Piccadilly Jim, P. G. Wodehouse [romantic novels to read .TXT] 📗

“Duty!” said Jimmy. “Duty! There comes a time in the life of every man when he must choose between what is pleasant and what is right.”

“And that last fool-game of yours, that Lord Percy Whipple business, must have made London pretty hot for you?” suggested Mr. Pett.

“Your explanation is less romantic than mine, but there is something in what you say.”

“Had it occurred to you, young man, that I am taking a chance putting a fellow like you to work in my office?”

“Have no fear. The little bit of work I shall do won’t make any difference.”

“I’ve half a mind to send you straight back to London.”

“Couldn’t we compromise?”

“How?”

“Well, haven’t you some snug secretarial job you could put me into? I have an idea that I should make an ideal secretary.”

“My secretaries work.”

“I get you. Cancel the suggestion.”

Mr. Pett rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“You puzzle me. And that’s the truth.”

“Always speak the truth,” said Jimmy approvingly.

“I’m darned if I know what to do with you. Well, you’d better come home with me now, anyway, and meet your aunt, and then we can talk things over. After all, the main thing is to keep you out of mischief.”

“You put things crudely, but no doubt you are right.”

“You’ll live with us, of course.”

“Thank you very much. This is the right spirit.”

“I’ll have to talk to Nesta about you. There may be something you can do.”

“I shouldn’t mind being a partner,” suggested Jimmy helpfully.

“Why don’t you get work on a paper again? You used to do that well.”

“I don’t think my old paper would welcome me now. They regard me rather as an entertaining news-item than a worker.”

“That’s true. Say, why on earth did you make such a fool of yourself over on the other side? That breach-of-promise case with the barmaid!” said Mr. Pett reproachfully.

“Let bygones be bygones,” said Jimmy. “I was more sinned against than sinning. You know how it is, uncle Pete!” Mr. Pett started violently, but said nothing. “You try out of pure goodness of heart to scatter light and sweetness and protect the poor working-girl⁠—like Heaven⁠—and brighten up her lot and so on, and she turns right around and soaks it to you good! And anyway she wasn’t a barmaid. She worked in a florist’s shop.”

“I don’t see that that makes any difference.”

“All the difference in the world, all the difference between the sordid and the poetical. I don’t know if you have ever experienced the hypnotic intoxication of a florist’s shop? Take it from me, uncle Pete, any girl can look an angel as long as she is surrounded by choice blooms. I couldn’t help myself. I wasn’t responsible. I only woke up when I met her outside. But all that sort of thing is different now. I am another man. Sober, steady, serious-minded!”

Mr. Pett had taken the receiver from the telephone and was talking to someone. The buzzing of a feminine voice came to Jimmy’s ears. Mr. Pett hung up the receiver.

“Your aunt says we are to come up at once.”

“I’m ready. And it will be a good excuse for you to knock off work. I bet you’re glad I came! Does the carriage await or shall we take the subway?”

“I guess it will be quicker to take the subway. Your aunt’s very surprised that you are here, and very pleased.”

“I’m making everybody happy today.”

Mr. Pett was looking at him in a meditative way. Jimmy caught his eye.

“You’re registering something, uncle Pete, and I don’t know what it is. Why the glance?”

“I was just thinking of something.”

“Jimmy,” prompted his nephew.

“Eh?”

“Add the word Jimmy to your remarks. It will help me to feel at home and enable me to overcome my shyness.”

Mr. Pett chuckled.

“Shyness! If I had your nerve⁠—!” He broke off with a sigh and looked at Jimmy affectionately. “What I was thinking was that you’re a good boy. At least, you’re not, but you’re different from that gang of⁠—of⁠—that crowd uptown.”

“What crowd?”

“Your aunt is literary, you know. She’s filled the house with poets and that sort of thing. It will be a treat having you around. You’re human! I don’t see that we’re going to make much of you now that you’re here, but I’m darned glad you’ve come, Jimmy!”

“Put it there, uncle Pete!” said Jimmy. “You’re all right. You’re the finest Captain of Industry I ever met!”

They left the subway at Ninety-sixth Street and walked up the Drive. Jimmy, like everyone else who saw it for the first time, experienced a slight shock at the sight of the Pett mansion, but, rallying, followed his uncle up the flagged path to the front door.

“Your aunt will be in the drawing-room, I guess,” said Mr. Pett, opening the door with his key.

Jimmy was looking round him appreciatively. Mr. Pett’s house might be an eyesore from without, but inside it had had the benefit of the skill of the best interior decorator in New York.

“A man could be very happy in a house like this, if he didn’t have to poison his days with work,” said Jimmy.

Mr. Pett looked alarmed.

“Don’t go saying anything like that to your aunt!” he urged. “She thinks you have come to settle down.”

“So I have. I’m going to settle down like a limpet. I hope I shall be living in luxury on you twenty years from now. Is this the room?”

Mr. Pett opened the drawing-room door. A small hairy object sprang from a basket and stood yapping in the middle of the room. This was Aida, Mrs. Pett’s Pomeranian. Mr. Pett, avoiding the animal coldly, for he disliked it, ushered Jimmy into the room.

“Here’s Jimmy Crocker, Nesta.”

Jimmy was aware of a handsome woman of middle age, so like his stepmother that for an instant his self-possession left him and he stammered.

“How⁠—how do you do?”

His demeanour made a favourable impression on Mrs. Pett. She took it for the decent confusion of remorse.

“I was very surprised when your uncle telephoned me,” she said. “I had not the slightest idea that you were