ropes.

  It must have hit Rocky the same way, for he gave me a pleading look.

  "You'll come along, won't you, Bertie, and have a drink at the flat?"

  I had a feeling that this wasn't in the contract, but there wasn'tanything to be done. It seemed brutal to leave the poor chap alone withthe woman, so I went along.

  Right from the start, from the moment we stepped into the taxi, thefeeling began to grow that something was about to break loose. Amassive silence prevailed in the corner where the aunt sat, and,though Rocky, balancing himself on the little seat in front, did hisbest to supply dialogue, we weren't a chatty party.

  I had a glimpse of Jeeves as we went into the flat, sitting in hislair, and I wished I could have called to him to rally round. Somethingtold me that I was about to need him.

  The stuff was on the table in the sitting-room. Rocky took up thedecanter.

  "Say when, Bertie."

  "Stop!" barked the aunt, and he dropped it.

  I caught Rocky's eye as he stooped to pick up the ruins. It was the eyeof one who sees it coming.

  "Leave it there, Rockmetteller!" said Aunt Isabel; and Rocky left itthere.

  "The time has come to speak," she said. "I cannot stand idly by and seea young man going to perdition!"

  Poor old Rocky gave a sort of gurgle, a kind of sound rather like thewhisky had made running out of the decanter on to my carpet.

  "Eh?" he said, blinking.

  The aunt proceeded.

  "The fault," she said, "was mine. I had not then seen the light. Butnow my eyes are open. I see the hideous mistake I have made. I shudderat the thought of the wrong I did you, Rockmetteller, by urging youinto contact with this wicked city."

  I saw Rocky grope feebly for the table. His fingers touched it, and alook of relief came into the poor chappie's face. I understood hisfeelings.

  "But when I wrote you that letter, Rockmetteller, instructing you to goto the city and live its life, I had not had the privilege of hearingMr. Mundy speak on the subject of New York."

  "Jimmy Mundy!" I cried.

  You know how it is sometimes when everything seems all mixed up andyou suddenly get a clue. When she mentioned Jimmy Mundy I began tounderstand more or less what had happened. I'd seen it happen before.I remember, back in England, the man I had before Jeeves sneaked offto a meeting on his evening out and came back and denounced me in frontof a crowd of chappies I was giving a bit of supper to as a moral leper.

  The aunt gave me a withering up and down.

  "Yes; Jimmy Mundy!" she said. "I am surprised at a man of your stamphaving heard of him. There is no music, there are no drunken, dancingmen, no shameless,
flaunting women at his meetings; so for you they wouldhave no attraction. But for others, less dead in sin, he has his message.He has come to save New York from itself; to force it--in his picturesquephrase--to hit the trail. It was three days ago, Rockmetteller, that Ifirst heard him. It was an accident that took me to his meeting. Howoften in this life a mere accident may shape our whole future!

  "You had been called away by that telephone message from Mr. Belasco;so you could not take me to the Hippodrome, as we had arranged. I askedyour man-servant, Jeeves, to take me there. The man has very littleintelligence. He seems to have misunderstood me. I am thankful that hedid. He took me to what I subsequently learned was Madison SquareGarden, where Mr. Mundy is holding his meetings. He escorted me to aseat and then left me. And it was not till the meeting had begun that Idiscovered the mistake which had been made. My seat was in the middleof a row. I could not leave without inconveniencing a great manypeople, so I remained."

  She gulped.

  "Rockmetteller, I have never been so thankful for anything else. Mr.Mundy was wonderful! He was like some prophet of old, scourging thesins of the people. He leaped about in a frenzy of inspiration till Ifeared he would do himself an injury. Sometimes he expressed himself ina somewhat odd manner, but every word carried conviction. He showed meNew York in its true colours. He showed me the vanity and wickedness ofsitting in gilded haunts of vice, eating lobster when decent peopleshould be in bed.

  "He said that the tango and the fox-trot were devices of the devil todrag people down into the Bottomless Pit. He said that there was moresin in ten minutes with a negro banjo orchestra than in all the ancientrevels of Nineveh and Babylon. And when he stood on one leg and pointedright at where I was sitting and shouted, 'This means you!' I couldhave sunk through the floor. I came away a changed woman. Surely youmust have noticed the change in me, Rockmetteller? You must have seenthat I was no longer the careless, thoughtless person who had urged youto dance in those places of wickedness?"

  Rocky was holding on to the table as if it was his only friend.

  "Y-yes," he stammered; "I--I thought something was wrong."

  "Wrong? Something was right! Everything was right! Rockmetteller, it isnot too late for you to be saved. You have only sipped of the evil cup.You have not drained it. It will be hard at first, but you will findthat you can do it if you fight with a stout heart against the glamourand fascination of this dreadful city. Won't you, for my sake, try,Rockmetteller? Won't you go back to the country to-morrow and begin thestruggle? Little by little, if you use your will----"

  I can't help thinking it must have been that word "will" that rouseddear old Rocky like a trumpet call. It must have brought home to himthe realisation that a miracle had come off and saved him from beingcut out of Aunt Isabel's. At any rate, as she said it he perked up, letgo of the table, and faced her with gleaming eyes.

  "Do you want me to go back to the country, Aunt Isabel?"

  "Yes."

  "Not to live in the country?"

  "Yes, Rockmetteller."

  "Stay in the country all the time, do you mean? Never come to NewYork?"

  "Yes, Rockmetteller; I mean just that. It is the only way. Only therecan you be safe from temptation. Will you do it, Rockmetteller? Willyou--for my sake?"

  Rocky grabbed the table again. He seemed to draw a lot of encouragementfrom that table.

  "I will!" he said.

  * * * * *

  "Jeeves," I said. It was next day, and I was back in the old flat, lyingin the old arm-chair, with my feet upon the good old table. I had justcome from seeing dear old Rocky off to his country cottage, and an hourbefore he had seen his aunt off to whatever hamlet it was that she wasthe curse of; so we were alone at last. "Jeeves, there's no place likehome--what?"

  "Very true, sir."

  "The jolly old roof-tree, and all that sort of thing--what?"

  "Precisely, sir."

  I lit another cigarette.

  "Jeeves."

  "Sir?"

  "Do you know, at one point in the business I really thought you werebaffled."

  "Indeed, sir?"

  "When did you get the idea of taking Miss Rockmetteller to the meeting?It was pure genius!"

  "Thank you, sir. It came to me a little suddenly, one morning when Iwas thinking of my aunt, sir."

  "Your aunt? The hansom cab one?"

  "Yes, sir. I recollected that, whenever we observed one of her attackscoming on, we used to send for the clergyman of the parish. We alwaysfound that if he talked to her a while of higher things it diverted hermind from hansom cabs. It occurred to me that the same treatment mightprove efficacious in the case of Miss Rockmetteller."

  I was stunned by the man's resource.

  "It's brain," I said; "pure brain! What do you do to get like that,Jeeves? I believe you must eat a lot of fish, or something. Do you eata lot of fish, Jeeves?"

  "No, sir."

  "Oh, well, then, it's just a gift, I take it; and if you aren't bornthat way there's no use worrying."

  "Precisely, sir," said Jeeves. "If I might make the suggestion, sir, Ishould not continue to wear your present tie. The green shade gives youa slightly bilious air. I should strongly advocate the blue with thered domino pattern instead, sir."

  "All right, Jeeves." I said humbly. "You know!"

  THE END

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