Mr Mulliner Speaking by P. G. Wodehouse Read Free Book Online Page A

near the model-throne.
     
Ignatius recovered his balance just too late. By the time he had disentangled himself from the mat, leaped at the cupboard door and started to tug at the handle, Cyprian was tugging at it from the other side, and, strive though he might, Ignatius could not dislodge him.
     
Presently, he gave up the struggle and, moving moodily away, picked up his ukulele and played 'Ol' Man River' for awhile. He was just feeling his way cautiously through that rather tricky 'He don't say nuffin', He must know somefin' ' bit, when the door opened once more and there stood George.
     
'What ho!' said George.
     
'Ah!' said Ignatius.
     
'What do you mean, Ah?'
     
'Just ''Ah!'',' said Ignatius.
     
'I've come for that money.'
     
'Ah?'
     
'That twenty quid or whatever it was that you very decently promised me yesterday. And, lying in bed this morning, the thought crossed my mind: Why not make it twenty-five? A nice, round sum,' argued George.
     
'Ah!'
     
'You keep saying ''Ah!'' ' said George. 'Why do you say ''Ah!''?'
     
Ignatius drew himself up haughtily.
     
'This is my studio, paid for with my own money, and I shall say ''Ah!'' in it just as often as I please.'
     
'Of course,' agreed George hurriedly. 'Of course, my dear old chap, of course, of course. Hullo!' He looked down. 'Shoelace undone. Dangerous. Might trip a fellow. Excuse me a moment.'
     
He stooped: and as Ignatius gazed at his spacious trouser-seat the thought came to him that in the special circumstances there was but one thing to be done. He waggled his right leg for a moment to limber it up, backed a pace or two and crept forward.
     
 
     
Mrs Rossiter, meanwhile, accompanied by her daughter Hermione, had left Scantlebury Square and, though a trifle short in the wind, had covered the distance between it and the studio in quite good time. But the effort had told upon her, and half-way up the stairs she was compelled to halt for a short rest. It was as she stood there, puffing slightly like a seal after diving for fish, that something seemed to shoot past her in the darkness.
     
'What was that?' she exclaimed.
     
'I thought I saw something, too,' said Hermione.
     
'Some heavy, moving object.'
     
'Yes,' said Hermione. 'Perhaps we had better go up and ask Mr Mulliner if he has been dropping things downstairs.'
     
They made their way to the studio. Ignatius was standing on one leg, rubbing the toes of his right foot. Your artist is proverbially a dreamy, absent-minded man, and he had realized too late that he was wearing bedroom slippers. Despite the fact, however, that he was in considerable pain, his expression was not unhappy. He had the air of a man who is conscious of having done the right thing.
     
'Good morning, Mr Mulliner,' said Mrs Rossiter.
     
'Good morning, Mr Mulliner,' said Hermione.
     
'Good morning,' said Ignatius, looking at them with deep loathing. It amazed him that he had ever felt attracted by this girl. Until this moment, his animosity had been directed wholly against the male members of her family: but now that she stood before him he realized that the real outstanding Rossiter gumboil was this Hermione. The brief flicker of joie-de-vivre which had followed his interview with George had died away, leaving his mood blacker than ever. One scarcely likes to think what might have happened, had Hermione selected that moment to tie her shoelace.
     
'Well, here we are,' said Mrs Rossiter.
     
At this point, unseen by them, the cupboard door began to open noiselessly. A pale face peeped out. The next instant, there was a cloud of dust, a whirring noise, and the sound of footsteps descending the stairs three at a time.
     
Mrs Rossiter put a hand to her heart and panted.
     
'What was that?'
     
'It was a little blurred,' said Hermione, 'but I think it was Cyprian.'
     
Ignatius uttered a passionate cry and dashed to the head of the stairs.
     
'Gone!'
     
He came back, his face contorted, muttering to himself. Mrs Rossiter