The Adventures of Sally, P. G. Wodehouse [interesting novels in english txt] 📗

“Yes, a kennels.”

“What a weird mind you have, Ginger. You couldn't say kennels at first, could you? That wouldn't have made it difficult enough. I suppose, if anyone asked you where you had your lunch, you would say, 'Oh, at a thingamajig for mutton chops'... Ginger, my lad, there is something in this. I believe for the first time in our acquaintance you have spoken something very nearly resembling a mouthful. You're wonderful with dogs, aren't you?”

“I'm dashed keen on them, and I've studied them a bit. As a matter of fact, though it seems rather like swanking, there isn't much about dogs that I don't know.”

“Of course. I believe you're a sort of honorary dog yourself. I could tell it by the way you stopped that fight at Roville. You plunged into a howling mass of about a million hounds of all species and just whispered in their ears and they stopped at once. Why, the more one examines this, the better it looks. I do believe it's the one thing you couldn't help making a success of. It's very paying, isn't it?”

“Works out at about a hundred per cent on the original outlay, I've been told.”

“A hundred per cent? That sounds too much like something of Fillmore's for comfort. Let's say ninety-nine and be conservative. Ginger, you have hit it. Say no more. You shall be the Dog King, the biggest thingamajigger for dogs in the country. But how do you start?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, while I was up at White Plains, I ran into a cove who had a place of the sort and wanted to sell out. That was what made me think of it.”

“You must start to-day. Or early to-morrow.”

“Yes,” said Ginger doubtfully. “Of course, there's the catch, you know.”

“What catch?”

“The capital. You've got to have that. This fellow wouldn't sell out under five thousand dollars.”

“I'll lend you five thousand dollars.”

“No!” said Ginger.

Sally looked at him with exasperation. “Ginger, I'd like to slap you,” she said. It was maddening, this intrusion of sentiment into business affairs. Why, simply because he was a man and she was a woman, should she be restrained from investing money in a sound commercial undertaking? If Columbus had taken up this bone-headed stand towards Queen Isabella, America would never have been discovered.

“I can't take five thousand dollars off you,” said Ginger firmly.

“Who's talking of taking it off me, as you call it?” stormed Sally. “Can't you forget your burglarious career for a second? This isn't the same thing as going about stealing defenceless girls' photographs. This is business. I think you would make an enormous success of a dog-place, and you admit you're good, so why make frivolous objections? Why shouldn't I put money into a good thing? Don't you want me to get rich, or what is it?”

Ginger was becoming confused. Argument had never been his strong point.

“But it's such a lot of money.”

“To you, perhaps. Not to me. I'm a plutocrat. Five thousand dollars! What's five thousand dollars? I feed it to the birds.”

Ginger pondered woodenly for a while. His was a literal mind, and he knew nothing of Sally's finances beyond the fact that when he had first met her she had come into a legacy of some kind. Moreover, he had been hugely impressed by Fillmore's magnificence. It seemed plain enough that the Nicholases were a wealthy family.

“I don't like it, you know,” he said.

“You don't have to like it,” said Sally. “You just do it.”

A consoling thought flashed upon Ginger.

“You'd have to let me pay you interest.”

“Let you? My lad, you'll have to pay me interest. What do you think this is—a round game? It's a cold business deal.”

“Topping!” said Ginger relieved. “How about twenty-five per cent.”

“Don't be silly,” said Sally quickly. “I want three.”

“No, that's all rot,” protested Ginger. “I mean to say—three. I don't,” he went on, making a concession, “mind saying twenty.”

“If you insist, I'll make it five. Not more.”

“Well, ten, then?”

“Five!”

“Suppose,” said Ginger insinuatingly, “I said seven?”

“I never saw anyone like you for haggling,” said Sally with disapproval. “Listen! Six. And that's my last word.”

“Six?”

“Six.”

Ginger did sums in his head.

“But that would only work out at three hundred dollars a year. It isn't enough.”

“What do you know about it? As if I hadn't been handling this sort of deal in my life. Six! Do you agree?”

“I suppose so.”

“Then that's settled. Is this man you talk about in New York?”

“No, he's down on Long Island at a place on the south shore.”

“I mean, can you get him on the 'phone and clinch the thing?”

“Oh, yes. I know his address, and I suppose his number's in the book.”

“Then go off at once and settle with him before somebody else snaps him up. Don't waste a minute.”

Ginger paused at the door.

“I say, you're absolutely sure about this?”

“Of course.”

“I mean to say...”

“Get on,” said Sally.

2

The window of Sally's sitting-room looked out on to a street which, while not one of the city's important arteries, was capable, nevertheless, of affording a certain amount of entertainment to the observer: and after Ginger had left, she carried the morning paper to the window-sill and proceeded to divide her attention between a third reading of the fight-report and a lazy survey of the outer world. It was a beautiful day, and the outer world was looking its best.

She had not been at her post for many minutes when a taxi-cab stopped at the apartment-house, and she was surprised and interested to see her brother Fillmore heave himself out of the interior. He paid the driver, and the cab moved off, leaving him on the sidewalk casting a large shadow in the sunshine. Sally was on the point of calling to him, when his behaviour became so odd that astonishment checked her.