Uneasy Money, P. G. Wodehouse [little bear else holmelund minarik txt] 📗

fetch a banana from the icebox. Her knowledge of monkeys was slight, but she fancied they looked with favor on bananas. It was her intention to conciliate Eustace.

She had placed Eustace by now. Unlike Nutty, she read the papers, and she knew all about Lady Wetherby and her pets. The fact that Lady Wetherby, as she had been informed by the grocer in friendly talk across the counter, had rented a summer home in the neighborhood made Eustace’s identity positive.

She had no very clear plans as to what she intended to do with Eustace, beyond being quite resolved that she was going to board and lodge him for a few days. Nutty had had the jolt he needed, but it might be that the first freshness of it would wear away, in which event it would be convenient to have Eustace on the premises. She regarded Eustace as a sort of medicine. A second dose might not be necessary, but it was as well to have the mixture handy. She took another banana, in case the first might not be sufficient to soothe her visitor’s wounded spirit. She then returned to the porch.

Eustace was sitting on the hammock, brooding. The complexities of life were weighing him down a good deal. He was not aware of Elizabeth’s presence until he found her standing by him. He had just braced himself for flight when he perceived that she bore rich gifts.

Eustace was always ready for a light snack⁠—readier now than usual, for air and exercise had sharpened his appetite. He took the banana in a detached manner, as if to convey the idea that it did not commit him to any particular course of conduct. It was a good banana, and he stretched out a hand for the other. Elizabeth sat down beside him, but he did not move. He was convinced now of her good intentions. It was thus that Lord Dawlish found them when he came in from the garden.

“Where has your brother gone to?” he asked. “He passed me just now at eight miles an hour. Great Scott! What’s that?”

“It’s a monkey. Don’t frighten him, he’s rather nervous.”

She tickled Eustace under the ear, for their relations were now friendly.

“Nutty went for a walk because he thought he saw it.”

“Thought he saw it?”

“Thought he saw it,” repeated Elizabeth firmly. “Will you remember, Mr. Chalmers, that, as far as he is concerned, this monkey has no existence.”

“I don’t understand.”

Elizabeth explained.

“You see now?”

“I see. But how long are you going to keep the animal?”

“Just a day or two⁠—in case.”

“Where are you going to keep it?”

“In the outhouse. Nutty never goes there, it’s too near the beehives.”

“I suppose you don’t know who the owner is?”

“Yes, I do; it must be Lady Wetherby.”

“Lady Wetherby!”

“She’s a woman who dances at one of the restaurants. I read in a Sunday paper about her monkey. She has just taken a house near here. I don’t see who else the animal could belong to. Monkeys are rarities on Long Island.”

Bill was silent. “Sudden a thought came like a fullblown rose, flushing his brow.” For days he had been trying to find an excuse for calling on Lady Wetherby as a first step toward meeting Claire again. Here it was. There would be no need to interfere with Elizabeth’s plans. He would be vague. He would say he had just seen the runaway, but would not add where. He would create an atmosphere of helpful sympathy. Perhaps, later on, Elizabeth would let him take the monkey back.

“What are you thinking about?” asked Elizabeth.

“Oh, nothing,” said Bill.

“Perhaps we had better stow away our visitor for the night.”

“Yes.”

Elizabeth got up.

“Poor, dear Nutty may be coming back at any moment now,” she said.

But poor, dear Nutty did not return for a full two hours. When he did he was dusty and tired, but almost cheerful.

“I didn’t see the brute once all the time I was out,” he told Elizabeth. “Not once!”

Elizabeth kissed him fondly and offered to heat water for a bath; but Nutty said he would take it cold. From now on, he vowed, nothing but cold baths. He conveyed the impression of being a blend of repentant sinner and hardy Norseman. Before he went to bed he approached Bill on the subject of Indian clubs.

“I want to get myself into shape, old top,” he said.

“Yes?”

“I’ve got to cut it out⁠—tonight I thought I saw a monkey.”

“Really?”

“As plain as I see you now.” Nutty gave the clubs a tentative swing. “What do you do with these darned things? Swinging them about and all that? All right, I see the idea. Good night.”

But Bill did not pass a good night. He lay awake long, thinking over his plans for the morrow.

XV

Lady Wetherby was feeling battered. She had not realized how seriously Roscoe Sherriff took the art of publicity, nor what would be the result of the half-hour he had spent at the telephone on the night of the departure of Eustace.

Roscoe Sherriff’s eloquence had fired the imagination of editors. There had been a notable lack of interesting happenings this summer. Nobody seemed to be striking or murdering or having violent accidents. The universe was torpid. In these circumstances the escape of Eustace seemed to present possibilities. Reporters had been sent down. There were three of them living in the house now, and Wrench’s air of disapproval was deepening every hour.

It was their strenuousness which had given Lady Wetherby that battered feeling. There was strenuousness in the air, and she resented it on her vacation. She had come to Long Island to vegetate, and with all this going on round her vegetation was impossible. She was not long alone. Wrench entered. “A gentleman to see you, m’lady.”

In the good old days, when she had been plain Polly Davis, of the personnel of the chorus of various musical comedies, Lady Wetherby would have suggested a short way of disposing of this untimely visitor; but she had a position to