Pelham Wodehouse - Spring Fever

"Friendship is the thing, you think?"

"Sure. If a fellow and a girl are just buddies, they stay buddies."

"There's something in that."

"And we've always got along together like a couple of gobs on shore leave. We'll have a swell time. It's like that song I remember—'Turnty tumty tumty tumty, I was looking for a pal like you.'"

Terry sighed.

"Well, all right, Stanwood."

"Check?"

"Yes."

"Swell. I'll kiss you, shall I?"

He did, and there followed a silence not untinged with embarrassment. To each of the plighted pair it seemed a little difficult to know what to say next. It was a relief to both when Lord Shortlands reappeared, back from his stroll round the moat.

The moat, as always, had lowered his spirits dangerously. It was a sheet of water on which he never looked without despondency. His manner was so dejected that Terry lost no time in imparting news which she felt sure would bring the sparkle back to his eyes.

"Adela has given Spink the sack, Shorty."

For an instant, as she had foreseen, the words acted as a tonic. But, like the one which Stanwood was accustomed to imbibe in his dark hours, its effects, powerful at first, were evanescent. What did it profit, Lord Shortlands was asking himself, that Beevor Castle should be freed from Spinks, if he himself remained unable to acquire that two hundred pounds?

"And Stanwood and I are engaged," said Terry.

The fifth earl clutched his forehead. That feeling of bewilderment, of having an insufficient grasp on the trend of things, which had come to him in the train, was troubling him once more.

"You and Stanwood?"

"Yes."

"Not you and young Cardinal?"

"No."

"But you and Stanwood?" said Lord Shortlands, feeling his way carefully.

"Yes."

Lord Shortlands' face cleared. He had got it at last.

"I hope you'll be very happy," he said. "Stanwood, my boy, I have only this to say—Be good to my little girl, and can you lend me two hundred pounds?"

If Stanwood was surprised, he did not show it.

"Sure," he said agreeably.

"My dear fellow!"

"At least, when I say 'Sure,'" said Stanwood, correcting himself. "I mean I can't."

"You can't?" moaned Lord Shortlands, in the depths.

"Not yet, what I mean. I don't have it. Father cabled me a thousand bucks the other day, but most of it's gone, so you'll have to wait till I can pop it across him again."

Hope stirred feebly in Lord Shortlands' bosom.

"And when do you anticipate that you will be able to—ah—pop it across him?"

Stanwod reflected.

"Well, I usually find it best to give him about a month to sort of simmer."

"A month?" With Mervyn Spink out of the place and unable to exert his fatal fascination, a month seemed to Lord Shortlands no time at all. "Why, that will be admirable. In a month from now, you think—"

"Oh, sure. Maybe less."

Lord Shortlands closed his eyes. As on a former occasion, he seemed to be praying. When he opened them again, it was to observe that Spink had shimmered silently in.

"New York wishes to speak to you on the telephone, sir," he said, addressing Stanwood.

"New York?"

"Yes, sir."

"Gosh, that must be Father," said Stanwood, and hurried out.

Lord Shortlands found himself filled with an ungenerous desire to triumph over a fallen rival.

"I hear you're leaving us, Spink," he said, with unction.

"Yes, m'lord."

"Too bad."

"Thank you, m'lord. I shall be sorry to terminate my association with the castle. I have been extremely happy here."

"Made some nice friends, eh?"

"Yes, m'lord."

"You'll miss them."

"Yes, m'lord. But there are consolations."

"Eh?"

"I have been fortunate in a recent investment on the turf, m'lord. Silver King in the three-thirty race at Kempton Park this afternoon at a hundred to eight. What a beauty!" said Mervyn Spink, momentarily allowing his human side to come uppermost, a thing which butlers seldom do unless they are leaving tomorrow.

Lord Shortlands' jaw had begun to droop slowly, as if pulled by an invisible spring. He spoke in a hushed voice, in keeping with the solemnity of the moment.

"How much did you have on?"

"Fifty pounds, m'lord."

"Fifty pounds! At a hundred to eight?"

"I felt that it was not a moment for exercising caution, m'lord. I invested my entire savings."

Mervyn Spink withdrew, unnoticed as far as Lord Shortlands was concerned, for the latter had leaped to the writing table and was doing sums with a pencil and a piece of paper.

Presently he raised an ashen face.

"Six hundred and twenty-five quid! That viper has trousered six hundred and twenty-five quid! I told you that one of these days he would strike a long-priced winner, but you wouldn't listen to me." He paused, and mopped his furrowed brow. "I'm going to the library to lie down!" he said. "Adela won't think of looking for me there. If you meet her, tell her you haven't seen me."

He tottered out. He had been gone perhaps two minutes, when there was a cheerful sound of whistling without, and Mike came in.

From the first moment of his entry it was abundantly evident that Mike was feeling pleased with himself. His whistling had suggested this, and his attitude confirmed it. He exuded lightheartedness and bien-être, and the thought of anyone being pleased with Mycroft Cardinal, the Emperor of the flippertygibbets, was so revolting to Terry that she stiffened and drew herself up coldly. Her bearing, as she faced him, was that of a Snow Queen. Icicles seemed to be forming on her upper slopes.

This, however, appeared to have escaped Mike's notice, for, swooping down on her, he kissed her fondly; then, placing a hand on either side of her waist, picked her up and waved her about for a while, concluding by lowering her into her chair and kissing her again. His manner was entirely free from any suggestion of diffidence or uncertainty as to his welcome.

"My angel! My seraph! My dream kitten!" he said. "I feel as if I hadn't seen you in years. And yet you don't look a day older."

Terry did not reply. It is not easy for a girl who has been intending to be distant and aloof to think of anything good to say under such conditions.

"Notice the eye?" said Mike.

Terry directed what she had hoped was a chilling and indifferent glance at the eye. She had already observed that its sombre hues had vanished.

"I had it painted out at a painting-out shop. For your sake. Augustus Robb warned me that girls didn't like men with bunged-up eyes, and you can always go by him. And now, my child, I have news. Where's Shorty?"

"In the library, I believe."

"I have tidings for him that will bring the sparkle back to his eyes and make him skip like the high hills. Augustus is in again!"

Terry did not understand him, and signified this by raising her eyebrows coldly.

"Yes, Augustus has started functioning once more. He is going to carry on from where he left off last night. I sought him out this morning and grovelled. I said that it was merely strained nerves that had caused me to kick him, and begged him to take the big, broad view. His manner was a little stiff at first, but eventually he relented. If I would go to his gentleman friend in Seven Dials and borrow his tools, he said, he would do the rest. 'Tell him,' he said, 'that Gus wants the old persuaders.' So I called on the gentleman friend—a charming fellow, whose only fault, if you call it a fault, was that his eyes were a bit close together—and gave him the password, and I've just seen Augustus and handed over the old persuaders. He promised to get to work immediately. Your sister Adela, I have ascertained, is out in the garden, no doubt making the lives of the local snails a hell on earth, and Desborough Topping is in his room, having an indoor Turkish bath for his lumbago, so the coast is clear. If Shorty's in the library, he's probably caddying for Augustus at this very moment with a song in his heart, realizing, as you will have realized, that he will soon be sitting on top of the world. Augustus guarantees to bust that pete in five minutes.