A Gentleman of Leisure, P. G. Wodehouse [speld decodable readers .TXT] 📗

It seemed to him that he had awakened from a sort of stupor. Life, so grey yesterday, now appeared full of colour and possibilities. Most men who, either from choice or necessity, have knocked about the world for any length of time are more or less fatalists. Jimmy was an optimistic fatalist. He had always looked on fate not as a blind dispenser at random of gifts good and bad, but rather as a benevolent being with a pleasing bias in his favour. He had almost a Napoleonic faith in his star. At various periods of his life⁠—notably at the time when, as he had told Lord Dreever, he had breakfasted on birdseed⁠—he had been in uncommonly tight corners, but his luck had always extricated him. It struck him that it would be an unthinkable piece of bad sportsmanship on Fate’s part to see him through so much and then to abandon him just as he had arrived in sight of what was by far the biggest thing of his life. Of course, his view of what constituted the biggest thing in life had changed with the years. Every ridge of the Hill of Supreme Moments in turn had been mistaken by him for the summit; but this last, he felt instinctively, was genuine. For good or bad, Molly was woven into the texture of his life. In the stormy period of the early twenties he had thought the same of other girls, who were now mere memories as dim as those of figures in a half-forgotten play. In their case his convalescence had been temporarily painful, but brief. Force of will and an active life had worked the cure. He had merely braced himself up and firmly ejected them from his mind. A week or two of aching emptiness, and his heart had been once more in readiness⁠—all nicely swept and done up⁠—for the next lodger.

But in the case of Molly it was different. He had passed the age of instantaneous susceptibility. Like a landlord who had been cheated by previous tenants, he had become wary. He mistrusted his powers of recuperation in case of disaster. The will in these matters, just like the mundane “bouncer,” gets past his work. For some years now Jimmy had had a feeling that the next arrival would come to stay, and he had adopted, in consequence, a gently defensive attitude towards the other sex. Molly had broken through this, and he saw that his estimate of his willpower had been just. Methods which had proved excellent in the past were useless now. There was no trace here of that dimly consoling feeling of earlier years that there were other girls in the world. He did not try to deceive himself. He knew that he had passed the age when a man can fall in love with any one of a number of types.

This was the finish, one way or the other. There was no second throw. She had him. However it might end, he belonged to her.

There are few moments in a man’s day when his brain is more contemplative than during that brief space when he is lathering his face preparatory to shaving. Flying the brush, Jimmy reviewed the situation. He was perhaps a little too optimistic. Not unnaturally he was inclined to look upon his luck as a sort of special train which would convey him without effort to Paradise. Fate had behaved so exceedingly handsomely up till now. By a series of the most workmanlike miracles it had brought him to the point of being Molly’s fellow guest at a country house. This, as Reason coldly pointed out a few moments later, was merely the beginning; but to Jimmy, thoughtfully lathering, it seemed the end. It was only when he had finished shaving and was arranging his tie that he began to perceive that there were obstacles in his way⁠—and sufficiently big obstacles at that.

In the first place, Molly did not love him. And, he was bound to admit, there was no earthly reason why she ever should. A man in love is seldom vain about his personal attractions. Also, her father firmly believed him to be a master burglar.

“Otherwise,” said Jimmy, scowling at his reflection in the glass, “everything’s splendid.”

He brushed his hair sadly.

There was a furtive rap at the door.

“Halloa?” said Jimmy. “Yes?”

The door opened slowly. A grin, surmounted by a mop of red hair, appeared round the edge of it.

“Halloa, Spike! Come in. What’s the matter?”

The rest of Mr. Mullins entered the room.

“Gee, boss, I wasn’t sure dis was your room. Say, who do you t’ink I nearly bumped me coco against out in de corridor downstairs? Why, old man McEachern, de cop. Dat’s right!”

“Yes?”

“Sure. Say, what’s he doin’ on dis beat? I pretty near went down and out when I seen him. Dat’s right. Me breath ain’t got back home yet.”

“Did he recognise you?”

“Did he! He starts like an actor on top de stoige when he sees he’s up against de plot to ruin him, an’ he gives me de fierce eye.”

“Well?”

“I was wondering was I on Third Avenue, or was I standing on me coco, or what was I doin’ anyhow. Den I slips off and chases meself up here. Say, boss, what’s de game? What’s old man McEachern doin’ stunts dis side for?”

“It’s all right, Spike. Keep calm. I can explain. He has retired⁠—like me. He’s one of the handsome guests here.”

“On your way, boss! What’s dat?”

“He left the Force just after that merry meeting of ours when you frolicked with the bulldog. He came over here and butted into society. So here we are again, all gathered together under the same roof, like a jolly little family party.”

Spike’s open mouth bore witness to his amazement.

“Den⁠—” he stammered.

“Yes?”

“Den what’s he goin’ to do?”

“I couldn’t say. I’m expecting to hear shortly. But we needn’t worry ourselves. The next move’s with him. If he wants to comment on the situation he won’t be backward. He’ll come