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

a game of poker was like the surface of some quiet pond, ruffled by every breeze. The blank despair of his expression when he held bad cards made bluffing expensive. The honest joy that bubbled over in his eyes when his hand was good acted as an efficient danger signal to his grateful opponents. Two weeks of poker had led to his writing to his uncle a distressed but confident request for more funds; and the avuncular foot had come down with a joyous bang. Taking his stand on the evils of gambling, Sir Thomas had changed the conditions of the money market for his nephew with a thoroughness that effectually prevented the possibility of his being again led astray by the fascinations of poker. The allowance vanished absolutely, and in its place there came into being an arrangement. By this his lordship was to have whatever money he wished for, but he must ask for it, and state why it was needed. If the request were reasonable, the cash would be forthcoming; if preposterous, it would not. The flaw in the scheme, from his lordship’s point of view, was the difference of opinion which can exist in the minds of two men as to what the words reasonable and preposterous may be taken to mean.

Twenty pounds, for instance, would, in the lexicon of Sir Thomas Blunt, be perfectly reasonable for the current expenses of a man engaged to Molly McEachern, but preposterous for one to whom she had declined to remain engaged. It is these subtle shades of meaning which make the English language so full of pitfalls for the foreigner.

So engrossed was his lordship in his meditations that it was not till a voice spoke at his elbow that he was aware that Sir Thomas himself was standing by his side.

“Well, Spennie, my boy,” said the knight. “Time to dress for dinner, I think. Eh? Eh?”

He was plainly in high good humour. The thought of the distinguished company he was to entertain that night had changed him temporarily, as with some wave of a fairy wand, into a thing of joviality and benevolence. One could almost hear the milk of human kindness gurgling and splashing within him. The irony of Fate! Tonight⁠—such was his mood⁠—a dutiful nephew could have come and felt his pockets and helped himself⁠—if circumstances had been different. Oh, woman, woman, how you bar us from Paradise!

His lordship gurgled a wordless reply, thrusting the fateful letter hastily into his pocket. He would break the news anon⁠—soon. Not yet⁠—later on; in fact, anon.

“Up in your part, my boy?” continued Sir Thomas. “You mustn’t spoil the play by forgetting your lines. That wouldn’t do.”

His eye was caught by the envelope which Spennie had dropped. A momentary relapse from the jovial and benevolent was the result. His fussy little soul abhorred small untidinesses.

“Dear me,” he said, stooping, “I wish people would not drop paper about the house. I cannot endure a litter.”

He spoke as if somebody had been playing hare and hounds and scattering the scent on the stairs. This sort of thing sometimes made him regret the old days. In Blunt’s Stores Rule 67 imposed a fine of half a crown on employees convicted of paper-dropping.

“I⁠—” began his lordship.

“Why”⁠—Sir Thomas straightened himself⁠—“it’s addressed to you!”

“I was just going to pick it up. It’s⁠—er⁠—there was a note in it.”

Sir Thomas Blunt gazed at the envelope again. Joviality and benevolence resumed their thrones.

“And the feminine handwriting,” he chuckled. He eyed the limp peer almost roguishly. “I see, I see,” he said. “Very charming. Quite delightful! Girls must have their little romance. I suppose you two young people are exchanging love letters all day? Delightful⁠—quite delightful! Don’t look as if you were ashamed of it, my boy. I like it. I think it’s charming.”

Undoubtedly this was the opening. Beyond a question his lordship should have said at this point, “Uncle, I cannot tell a lie. I cannot even allow myself to see you labouring under a delusion which a word from me can remove. The contents of this note are not what you suppose. They run as follows⁠—”

What he did say was, “Uncle, can you let me have twenty pounds?”

Those were his amazing words. They slipped out. He could not stop them.

Sir Thomas was taken aback for an instant, but not seriously. He started as might a man who, stroking a cat, receives a sudden but trifling scratch.

“Twenty pounds, eh?” he said reflectively.

Then the milk of human kindness swept over displeasure like a tidal wave. This was a night for rich gifts to the deserving.

“Why, certainly, my boy, certainly. Do you want it at once?”

His lordship replied that he did, please; and he had seldom said a thing more fervently.

“Well, well. We’ll see what we can do. Come with me.”

He led the way to his dressing room. Like nearly all the rooms at the castle, it was large. One wall was completely hidden by the curtain behind which Spike had taken refuge that afternoon.

Sir Thomas went to the dressing table and unlocked a small drawer.

“Twenty, you said? Five⁠—ten⁠—fifteen⁠—here you are, my boy.”

Lord Dreever muttered his thanks. Sir Thomas accepted the guttural acknowledgment with a friendly pat on the shoulder.

“I like a little touch like that,” he said.

His lordship looked startled.

“I wouldn’t have touched you,” he began, “if it hadn’t been⁠—”

“A little touch like that letter-writing,” Sir Thomas went on. “It shows a warm heart. She is a warmhearted girl, Spennie⁠—a charming, warmhearted girl! You’re uncommonly lucky, my boy.”

His lordship, crackling the four banknotes, silently agreed with him.

“But come, I must be dressing. Dear me, it is very late. We shall have to hurry. By the way, my boy, I shall take the opportunity of making a public announcement of the engagement tonight. It will be a capital occasion for it, I think, perhaps, at the conclusion of the theatricals, a little speech⁠—something quite impromptu and informal, just asking them to wish you happiness, and so on. I like the idea.