Summer Moonshine by P. G. Wodehouse

  'Sure.'

  'Are you a paying guest?'

  'Sure.'

  'Can anyone be a paying guest?'

  'Sure.'

  'Well, this is the most amazing thing I ever heard. How long has this been going on?'

  'I don't know. Quite a time, I guess. There were already six souls in captivity when I arrived. Half these folks with big houses take in paying guests nowadays. They have to, or they don't eat.'

  'So I can just walk in and ask for a reservation?'

  'If you've got what it takes. You pay as you enter. Can you ante up?'

  'Of course.'

  'Prices run kind of high.'

  'That's all right. I've plenty of money.'

  'Been robbing a bank?'

  'Been knocking the drama-loving public's eye out with the biggest comedy hit there's been in years. Don't you ever read the papers? My play opened the night before last. A smacko.'

  'Then you're just the sort of bird they need up here. They'll put out the red carpet.'

  Joe regarded his brother affectionately.

  'Gosh!' he said. 'It was a bit of luck finding you on the premises.'

  'Who told you I was here?'

  'A female with an Oxford accent. I don't know her name. She came to that houseboat down there when I happened to be on it just now.'

  Tubby started. His face hardened. He was eyeing Joe in a cold and unbrotherly manner.

  'Was it you,' he said gratingly, 'that I saw hugging Miss Whittaker?'

  'Is her name Whittaker? No, of course, I didn't hug her.'

  'You did.'

  'I didn't, blast you. Do you think a busy man like me has got time to go about hugging girls? Apart from being too spiritual, anyway.'

  'I distinctly saw you leap from the boat and clasp her in your embrace.'

  'Ah, that's different. Yes, I did that. But purely because I lost my equilibrium and had to clutch at a straw. She was the straw. But how did you see us? You weren't there.'

  'Field-glasses,' said Tubby briefly.

  The significance of the statement was not lost on Joe.

  'You were snooping after her with field-glasses? Tubby, this means something. You had better tell me all about it, my lad. Is this love?'

  Tubby shuffled his feet.

  'Well, it is and it isn't.'

  'Make up your mind.'

  'Well, it's this way, Joe: I—'

  A sudden urge to confide his tragedy to a sympathetic ear overcame Tubby. He was not a man who found it easy to keep his troubles to himself.

  'Listen, Joe, I'll tell you the whole thing. I love her. Yes, I'll admit that I love her.'

  'Of course.'

  'What do you mean, of course?'

  'Well, don't you always love every girl you meet?'

  Tubby began to wonder whether, in classing his brother's ear as sympathetic, he had not made an incorrect diagnosis. But he persevered.

  'Oh, I know I've played around in the past—'

  'I'll say you have. You started telephoning girls as soon as your childish voice had learned to lisp in numbers.'

  'I know, I know. But this was the real thing.'

  'I see.'

  'Quite different from those boyish flirtations.'

  'I see.'

  'I worshipped the very ground she walked on.'

  'I see.'

  Joe looked at his brother commiseratingly He felt that it was his duty to speak out. The impression he had gathered from Miss Whittaker's manner was that Tubby had added one more to his long list of lemons in the garden of love, and it seemed to him that he ought to be given some inkling of the state of affairs. No use letting the poor clam go on living in a fool's paradise.

  'Say, Tubby,' he said, 'I don't want to shatter your dreams and all that, but are you sure you've clicked in that direction quite so solidly as you imagine? I ought to tell you that, when we were discussing you, the girl's manner struck me as odd. It seemed to me lacking in warmth. I don't want to alarm you, but if you haven't already started getting measured for the wedding trousers, I think I'd put it off for a while, if I were you. I believe you've picked another loser.'

  'Oh, sure.' A hacking, mirthless laugh broke from Tubby's lips as if he had been a fiend in hell listening to another fiend telling a good one. 'All is over between us, if that's what you mean. Everything completely washed up.'

  'Why, what happened?'

  'Oh, we had a fight.'

  'What about?'

  'Well, it started because she didn't like the way I talked.'

  'What did you say that shocked her so much?'

  'I said I liked tomayto ketchup.'

  Joe considered this, and found himself perplexed. He could see nothing so very licentious in the words, nothing calculated to give offence to a broad-minded modern girl.

  'She said I ought to say "tomarto ketchup".'

  'Oh, I get you. Well, why didn't you point out that a girl who says "Quate" and "desi-ah" has a nerve criticizing other people's "tomaytoes"?'

  'I did. And it got her a good deal steamed up. One word led to another, and in about a couple of minutes we were going at it hot and heavy. And just as I was saying she dropped her aitches and she was calling me an obstinate, pig-headed vulgarian, guess what.'

  'What?'

  'What do you think?'

  'What?'

  'The afternoon mail came in.'

  He paused dramatically. Joe shook his head.

  'I'm sorry, Tubby. I want to be a ministering angel, but I can't follow the plot. Why was that such a terrific second-act curtain?'

  Tubby's voice shook, growing shrill with the anguish of remembered wrongs:

  'Because there was a package for her. A smallish brown-paper package. Registered! And I could feel there was a cardboard box inside it.'

  'You felt it?'

  'Sure. I said, "Hello, what's this?" and picked it up.'

  'Inquisitive young hound.'

  'Nothing of the kind. I was simply changing the subject. And I had taken out my knife and was starting to cut the string for her, purely with the idea of doing the civil thing and saving her trouble, when she let out a kind of screech and snatched the package from me. At the same time blushing. Blushing! Get that. Her whole map flooded by a crimson blush.'

  'Strange.'

  'Nothing strange about it. I saw the reason in a flash. Inside that package she knew there was jewellery She had been two-timing me, and this was a present from the other fellow.'

  'Why on earth should you think that?'

  'What else could I think, when she wouldn't show it to me?'

  'It might have been something she just didn't want you to see.'

  'You're darned right, it was something she didn't want me to see. It was a brooch or a sunburst from this city slicker in the background. Her behaviour, when I taxed her with it, was enough to tell me that. I said, "If you won't let me look, I shall know what to think." She said, "Think what you please." I said, "Very good. Then this is the end." She said, "Quate." And there the matter rests.'

  Joe, softened by his own great love, was much too tenderhearted not to be moved by this unbaring of a strong man's soul. He gave his brother's shoulder a kindly slap. It would have made Mortimer Busby leap like a jumping bean, but it seemed to please Tubby. He snorted rather gratefully.

  'Chin up!' said Joe.

  'Oh, I'm all right,' said Tubby with another of those hacking laughs. 'You don't suppose I care, do you? Come on, let's go.'

  He rose and started toward the gates of the Hall. Joe followed him, pondering over this revelation. They turned in and made for the terrace.

  'So everything's off?'

  'Right off.'

  'Any idea who the other fellow is?'

  'I'll tell you who I thought it might be, for a time. A guy named Peake.'

  'Peake?'

  'I told you about him last time we met. The twerp that's always hanging around Heloise. It struck me as darned suspicious when Prudence told me that he had turned up he
re and was living on the houseboat. And then I asked myself: Was Peake the sort of man who would spend his cash buying jewellery for girls? And I felt, no, he wasn't. I could see him sending poisoned chocolates to someone – cheap ones, of course – but not jewellery And then it turned out that the reason he was down here was because he was engaged to Sir Buckstone's daughter Jane. That cleared him. I saw that I had wronged the bird. Peake was innocent. . . . Wait here,' said Tubby, 'and I'll go in and find the old boy and tell him you've arrived.'

  He went into the house, leaving Joe standing rooted to the spot, trying to cope with this shocking piece of news, so much harder to digest than even a Goose and Gander breakfast. His brother's words had stunned him.

  From time to time, since Jane had left him, Joe Vanringham had given a certain amount of fugitive thought to the unknown to whom she was betrothed, but never in his most gloomy moments had he imagined that this shadowy figure would turn out to be anyone like Adrian Peake. The mental picture he had drawn had been of some red-faced young squire of the neighbourhood, hunting foxes and massacring pheasants with a hearty, 'Eh, what?' Girls, he knew, were notoriously odd in matters of the heart – goddesses had mated with shepherds, and princesses with tenders of swine – but it seemed incredible that any girl could have been so odd as to get engaged to Adrian Peake.

  Adrian Peake! He was able to understand now his guest's abrupt departure from the luncheon table.

  Adrian Peake! His gratitude to providence waned. It had not turned in so grand a job as he had supposed. Far, very far from it. It was all very well for providence to introduce him into Walsingford Hall and then sit back smiling and rubbing its hands as if that had fixed everything nicely. What did it profit him to be at the Hall if Adrian Peake was to be there too? The one essential for a Young Lochinvar is a clear field with the other fellow out of the way.

  What was really required, he perceived, was some masterstroke that would eliminate Adrian Peake from the Walsingford scene and keep him eliminated.

  He awoke from his thoughts to see Tubby returning.

  'His Nibs will be out in a minute,' said Tubby. 'He's just washing the dog. He's tickled pink, as I anticipated.'

  'Tubby' said Joe, 'I've been thinking.'

  'What about?'

  'This business of yours. Wondering if you are right in dismissing Peake so lightly. I believe he's your man.'

  'But I told you he was engaged to Jane Abbott.'

  'Where did you hear that?'

  'From Jane in person.'

  'Does Sir Buckstone know about it?'

  'I guess not. I seem to remember Jane saying something about it being a secret. I don't blame her for not wanting to spring it on him. Peake hasn't a bean in the world, except what he can cadge from people. I should imagine Sir Buckstone would hit the ceiling. Still, they seem to be definitely engaged.'

  'But even so—'

  'If Peake's tied up with Jane, what would he be doing fooling around with—'

  'Just the sort of thing he would do, if you ask me. Being engaged to one girl wouldn't stop Peake making passes at another girl. The more the merrier with A. Peake. He's that sort of fellow.'

  A dark flush came into Tubby's face.

  'Oh,' he said. 'Trying to turn this joint into an abode of love, is he? Well, first thing after lunch, I step along to that houseboat and paste him right on the smush.'

  A thrill of quiet happiness pervaded Joe Vanringham. It was clear to him that the houseboat Mignonette, with all its claims on Sir Buckstone Abbott's hospitality, would shortly be vacant. He thought he had read Adrian Peake's character well enough to be convinced that to remain in a spot where people were scheming to paste him in the smush would be totally foreign to his policy.

  'Peake,' he said, with virtuous distaste, 'is obviously a heartless philanderer. Look at this note. Miss Whittaker left it for him.'

  Tubby leaped.

  'A note?'

  'Here it is. What do you make of that? What does that suggest to you?'

  'She wouldn't leave a note for him if he wasn't the fellow.'

  'Precisely. A sound piece of reasoning. Gosh, Tubby, you're shrewd.'

  'Gimme,' said Tubby.

  This, Joe felt, was not so good. That his brother should see the contents of the envelope which he was holding was the last thing he desired. He knew only too well how sedative they would be. Thinking to peruse words of guilty passion from the girl who had deceived him and finding only an innocent invitation to buns and croquet from a blameless Baronet, he would be discouraged in his crusade. He would waver, hesitate, possibly abandon altogether that excellent plan of his of pasting Peake in the smush.

  He set himself to squash the idea.

  'You can't read another man's letters!'

  'Watch me,' said Tubby, and flicked it from his grasp.

  It was just as Joe had feared. Before his eyes, his incandescent brother was visibly cooling off. He had come in like a lion. Reading this note had made him a lamb.

  'No,' he said. 'You're wrong. Peake isn't the fellow. This is just a note from Sir Buckstone, asking him to come up and mix.'

  Joe did his best: 'Still—'

  'No, it can't be Peake.'

  Joe continued to do his best, though he was feeling baffled and despondent, like a cinquecento Italian prince who, after engaging a hired assassin to do a job of work, is informed that the fellow has got religion and retired from business.

  'Still, just to be on the safe side, don't you think it would be as well to see him and tell him that if he's around these parts tomorrow, you will twist his neck and drop him in the river? It can't do any harm.'

  'Yes, it can. And I'll tell you why. What about Jane biting a piece out of my leg for talking tough to her boy friend. And here's another thought: Suppose Peake went and told Heloise. She's pretty sold on him. No, I'm well out of it, I guess. It would never have done, anyway. . . . Hey!' said Tubby, driving a finger into Joe's ribs. He indicated a stocky figure approaching across the terrace. 'Here comes Sir Buckstone. I'll leave you to it.'

  CHAPTER 9

  SIR Buckstone Abbot's weather-beaten face seemed to be wavering between a hospitable smile and the rigidity of embarrassment. In the manner in which he smacked his gaitered leg with his hunting crop there was something almost coy. Joe gathered that he did not, as a rule, conduct these business conferences in person.

  'Mr Vanringham?'

  'How do you do?'

  'How do you do?'

  'I have been admiring your view,' said Joe agreeably.

  Sir Buckstone took a look at it and delivered another onslaught on his leg.

  'Eh? Oh, yes, capital view. The river and all that.'

  'Yes.'

  'On a clear day you can see to – I forget where, but quite a distance.'

  'It's pretty clear this morning.'

  'Oh, very. Yes, nice and clear. Er – your brother tells me, Mr Vanringham – I hear that you – ah—'

  'Yes.'

  'Delighted. We are all very fond of your brother. Tubby, eh? Ha-ha! Tubby.'

  'I hope you will have room for me at the Hall.'

  'Oh, yes, lots of room. Big place. Costs the deuce of a lot to keep up. Er – ha – hr'rmph,' said Sir Buckstone, catching himself a nasty one with the hunting crop.

  Joe felt that the time had come to help him out.

  'When I was chatting with my brother, Sir Buckstone, I rather got the impression that before a fellow entered into residence at Walsingford Hall, there were certain formalities to be observed. Putting it briefly, he hinted that one had got to come across.'

  A look of relief came into the Baronet's face. As Joe had surmised, he seldom appeared at these business chats in person. He eyed Joe with affection, approving of his tact.

  'Well, as a matter of fact,' he said, 'yes. One or two of my guests do pay a sort of – er – nominal sum. Helps to keep things going and all that sort of thing. But I usually leave—That is to say, my secretary, Miss Whittaker, generally attends—In sho
rt, I am not quite sure—'

  Once more Joe felt impelled to help out:

  'Perhaps if I had a talk with Miss Whittaker—'

  'Yes, that is what I should suggest.'

  'I shall enjoy meeting Miss Whittaker again.'

  'You've met her?'

  'We have had one short but very agreeable interview. Almost a romp it became at one time. Shall we go and find her, then?'

  'Certainly By all means.' Sir Buckstone coughed. He had taken a great liking to this young man, and benevolence was struggling with the business sense. 'You – er – you mustn't let her overcharge you.'

  'Oh, that's all right.'

  'She sometimes allows her anxiety to help to – er – colour her views on—'

  That's quite all right.' It occurred to Joe that this was an excellent opportunity to give the father of the girl he loved some idea of his financial condition. Fathers like to know these things. 'Money means nothing to me.'

  'It doesn't?' said Sir Buckstone, startled. They had been strolling along the terrace, but he now halted in order to get a better view of this lusus nature.

  'Not a thing. You see, I've so much of it. And pouring in all the time. Take this play of mine that's running in London now.'

  'You're a dramatist, are you?'

  'Yes. Well, as I say, take this play of mine. An enormous success. Suppose we put my royalties for the London run at ten thousand pounds.'

  'Ten thousand?'

  'We want to be conservative.'

  'Of course. Conservative, yes.'

  'Then, on top of that there are the provincial rights, the American rights, the Australian rights, the picture rights, radio rights, amateur rights, future musical-comedy rights, future picture rights on those, translation into the French, the German, the Italian, the Czechoslovak—Shall we say fifty thousand pounds in all?'

  'Fifty thousand!'

  'We are being conservative,' Joe reminded him.

  'That's a great deal of money.'

  'Oh, no. Just a beginning. Merely scratching the surface, you might say. We now come to my next one.'

  'You have written another?'

  'Not yet. But when I do. Suppose we pencil in a hundred thousand for that, because, of course, one will make one's price for the picture rights stiffer. We must take that into consideration.'