Pelham Wodehouse: A Benefit Match

If I have one fault-which I am not prepared to admit-it is that I am too good-natured. I remember on one occasion, when staying in the country with a lady who had known me from boyhood, protesting in a restrained, gentlemanly manner when her youthful son began to claw me at breakfast. At breakfast, I'll trouble you, and an early one at that! "Well, James," she said, "I always thought that you were good- natured, whatever else you were!" A remark which, besides containing a nasty innuendo in the latter half of it, struck me as passing all existing records in Cool Cheek. And it stood as a record till the day that Jervis rang me up on the telephone and broached the matter of Mr. Morley-Davenport.

It is no use to grumble, I suppose. One cannot alter one's nature. There it is, and there's an end of it. But personally I have always found it a minor curse. People ask me to do things, and expect me to oblige them, when they would not dream of making the same request of most of the men I know. And they thrive on it. Do a man a good turn once, as somebody says, and after that he thinks he has a right to come and sit on your lap and help himself out of your pockets.

Looking back over the episodes which have arisen from this abuse of my angelic temperament, I recall the Adventure of a Ribbon I tried to match for an Aunt of Mine, the Curious Affair of the Vicar's Garden- Party, and a host of others, prominent among which is the Dark and Sinister Case of the Brothers Barlow, the most recent of all my ordeals.

It occurred only last summer. I was having tea at my club when the thing may be said to have begun. The club is described in Whitaker as "social and political," and at that time it seemed to me to overdo both qualities. The political atmosphere at the moment was disturbed by a series of by-elections, and members, whom I did not know by sight, were developing a habit of sitting down beside me and saying: "Interesting contest, that at --," wherever the place might be. In this case it was at Stapleton, in Surrey. The Stapleton election, I gathered from an old gentleman who had cornered me and was giving me his views on the crisis, was in a most interesting condition. If Morley-Davenport-who was, I gathered, "our man"-could pull it off, it would be a most valuable thing for the party. On the other hand, if he could not pull it off, as was not at all unlikely, it would be an equally damaging blow for the party.

"And it's going to be a close thing, sir," said my informant-"an uncommonly close thing."

"Sporting finish," I agreed, feeling rather bored. I wanted to get at the evening paper, to see what sort of a game Middlesex were making of it with Surrey.

"A desperately close thing," said my old gentleman.

Here the door of the smoking-room opened, and a boy appeared. When anybody is wanted at our club, it is customary for a boy to range the building, chanting the name at intervals in a penetrating treble- "Mis-tah Innes!"

I am Mr. Innes. "Excuse me," I said to the politician. Somebody had rung me up on the telephone. I went downstairs, shut myself up in the box, and put the engine to my ear.

"Hullo?"

"That you, James?"

I recognised the voice. It was that of Jervis, a man who sometimes played for the Weary Willies on their Devonshire tour. "Yes. That you, Jervis? What's the matter? Why didn't you come and look me up here?"

"No time. I'm off in ten minutes. I'm 'phoning from Waterloo. Never been so busy in my life. Working twenty-four hours a day, three-minute interval for meals. This election business, you know. Down at Stapleton. It's going to be the hottest finish on record."

"So a battered relic in here was telling me just now. Dash along. You've interrupted me in the middle of my tea, and I've had to leave half a crumpet alone with the battered one, whom I don't trust an inch. I saw him looking hungrily at it when I went out. What's up with you?"

"Look here, James, you were always a good-natured sort of chap-"

I started, as one who sees a surreptitious snake in the undergrowth.

"Jervis," I said.

"Hullo, are you there?"

"Of course I am. Where did you think I was? Look here, if you want me to act in amateur theatricals again, you'd save yourself trouble by ringing off at once."

"No, no."

"Or if it's anything to do with a bazaar-"

"No, no, nothing of that sort. It's about a cricket match. I suppose you're skippering the Weary Willies against Stapleton?"

"So that's why the name sounded familiar. I'd forgotten we'd got a match on there. Yes, I am. Why?"

"Then just listen carefully for a minute. I must hurry, or I shall miss that train. You know, I'm agent for old Morley-Davenport, don't you? Well, anyhow, I am. It's the tightest thing you ever saw, but I believe we shall get him in all right. I had a great idea the other day. It was this way. I don't know if you know Stapleton. It's a sporting constituency. Half the voters live for nothing else but games. The serious politicians of the neighbourhood are about even, but there's quite a decent squad of electors who'd vote either way. It all depends which man takes their fancy. My idea was this. The Weary Willies' match always excites people down here, and I've arranged that old M.-D. shall play for Stapleton. You see the idea? Our sporting candidate. Genuine son of Britain, and so on. It will be the biggest advertisement on earth."

"Not much of an advertisement if your son of Britain takes an egg."

"But he won't. that's where you come in."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Are you there? Keep on listening. I want you to square the bowlers, and let our man make a few."

"Is that all?" I said.

"Quite a simple thing. Morley-Davenport isn't in his first youth exactly, but he's a sturdy old chap, and used to play cricket once."

"Friend of Alfred Mynn's?"

"That's about the date. Still, he could make a few off real tosh. Just one or two loose ones to leg. I wish you would, old man. You know the Stapleton match isn't such a big affair for the Weary Willies. It doesn't matter much whether you win or lose. And, besides, you're bound to win. You need only let him get about twenty. That would see us through. And Stapleton haven't any bowling. Are you on?"

"Why doesn't he try some other dodge? Why not kiss a baby or two?"

"My dear chap, we've kissed babies till our lips are worn through. This is the only way. Are you on?"

"Well, I suppose-"

"Good man, I knew you would. Can you square Sharples?"

"Fortunately for you, Sharples isn't playing. If he was, the thing would be off. Sharples wouldn't spoil his analysis if he were asked to by Royalty. He's the sort of man who'd send his mother a fast yorker first ball if she batted against him. He has got to go away for the week-end. And Geake can't play, either. So we are trying a couple of new bowlers."

"Who are they?"

"Friends of Sharples. Two brothers called Barlow. Sharples says they are useful. Never heard of them myself."

"Can you square them?"

"I expect so. Any friends of Sharples are bound to be shady. A little thing like this will probably be a pleasant holiday from their regular routine of crime."

"Well, have a shot at it, there's a good man. I must rush now. Just got a minute to catch the train. Good-bye."

"Good-bye."

"Oh, by the way."

"Well?"

"Thanks."

I went back to the smoking-room musing on the follies a man will commit if he is cursed with the obliging nature of a saint. Here was I pledged to induce two perfect strangers to bowl badly before a large audience, possibly to endure ridicule from the same-and for what? To enable a man, for whom they could not be expected to care a dam (a small Javanese coin of inconsiderable value) to become a member of an institution which probably they thoroughly despised. Ah, well, if a man is too good and kind for this world, he must pay the penalty. No doubt I should be rewarded later on. The Guardian Angel must be marking me highly for this. It only remained to carry the thing through.