Service with a Smile by P.G. Wodehouse Read Free Book Online Page B

said.
    ‘From
boyhood. His boyhood, of course, not mine.’
    ‘He
comes from Brazil, I hear.’
    ‘Yes,
like Charley’s Aunt. But —’ Here Lord Ickenham’s voice took on a grave note, ‘—
on no account mention Brazil to him if you don’t mind. It was the scene of the
great tragedy of his life. His young wife fell into the Amazon and was eaten by
an alligator.’
    ‘How
dreadful!’
    ‘For
her, yes, though not of course for the alligator. I thought I had better give
you this word of warning. Pass it along, will you? Oh, hullo, Dunstable.’
    The
Duke had lumbered on to the terrace and was peering at him in his popeyed way.
    ‘Hullo,
Ickenham. You here again?’
    ‘That’s
right.’
    ‘You’ve
aged.’
    ‘Not
spiritually. My heart is still the heart of a little child.’
    ‘Pass
what along?’
    ‘Ah,
you overheard what I was saying? I was speaking of my friend Meriwether, whom
Lady Constance very kindly invited here with me.’
    It
would be too much, perhaps, to say that Lady Constance snorted at this
explanation of Bill’s presence in the home, but she unquestionably sniffed. She
said nothing, and ate a cucumber sandwich in rather a marked manner. She was
thinking that she would have more to say to her brother Clarence on this subject
when she got him alone.
    ‘What
about him?’
    ‘I was
urging Lady Constance not to speak to him of Brazil. Will you remember this?’
    ‘What
would I want to speak to him of Brazil for?’
    ‘You
might on learning that that was where he had spent much of his life. And if you
did, a far-away look would come into his eyes and he would grunt with pain. His
young wife fell into the Amazon.’
    ‘Potty
thing to do.’
    ‘And
was eaten by an alligator.’
    ‘Well,
what else did the silly ass expect would happen? Connie,’ said the Duke,
dismissing a topic that had failed from the start to grip him. ‘Stop stuffing
yourself with food and come along. Young George wants to take some pictures of
us with his camera. He’s out on the lawn with Archibald. You met my nephew,
Archibald?’
    ‘Not
yet,’ said Lord Ickenham. ‘I am looking forward eagerly to making his
acquaintance.’
    ‘You’re what?’ said the Duke incredulously.
    ‘Any
nephew of yours.’
    ‘Oh I
see what you mean. But you can’t go by that. He’s not like me. He’s potty.’
    ‘Indeed?’
    ‘Got
less brain than Connie here, and hasn’t the excuse for pottiness that she has,
because he’s not a woman. Connie’s hoping he’ll marry the Stick-in-the-Mud
girl, though why any girl would want to tie herself up with a poop like that,
is more than I can imagine. He’s an artist. Draws pictures. And you know what
artists are. Where is the Tiddlypush girl, Connie? George wants her in the
picture.’
    ‘She
went down to the lake.’
    ‘Well,
if she thinks I’m going there to fetch her, she’s mistaken,’ said the Duke
gallantly. ‘George’ll have to do without her.’
     
     
    3
     
    On a knoll overlooking the
lake there stood a little sort of imitation Greek temple, erected by Lord Emsworth’s
grandfather in the days when landowners went in for little sort of imitation
Greek temples in their grounds. In front of it there was a marble bench, and on
this bench Myra Schoonmaker was sitting, gazing with what are called unseeing
eyes at the Church Lads bobbing about in the water below. She was not in the
gayest of spirits. Her brow, indeed, was as furrowed and her lips as drawn as
they had been three days earlier when she had accompanied Lord Emsworth to the
Empress’s sty.
    A
footstep on the marble floor brought her out of her reverie with a jerk. She
turned and saw a tall, distinguished-looking man with grey hair and a jaunty
moustache, who smiled at her affectionately.
    ‘Hullo
there, young Myra,’ he said.
    He
spoke as if they were old friends, but she had no recollection of ever having
seen him before.
    ‘Who
are you?’ she said. The question seemed abrupt and she wished she had