Pelham Wodehouse - Spring Fever

"Right ho. Say no more about it."

"That's the way to talk. Everything hotsy-totsy once more? Fine. Sure you're quite comfortable, Augustus?"

"Another cushion, Mr.Robb?" said Terry.

"How's the cigar?" said Lord Shortlands.

And Stanwood, showing an almost human intelligence, muttered something about how he had long thought of taking the pledge and would start looking into the matter tomorrow.

"Well, Augustus," said Mike, satisfied with the success of the preliminary operations and feeling that brass tacks could now be got down to, "as I was saying, you couldn't have come at a more fortunate moment. I did mention that his name was on our lips, didn't I?"

"You betcher," said Stanwood.

"You betcher," said Lord Shortlands.

"We were saying such nice things about you, Mr. Robb," said Terry. She knew she was being kittenish, but there are moments when a girl must not spare the kitten.

Augustus Robb choked on his cigar. His head was swimming a little.

"The fact is, Augustus, we are in a spot, and only you can get us out of it. When I say 'us,' I allude primarily to the fifth Earl of Shortlands, whose family, as you probably know, came over with the Conqueror. You have it in your power to do the fifth Earl of Shortlands a signal service, and one which he will never forget. Years hence, when he drops in at the House of Lords, he will find himself chatting with other earls—and no doubt a few dukes—and the subject of selfless devotion will come up. Stories will be swapped, here an earl speaking of some splendid secretary or estate agent, there a duke eulogizing his faithful dog Ponto, and then Lord Shortlands will top the lot with his tale of you. 'Let me tell you about Augustus Robb,' he will say, and the dukes and earls will listen spellbound. 'Coo!' they will cry, when he has finished. 'Some fellow, that Augustus Robb. I'd like to meet him.'"

Augustus Robb took off his horn-rimmed spectacles and polished them. His head was swimming more than ever, and his chest had begun to heave. His was a life passed mainly in the society of men who spoke what came into their simple minds, and the things that came into their simple minds were nearly always rude. It was not often that he was able to listen to this sort of thing.

"In a nutshell," said Mike, "Lord Shortlands is being beset by butlers. Have you met the butler here, the man Spink?"

A shudder ran through Augustus Robb.

"Yus," he said. "Have you?"

"I have indeed."

"And prayed for him?"

"No, I haven't got around to that yet."

"I'm surprised to hear it. I wouldn't have thought you could have been in his presence five minutes without being moved to Christian pity."

"You find him a hard nut?"

"A lost scoffer," said Augustus Robb severely, "whose words are as barbed arrows winged with sinfulness. If ever there was an emissary of Satan with side whiskers, it's him."

He had got what is called in Parliamentary circles the feeling of the House. It would scarcely have been possible for these words to have gone better. Lord Shortlands snorted rapturously. Stanwood said " 'At's the stuff!" Terry lit up the speaker's system with a dazzling smile, and Mike patted him on the back.

"That's great," said Mike. "If that's the way you feel, we can get down to cases."

In Augustus Robb's demeanour, as he listened to the story of the stamp, there exhibited itself at first only a growing horror. Three times in the course of the narrative he said "Coo!" and each time, as the inkiness of the butler's soul became more and more plain to him, with a greater intensity of repulsion. There seemed no question that Mike was holding his audience, and had its sympathy.

But when, passing from his preamble, he went on to outline what it was that Augustus Robb was expected to do, the other's aspect changed. It was still instinct with horror, but a horror directed now not at Mervyn Spink but at one whom it was evident that he had mentally labelled as The Tempter. He rose, swelling formidably.

"What! You're asking me to bust a pete?"

"A safe," corrected Lord Shortlands deferentially.

"Well, a pete is a safe, ain't it?"

"Is it?"

"Of course it is," said Mike. "Safes are always called petes in the best circles. Yes, that's the scheme, Augustus. How about it?"

"No!"

Mike blinked. The monosyllable, spoken at the fullest extent of a good man's lungs, had seemed to strike him like a projectile.

"Did you say No?"

"Yus, no."

"But it'll only take a few minutes of your time."

"No, I tell you. A thousand times no."

"Not even to oblige an earl?"

"Not even to oblige a dozen ruddy earls."

Mike blinked again. He glanced round at his colleagues, and drew little comfort from their deportment. Lord Shortlands was looking crushed and desolate. Terry's eyes were round with dismay. Stanwood Cobbold seemed to be grinding his teeth, which of course is never much use in a crisis of this sort.

"I had not expected this, Augustus," said Mike reproachfully.

"You knew I was saved, didn't you?"

"Yes, but can't you understand that this is a far, far better thing that we are asking you to do than you have ever done? Consider the righteousness of our cause."

"Busting a pete is busting a pete, and you can't get away from it."

"You aren't forgetting that Lord Shortlands' ancestors came over with the Conqueror?"

For an instant Augustus Robb seemed to waver.

"This won't please the Foster-Frenches."

The weakness passed. Augustus Robb was himself again.

"That's enough of that. Stop tempting me. Get thou behind me, Satan, and look slippy about it. Why don't you get behind me?" asked Augustus Robb peevishly.

"And how about the Byng-Brown-Byngs?" said Mike.

Stanwood exploded like a bomb. For some moments he had been muttering to himself, and it had been plain that he was not in sympathy with the conscientious objector.

"What's the good of talking to the fellow? Kick him!"

Mike started. It was a thought.

"Egad, Stanwood, I believe you've got something there."

"Grab him by the scruff of the neck and bend him over and leave the rest to me."

"Wait," said Mike. "Not in thin evening shoes. Go and put on your thick boots. And you, Terry, had better be leaving us. The situation is one which strong men must thresh out face to face. Or, perhaps, not face to face exactly—"

Augustus Robb had paled. He was essentially a man of peace.

"If there's going to be verlence—"

"There is."

It was Stanwood who had spoken. In his manner there was no trace now of his former meek obsequiousness. It had all the poised authority which had been wont to mark it in the days when, crouched and menacing, he had waited to plunge against the opposing line.

"You belcher there's going to be verlance. I'll give you two seconds to change your mind."

Augustus Robb changed it in one.

"Well, right ho," he said hastily. "If you put it that way, chum, I suppose I've no option."

"That's the way to talk."

"Well spoken, Augustus."

"But you're overlooking something. It's years since I bust a pete."

"No doubt the old skill still lingers."

"As to that, I wouldn't say it didn't. But what you've omitted to take into account, cockles," said Augustus Robb with gloomy triumph, "is me nervous system. I'm not the man I was. I wouldn't 'ave the nerve to do a job nowadays without I took a gargle first. And I can't take a gargle, because gargling's sinful. So there you are. It's an am-parce."

Terry smiled that winning smile of hers.

"You wouldn't mind taking a tiny little gargle to oblige me, Mr. Robb?"

"Yus, I would. And it wouldn't be tiny, either. I'd need a bucketful."

"Then take a bucketful," said Lord Shortlands.

It was a good, practical suggestion, but Augustus Robb shook his head.