Short Fiction, P. G. Wodehouse [books for 20 year olds .txt] 📗

‘all you have to do is to make a dead set at her folks.’ He winks at me. ‘Don’t just sit there like you did last night. Show ’em you’ve got something in you. You know what folks are: they think themselves the most important things on the map. Well, go to work. Consult them all you know. Every opportunity you get. There’s nothing like consulting a girl’s folks to put you in good with her.’ And he pats Jerry on the shoulder again and goes indoors to find his pipe.

“Jerry turns to me. ‘Do you think that’s really so?’ he says. I says, ‘I do.’ ‘He knows all about girls, I reckon,’ says Jerry. ‘You can go by him every time,’ I says. ‘Well, well,’ says Jerry, sort of thoughtful.”

The waiter paused. His eye was sad and dreamy. Then he took up the burden of his tale.

“First thing that happens is that Gentleman has a sore tooth on the next Sunday, so don’t feel like coming along with us. He sits at home, dosing it with whisky, and Jerry and me goes off alone.

“So Jerry and me pikes off, and once more we prepares to settle down around the board. I hadn’t noticed Jerry particular, but just now I catches sight of his face in the light of the lamp. Ever see one of those fighters when he’s sitting in his corner before a fight, waiting for the gong to go? Well, Jerry looks like that; and it surprises me.

“I told you about the fat yellow dog that permeated the Tuxton’s house, didn’t I? The family thought a lot of that dog, though of all the ugly brutes I ever met he was the worst. Sniffing round and growling all the time. Well, this evening he comes up to Jerry just as he’s going to sit down, and starts to growl. Old Pa Tuxton looks over his glasses and licks his tongue. ‘Rover! Rover!’ he says, kind of mild. ‘Naughty Rover; he don’t like strangers, I’m afraid.’ Jerry looks at Pa Tuxton, and he looks at the dog, and I’m just expecting him to say ‘No’ or ‘Yes,’ same as the other night, when he lets out a nasty laugh⁠—one of them bitter laughs. ‘Ho!’ he says. ‘Ho! don’t he? Then perhaps he’d better get further away from them.’ And he ups with his boot and⁠—well, the dog hit the far wall.

“Jerry sits down and pulls up his chair. ‘I don’t approve,’ he says, fierce, ‘of folks keeping great, fat, ugly, bad-tempered yellow dogs that are a nuisance to all. I don’t like it.’

“There was a silence you could have scooped out with a spoon. Have you ever had a rabbit turn round on you and growl? That’s how we all felt when Jerry outs with them crisp words. They took our breath away.

“While we were getting it back again the parrot, which was in its cage, let out a squawk. Honest, I jumped a foot in my chair.

“Jerry gets up very deliberate, and walks over to the parrot. ‘Is this a menagerie?’ he says. ‘Can’t a man have supper in peace without an image like you starting to holler? Go to sleep.’

“We was all staring at him surprised, especially Uncle Dick Tuxton, whose particular pet the parrot was. He’d brought him home all the way from some foreign parts.

“ ‘Hello, Billy!’ says the bird, shrugging his shoulders and puffing himself up. ‘R-r-r-r! R-r-r-r! ’lo, Billy! ’lo, ’lo, ’lo! R-r Wah!’

“Jerry gives its cage a bang.

“ ‘Don’t talk back at me,’ he says, ‘or I’ll knock your head off. You think because you’ve got a green tail you’re someone.’ And he stalks back to his chair and sits glaring at Uncle Dick.

“Well, all this wasn’t what you might call promoting an easy flow of conversation. Everyone’s looking at Jerry, ’specially me, wondering what next, and trying to get their breath, and Jerry’s frowning at the cold beef, and there’s a sort of awkward pause. Miss Jane is the first to get busy. She bustles about and gets the food served out, and we begins to eat. But still there’s not so much conversation that you’d notice it. This goes on till we reaches the concluding stages, and then Uncle Dick comes up to the scratch.

“ ‘How is the fowls, Mr. Moore?’ he says.

“ ‘Gimme some more pie,’ says Jerry. ‘What?’

“Uncle Dick repeats his remark.

“ ‘Fowls?’ says Jerry. ‘What do you know about fowls? Your notion of a fowl is an ugly bird with a green tail, a Wellington nose, and⁠—gimme a bit of cheese.’

“Uncle Dick’s fond of the parrot, so he speaks up for him. ‘Polly’s always been reckoned a handsome bird,’ he says.

“ ‘He wants stuffing,’ says Jerry.

“And Uncle Dick drops out of the talk.

“Up comes big brother, Ralph his name was. He’s the bank-clerk and a dude. He gives his cuffs a flick, and starts in to make things jolly all round by telling a story about a man he knows named Wotherspoon. Jerry fixes him with his eye, and, halfway through, interrupts.

“ ‘That waistcoat of yours is fierce,’ he says.

“ ‘Pardon?’ says Ralph.

“ ‘That waistcoat of yours,’ says Jerry. ‘It hurts me eyes. It’s like an electric sign.’

“ ‘Why, Jerry,’ I says, but he just scowls at me and I stops.

“Ralph is proud of his clothes, and he isn’t going to stand this. He glares at Jerry and Jerry glares at him.

“ ‘Who do you think you are?’ says Ralph, breathing hard.

“ ‘Button up your coat,’ says Jerry.

“ ‘Look ’ere!’ says Ralph.

“ ‘Cover it up, I tell you,’ says Jerry. ‘Do you want to blind me?’ Pa Tuxton interrupts.

“ ‘Why, Mr. Moore,’ he begins, sort of soothing; when the small brother, who’s been staring at Jerry, chips in. I told you he was cheeky.

“He says, ‘Pa, what a funny nose Mr. Moore’s got!’

“And that did it. Jerry rises, very slow, and leans across the table and clips the kid brother one side of the ear-’ole. And then there’s a general imbroglio, everyone standing up and the kid hollering and the dog barking.

“ ‘If you’d brought