Pigs Have Wings by P. G. Wodehouse Read Free Book Online

language,’ but the noun — expressed so exactly what he himself was thinking of the Hon. Galahad Threepwood that he could not bring himself to chide and rebuke. As a matter of fact, though — is admittedly strong stuff, he had gone even farther than his companion, labelling Gally in his mind as a****** and a!!!!!!.
    ‘Precisely what I think myself,’ he agreed. ‘From now on, Wellbeloved, ceaseless vigilance.’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    ‘We cannot afford to relax for an instant.’
    ‘No, sir. The Hun is at the gate.’
    ‘The what’s where?’
    ‘The Hun, sir. At the gate, sir. Or putting it another way,’ said George Cyril Wellbeloved, who had attended Sunday School in Market Blandings as a boy and still retained a smattering of what he had learned in the days when he was trailing clouds of glory, ‘See the troops of Midian prowl and prowl around.’
    Sir Gregory thought this over.
    ‘Yes. Yes, I see what you mean. Troops of Midian, yes. Nasty fellers. You did say Midian?’
    ‘Yes, sir. Midian, troops of. Christian, dost thou hear them on the holy ground? Christian, up and smite them!’
    ‘Quite. Yes. Precisely. Just what I was about to suggest myself. You will need a shot-gun. Have you a shot-gun?’
    ‘No, sir.’
    ‘I will give you one. Keep it beside you, never let it out of your hands, and if the occasion arises, use it. Mind you, I am not saying commit a murder and render yourself liable to the extreme penalty of the law, but if one of these nights some bally bounder – I name no names – comes sneaking around Queen of Matchingham’s sty, there’s nothing to prevent you giving him a dashed good peppering in the seat of the pants.’
    ‘Nothing whatever, sir,’ assented George Cyril Wellbeloved cordially.
    ‘If he asks for it, let him have it.’
    ‘I will, sir. With both barrels.’
    The conference had gone with such a swing up to this point, overlord and vassal being so patently two minds with but a single thought, that it was a pity that Sir Gregory should now have struck a jarring note. A sudden idea had occurred to him, and he gave it utterance with all the relish of a man whose betrothed has put him on a strict teetotal regimen. Misery loves company.
    ‘And another thing,’ he said. ‘From this moment you abstain from all alcoholic beverages.’
    ‘Sir!’
    ‘You heard. No more fuddling yourself in tap rooms. I want you keen, alert, up on your toes.’
    George Cyril Wellbeloved swallowed painfully, like an ostrich swallowing a brass door-knob.
    ‘When you say alcoholic beverages, sir, you don’t mean beer?’
    ‘I do mean beer.’
    ‘No beer?’
    ‘No beer.’
    ‘No beer ?’
    ‘Not a drop.’
    George Cyril Wellbeloved opened his mouth, and for a moment it seemed as if burning words were about to proceed from it. Then, as though struck by a thought, he checked himself.
    ‘Very good, sir,’ he said meekly.
    Sir Gregory gave him a keen glance.
    ‘Yes, I know what you’re thinking,’ he said. ‘You’re thinking you’ll be able to sneak off on the sly and lower yourself to the level of the beasts of the field without my knowing it. Well, you won’t. I shall give strict orders to the landlords of the various public-houses in Market Blandings that you are not to be served, and as I am on the licensing board, I think these orders will be respected. What beats me,’ said Sir Gregory virtuously, ‘is why you fellers want to go about swilling and soaking. Look at me. I never touch the stuff. All right, that’s all. Push off.’
    Droopingly, like a man on whose horizon there is no ray of light, George Cyril Wellbeloved, having given his employer one long, sad, reproachful look, left the room, taking some, but not all, of the pig smell with him. A few moments after the door had closed behind him, Lady Constance’s telephone call came through.
    ‘Matchingham 8–30?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Sir Gregory?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Are you there?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Is your blister still