A Damsel in Distress, P. G. Wodehouse [best finance books of all time .txt] 📗

say that George pulls down in a good year, during the season⁠—around five thousand dollars a week.”

Lord Marshmoreton was frankly staggered.

“A thousand pounds a week! I had no idea!”

“I thought you hadn’t. And, while I’m boosting George, let me tell you another thing. He’s one of the whitest men that ever happened. I know him. You can take it from me, if there’s anything rotten in a fellow, the show-business will bring it out, and it hasn’t come out in George yet, so I guess it isn’t there. George is all right!”

“He has at least an excellent advocate.”

“Oh, I’m strong for George. I wish there were more like him⁠ ⁠… Well, if you think I’ve butted in on your private affairs sufficiently, I suppose I ought to be moving. We’ve a rehearsal this afternoon.”

“Let it go!” said Lord Marshmoreton boyishly.

“Yes, and how quick do you think they would let me go, if I did? I’m an honest working-girl, and I can’t afford to lose jobs.”

Lord Marshmoreton fiddled with his cigar-butt.

“I could offer you an alternative position, if you cared to accept it.”

Billie looked at him keenly. Other men in similar circumstances had made much the same remark to her. She was conscious of feeling a little disappointed in her new friend.

“Well?” she said dryly. “Shoot.”

“You gathered, no doubt, from Mr. Bevan’s conversation, that my secretary has left me and run away and got married? Would you like to take her place?”

It was not easy to disconcert Billie Dore, but she was taken aback. She had been expecting something different.

“You’re a shriek, dadda!”

“I’m perfectly serious.”

“Can you see me at a castle?”

“I can see you perfectly.” Lord Marshmoreton’s rather formal manner left him. “Do please accept, my dear child. I’ve got to finish this damned family history some time or other. The family expect me to. Only yesterday my sister Caroline got me in a corner and bored me for half an hour about it. I simply can’t face the prospect of getting another Alice Faraday from an agency. Charming girl, charming girl, of course, but⁠ ⁠… but⁠ ⁠… well, I’ll be damned if I do it, and that’s the long and short of it!”

Billie bubbled over with laughter.

“Of all the impulsive kids!” she gurgled. “I never met anyone like you, dadda! You don’t even know that I can use a typewriter.”

“I do. Mr. Bevan told me you were an excellent stenographer.”

“So George has been boosting me, too, has he?” She mused. “I must say, I’d love to come. That old place got me when I saw it that day.”

“That’s settled, then,” said Lord Marshmoreton masterfully. “Go to the theatre and tell them⁠—tell whatever is usual in these cases. And then go home and pack, and meet me at Waterloo at six o’clock. The train leaves at six-fifteen.”

“Return of the wanderer, accompanied by dizzy blonde! You’ve certainly got it all fixed, haven’t you! Do you think the family will stand for me?”

“Damn the family!” said Lord Marshmoreton, stoutly.

“There’s one thing,” said Billie complacently, eyeing her reflection in the mirror of her vanity-case, “I may glitter in the fighting-top, but it is genuine. When I was a kid, I was a regular little towhead.”

“I never supposed for a moment that it was anything but genuine.”

“Then you’ve got a fine, unsuspicious nature, dadda, and I admire you for it.”

“Six o’clock at Waterloo,” said the earl. “I will be waiting for you.”

Billie regarded him with affectionate admiration.

“Boys will be boys,” she said. “All right. I’ll be there.”

XXII

“Young blighted Albert,” said Keggs the butler, shifting his weight so that it distributed itself more comfortably over the creaking chair in which he reclined, “let this be a lesson to you, young feller me lad.”

The day was a week after Lord Marshmoreton’s visit to London, the hour six o’clock. The housekeeper’s room, in which the upper servants took their meals, had emptied. Of the gay company which had just finished dinner only Keggs remained, placidly digesting. Albert, whose duty it was to wait on the upper servants, was moving to and fro, morosely collecting the plates and glasses. The boy was in no happy frame of mind. Throughout dinner the conversation at table had dealt almost exclusively with the now celebrated elopement of Reggie Byng and his bride, and few subjects could have made more painful listening to Albert.

“What’s been the result and what I might call the upshot,” said Keggs, continuing his homily, “of all your making yourself so busy and thrusting of yourself forward and meddling in the affairs of your elders and betters? The upshot and issue of it ’as been that you are out five shillings and nothing to show for it. Five shillings what you might have spent on some good book and improved your mind! And goodness knows it wants all the improving it can get, for of all the worthless, idle little messers it’s ever been my misfortune to have dealings with, you are the champion. Be careful of them plates, young man, and don’t breathe so hard. You ’aven’t got hasthma or something, ’ave you?”

“I can’t breathe now!” complained the stricken child.

“Not like a grampus you can’t, and don’t you forget it.” Keggs wagged his head reprovingly. “Well, so your Reggie Byng’s gone and eloped, has he! That ought to teach you to be more careful another time ’ow you go gambling and plunging into sweepstakes. The idea of a child of your age ’aving the audacity to thrust ’isself forward like that!”

“Don’t call him my Reggie Byng! I didn’t draw ’im!”

“There’s no need to go into all that again, young feller. You accepted ’im freely and without prejudice when the fair exchange was suggested, so for all practical intents and purposes he is your Reggie Byng. I ’ope you’re going to send him a wedding-present.”

“Well, you ain’t any better off than me, with all your ’ighway robbery!”

“My what!”

“You ’eard what I said.”

“Well, don’t let me ’ear it again. The idea! If you ’ad any objections to parting with