Pelham Wodehouse - Spring Fever

"Good. Well, for a while, as I told you, he appeared quietly happy. I introduced myself, and we chatted at our ease. About you, and how lovely your hair was and how your nose turned up at the tip and how I was going to marry you, and so on and so forth. All very pleasant and cosy. And then Stanwood blew in, and his happiness waned."

"Didn't he like Stanwood?"

"That's just the trouble. He loved him not wisely but too well. Apparently they had met earlier in the proceedings and formed a beautiful friendship. You know those friendships where Friend A can conceal nothing from Friend B, and vice versa."

"You don't mean he—"

"Exactly."

"Oh, Shorty, Shorty, Shorty!"

"No doubt Stanwood began by telling your father all about the Stoker, and your father, not to be outdone in the courtesies, told Stanwood all about the cook. Not being aware who he was, of course. In these casual encounters in bars names are rarely exchanged. Until I introduced them, Stanwood had been to your father merely a pleasant stranger who looked like a hippopotamus."

"He does look like a hippopotamus, doesn't he?"

"Much more than most hippopotamuses do."

"Not that it matters."

"Not in the least."

"The important thing is, can he keep a secret? Because if he's coming to Beevor—"

"—He will meet your sister Adela. And if he mentions this little matter to your sister Adela, hell's foundations are going to quiver. Precisely. That was the reflection which cast a shadow on your father's sunny mood. He sought for reassurance, but I was not able to give him any. In the lexicon of Stanwood Cobbold, I was compelled to tell him, there is no such word as reticence. He is a beans-spiller of the first order. Over in America we seldom advertise in the papers now. If there is anything we want known, we just tell Stanwood. It's cheaper."

"But this is frightful."

"Exactly what your father said."

"Oh, my goodness."

"I'm not sure if he said that, too, but I think so. The drama gets you, does it? I thought it would. But it's all right. I've only been working up the agony in order to make the happy ending more of a punch."

"Is there a happy ending?"

"There always is when I take things in hand. I found the solution first crack out of the box."

"Are there no limits to the powers of this wonder man?"

"None have yet been discovered. My solution was a very simple one. I suggested that Stanwood should remain in London and that I should go to Beevor in his place."

"As him, do you mean?"

"As him," said Mike.

He beamed at her in the manner of one expecting the approving smile and the word of praise, but Terry was looking thoughtful.

"I see."

"Ingenious?"

"Very."

"It's the only way out of what Augustus Robb would call the am-parce. I am taking it for granted, of course, that you will not gum the game by denouncing me."

"Well, naturally. I can't let Shorty down."

"Of course not. Stoutly spoken, young pip-squeak. Well, that's the scheme, and it seems to me ideal. Your sister wants to entertain Stanwood Cobbold, and she will get a far better Stanwood Cobbold than the original blueprints called for. Stanwood wants to stay in London, because of the Stoker. Your father wants him to stay in London, so that his fatal secret may be preserved. And I want to be at Beevor in order to buckle down to my wooing at close range. It is difficult to see how the setup could be improved. We seem to have a full hand. As one passes through this world, one strives always to scatter light and sweetness and to promote the happiness of the greatest number, and here everybody will be pleased."

"Except me."

"Come, come. Is this the tone?"

"I repeat, except me."

"Don't you want me at Beevor, Lady Teresa?"

"I do not, Mr. Cardinal."

"You say that now, but wait till I start growing on you. Wait till my beautiful nature begins to expand before your eyes like some lovely flower unfolding its petals. Don't you see what a wonderful opportunity this will be for you to become hep to my hidden depths?"

"You haven't any."

"I have, too. Dozens."

"I still stick to it that I don't want you at Beevor."

"Well, it's a mercy I'm coming there. How vividly I remember dear old Beevor, with all its romantic nooks and corners. A lovers' paradise. Sauntering in the shrubberies, seated on the rustic benches, pacing the velvet lawns in the scented dusk and fishing for eels together in the moat, we shall soon get all this nonsense about not marrying me out of your head. 'Golly,' you'll say to yourself, 'what a little mutt I must have been not to have recognized at the very outset that this bimbo was my destined mate!' And you will probably shed a tear or two at the thought of all the time you've wasted. Do you realize that we might have been an old married couple by now if you had let yourself think along the right lines?"

"Aren't you keeping Stanwood waiting?"

"He's left. Our lunch is off. I shall take potluck with you and your father."

"You haven't been invited."

"I don't need to be. I'm from Hollywood. Look, he approaches."

Lord Shortlands was crossing the lobby towards them from the direction of the telephone booths, and so arresting was his aspect that Terry gave a little squeak of surprise.

"What on earth is the matter with him?"

The impression Mike Cardinal received was that someone had been feeding his future father-in-law meat, and he said so.

And certainly in Lord Shortlands' demeanour there was a quite unusual effervescence. Though solidly built, he seemed to skip and amble. His whole appearance closely resembled that of Stanwood Cobbold immediately after taking the healing medicine which Augustus Robb had bought at the drugstore. Stanwood's eyes had revolved in their sockets. His did the same. Stanwood had had the air of a man struck behind the ear by an unexpected thunderbolt. So had Lord Shortlands.

"Terry," he cried, "you know that album?"

He had to swallow once or twice before he could proceed.

"I've just been talking to Desborough on the telephone. He says he's found a stamp in it worth well over a thousand pounds!"

From down Westminster way there floated over London the sound of Big Ben striking half-past two, and Augustus Robb came softly into the living room of Number 7 Bloxham House, Park Lane. He had just finished a late lunch, and was now planning to top it off with a good cigar from his employer's box. He was surprised and disconcerted, having made his selection, to observe Stanwood lying on the sofa.

"Why, 'ullo, cocky," he said, hastily thrusting the corona into the recesses of his costume. "I didn't 'ear you come in."

Stanwood did not speak. His face was turned to the wall, and Augustus Robb, eyeing him, came to a not unnatural conclusion.

"Coo!" he exclaimed. "What, again? You do live, chum. Only a few hours since you 'ad one of the biggest loads on I ever beheld in my mortal puff, and here you are once more, equally stinko. Beats me how you do it. Well, it's lucky for you you ain't in my old line of business, because there intemperance hampers you. Yus. I knew a feller once, Harry Corker his name was, Old Suction Pump we used to call him, got into a house while under the influence, caught hold of the safe as it come round for the second time, started twiddling the knobs, and first thing you know he'd got dance music from a continental station. If he hadn't retained the presence of mind to dive through the window, taking the glass with him, he'd have been for it. Steadied him a good deal, that experience. Well, I suppose I'll have to step out and fetch along another bottle of that stuff. I'll tell the young fellow behind the counter to make it a bit stronger this time."