Something New, Pelham Grenville Wodehouse [best historical biographies TXT] 📗
- Author: Pelham Grenville Wodehouse
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The Author Of Gridley Quayle, Is Felix Clovelly, Isn't It?"
"Good Heavens, No! Surely You Don't Think Anyone's Name Could
Really Be Felix Clovelly? That Is Only The Cloak Under Which I
Hide My Shame. My Real Name Is Marson--Ashe Marson. And Yours?"
"Valentine--Joan Valentine."
"Will You Tell Me The Story Of Your Life, Or Shall I Tell Mine
First?"
"I Don't Know That I Have Any Particular Story. I Am An
American."
"Not American!"
"Why Not?"
"Because It Is Too Extraordinary, Too Much Like A Gridley Quayle
Coincidence. I Am An American!"
"Well, So Are A Good Many Other People."
"You Miss The Point. We Are Not Only Fellow Serfs--We Are Fellow
Exiles. You Can't Round The Thing Off By Telling Me You Were Born
In Hayling, Massachusetts, I Suppose?"
"I Was Born In New York."
"Surely Not! I Didn't Know Anybody Was."
"Why Hayling, Massachusetts?"
"That Was Where I Was Born."
"I'm Afraid I Never Heard Of It."
Chapter 1 Pg 10
"Strange. I Know Your Home Town Quite Well. But I Have Not Yet
Made My Birthplace Famous; In Fact, I Doubt Whether I Ever Shall.
I Am Beginning To Realize That I Am One Of The Failures."
"How Old Are You?"
"Twenty-Six."
"You Are Only Twenty-Six And You Call Yourself A Failure? I Think
That Is A Shameful Thing To Say."
"What Would You Call A Man Of Twenty-Six Whose Only Means Of
Making A Living Was The Writing Of Gridley Quayle Stories--An
Empire Builder?"
"How Do You Know It's Your Only Means Of Making A Living? Why
Don't You Try Something New?"
"Such As?"
"How Should I Know? Anything That Comes Along. Good Gracious, Mr.
Marson; Here You Are In The Biggest City In The World, With
Chances For Adventure Simply Shrieking To You On Every Side."
"I Must Be Deaf. The Only Thing I Have Heard Shrieking To Me On
Every Side Has Been Mrs. Bell--For The Week's Rent."
"Read The Papers. Read The Advertisement Columns. I'm Sure You
Will Find Something Sooner Or Later. Don't Get Into A Groove. Be
An Adventurer. Snatch At The Next Chance, Whatever It Is."
Ashe Nodded.
"Continue," He Said. "Proceed. You Are Stimulating Me."
"But Why Should You Want A Girl Like Me To Stimulate You? Surely
London Is Enough To Do It Without My Help? You Can Always Find
Something New, Surely? Listen, Mr. Marson. I Was Thrown On My Own
Resources About Five Years Ago--Never Mind How. Since Then I Have
Worked In A Shop, Done Typewriting, Been On The Stage, Had A
Position As Governess, Been A Lady's Maid--"
"A What! A Lady's Maid?"
"Why Not? It Was All Experience; And I Can Assure You I Would
Much Rather Be A Lady's Maid Than A Governess."
"I Think I Know What You Mean. I Was A Private Tutor Once. I
Suppose A Governess Is The Female Equivalent. I Have Often
Wondered What General Sherman Would Have Said About Private
Tutoring If He Expressed Himself So Breezily About Mere War. Was
It Fun Being A Lady's Maid?"
Chapter 1 Pg 11
"It Was Pretty Good Fun; And It Gave Me An Opportunity Of
Studying The Aristocracy In Its Native Haunts, Which Has Made Me
The Gossip's Established Authority On Dukes And Earls."
Ashe Drew A Deep Breath--Not A Scientific Deep Breath, But One Of
Admiration.
"You Are Perfectly Splendid!"
"Splendid?"
"I Mean, You Have Such Pluck."
"Oh, Well; I Keep On Trying. I'm Twenty-Three And I Haven't
Achieved Anything Much Yet; But I Certainly Don't Feel Like
Sitting Back And Calling Myself A Failure."
Ashe Made A Grimace.
"All Right," He Said. "I've Got It."
"I Meant You To," Said Joan Placidly. "I Hope I Haven't Bored You
With My Autobiography, Mr. Marson. I'm Not Setting Myself Up As A
Shining Example; But I Do Like Action And Hate Stagnation."
"You Are Absolutely Wonderful!" Said Ashe. "You Are A Human
Correspondence Course In Efficiency, One Of The Ones You See
Advertised In The Back Pages Of The Magazines, Beginning, 'Young
Man, Are You Earning Enough?' With A Picture Showing The Dead
Beat Gazing Wistfully At The Boss' Chair. You Would Galvanize A
Jellyfish."
"If I Have Really Stimulated You-----"
"I Think That Was Another Slam," Said Ashe Pensively. "Well, I
Deserve It. Yes, You Have Stimulated Me. I Feel Like A New Man.
It's Queer That You Should Have Come To Me Right On Top Of
Everything Else. I Don't Remember When I Have Felt So Restless
And Discontented As This Morning."
"It's The Spring."
"I Suppose It Is. I Feel Like Doing Something Big And
Adventurous."
"Well, Do It Then. You Have A Morning Post On The Table. Have You
Read It Yet?"
"I Glanced At It."
"But You Haven't Read The Advertisement Pages? Read Them. They
May Contain Just The Opening You Want."
"Well, I'll Do It; But My Experience Of Advertisement Pages Is
Chapter 1 Pg 12That They Are Monopolized By Philanthropists Who Want To Lend You
Any Sum From Ten To A Hundred Thousand Pounds On Your Note Of
Hand Only. However, I Will Scan Them."
Joan Rose And Held Out Her Hand.
"Good-By, Mr. Marson. You've Got Your Detective Story To Write,
And I Have To Think Out Something With A Duke In It By To-Night;
So I Must Be Going." She Smiled. "We Have Traveled A Good Way
From The Point Where We Started, But I May As Well Go Back To It
Before I Leave You. I'm Sorry I Laughed At You This Morning."
Ashe Clasped Her Hand In A Fervent Grip.
"I'm Not. Come And Laugh At Me Whenever You Feel Like It. I Like
Being Laughed At. Why, When I Started My Morning Exercises, Half
Of London Used To Come And Roll About The Sidewalks In
Convulsions. I'm Not An Attraction Any Longer And It Makes Me
Feel Lonesome. There Are Twenty-Nine Of Those Larsen Exercises
And You Saw Only Part Of The First. You Have Done So Much For Me
That If I Can Be Of Any Use To You, In Helping You To Greet The
Day With A Smile, I Shall Be Only Too Proud. Exercise Six Is A
Sure-Fire Mirth-Provoker; I'll Start With It To-Morrow Morning. I
Can Also Recommend Exercise Eleven--A Scream! Don't Miss It."
"Very Well. Well, Good-By For The Present."
"Good-By."
She Was Gone; And Ashe, Thrilling With New Emotions, Stared At
The Door Which Had Closed Behind Her. He Felt As Though He Had
Been Wakened From Sleep By A Powerful Electric Shock.
Close Beside The Sheet Of Paper On Which He Had Inscribed The Now
Luminous And Suggestive Title Of His New Gridley Quayle Story Lay
The Morning Post, The Advertisement Columns Of Which He Had
Promised Her To Explore. The Least He Could Do Was To Begin At
Once.
His Spirits Sank As He Did So. It Was The Same Old Game. A Mr.
Brian Macneill, Though Doing No Business With Minors, Was
Willing--Even Anxious--To Part With His Vast Fortune To Anyone
Over The Age Of Twenty-One Whose Means Happened To Be A Trifle
Straitened. This Good Man Required No Security Whatever; Nor Did
His Rivals In Generosity, The Messrs. Angus Bruce, Duncan
Macfarlane, Wallace Mackintosh And Donald Macnab. They, Too,
Showed A Curious Distaste For Dealing With Minors; But Anyone Of
Maturer Years Could Simply Come Round To The Office And Help
Himself.
Ashe Threw The Paper Down Wearily. He Had Known All Along That It
Was No Good. Romance Was Dead And The Unexpected No Longer
Happened. He Picked Up His Pen And Began To Write "The Adventure
Of The Wand Of Death."
Chapter 2 Pg 13In A Bedroom On The Fourth Floor Of The Hotel Guelph In
Piccadilly, The Honorable Frederick Threepwood Sat In Bed, With
His Knees Drawn Up To His Chin, And Glared At The Day With The
Glare Of Mental Anguish. He Had Very Little Mind, But What He Had
Was Suffering.
He Had Just Remembered. It Is Like That In This Life. You Wake
Up, Feeling As Fit As A Fiddle; You Look At The Window And See
The Sun, And Thank Heaven For A Fine Day; You Begin To Plan A
Perfectly Corking Luncheon Party With Some Of The Chappies You
Met Last Night At The National Sporting Club; And Then--You
Remember.
"Oh, Dash It!" Said The Honorable Freddie. And After A Moment's
Pause: "And I Was Feeling So Dashed Happy!"
For The Space Of Some Minutes He Remained Plunged In Sad
Meditation; Then, Picking Up The Telephone From The Table At His
Side, He Asked For A Number.
"Hello!"
"Hello!" Responded A Rich Voice At The Other End Of The Wire.
"Oh, I Say! Is That You, Dickie?"
"Who Is That?"
"This Is Freddie Threepwood. I Say, Dickie, Old Top, I Want To
See You About Something Devilish Important. Will You Be In At
Twelve?"
"Certainly. What's The Trouble?"
"I Can't Explain Over The Wire; But It's Deuced Serious."
"Very Well. By The Way, Freddie, Congratulations On The
Engagement."
"Thanks, Old Man. Thanks Very Much, And So On--But You Won't
Forget To Be In At Twelve, Will You? Good-By."
He Replaced The Receiver Quickly And Sprang Out Of Bed, For He
Had Heard The Door Handle Turn. When The Door Opened He Was
Giving A Correct Representation Of A Young Man Wasting No Time In
Beginning His Toilet For The Day.
Chapter 2 Pg 14
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