Uneasy Money

G. Wodehouse P.

Description

What would you do if you found out that a long-ago acquaintance left you the equivalent of millions of dollars in his will? That's exactly what happens to down-on-his-luck Lord Dawlish in P.G. Wodehouse's Uneasy Money. Although the funds are a much-needed financial blessing, Dawlish isn't entirely comfortable with the inheritance and sets off on a quest to put things right -- with plenty of stops along the way to indulge his love of golf, theater, and the opposite sex.

Informations

• Publié par: The Floating Press
• Date de parution: 01 mars 2012
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781775456414
• Langue: English

Extrait

UNEASY MONEY
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P. G. WODEHOUSE
 
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Uneasy Money First published in 1916 ISBN 978-1-77545-641-4 © 2012 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25
1
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In a day in June, at the hour when London moves abroad in questof lunch, a young man stood at the entrance of the BandoleroRestaurant looking earnestly up Shaftesbury Avenue—a large youngman in excellent condition, with a pleasant, good-humoured, brown,clean-cut face. He paid no attention to the stream of humanitythat flowed past him. His mouth was set and his eyes wore aserious, almost a wistful expression. He was frowning slightly.One would have said that here was a man with a secret sorrow.
William FitzWilliam Delamere Chalmers, Lord Dawlish, had no secretsorrow. All that he was thinking of at that moment was the bestmethod of laying a golf ball dead in front of the Palace Theatre.It was his habit to pass the time in mental golf when ClaireFenwick was late in keeping her appointments with him. On oneoccasion she had kept him waiting so long that he had been able todo nine holes, starting at the Savoy Grill and finishing up nearHammersmith. His was a simple mind, able to amuse itself withsimple things.
As he stood there, gazing into the middle distance, an individualof dishevelled aspect sidled up, a vagrant of almost the maximumseediness, from whose midriff there protruded a trayful of astrange welter of collar-studs, shoe-laces, rubber rings,buttonhooks, and dying roosters. For some minutes he had beeneyeing his lordship appraisingly from the edge of the kerb, andnow, secure in the fact that there seemed to be no policeman inthe immediate vicinity, he anchored himself in front of him andobserved that he had a wife and four children at home, allstarving.
This sort of thing was always happening to Lord Dawlish. There wassomething about him, some atmosphere of unaffected kindliness,that invited it.
In these days when everything, from the shape of a man's hat tohis method of dealing with asparagus, is supposed to be an indexto character, it is possible to form some estimate of Lord Dawlishfrom the fact that his vigil in front of the Bandolero had beenexpensive even before the advent of the Benedict with the studsand laces. In London, as in New York, there are spots where it isunsafe for a man of yielding disposition to stand still, and thecorner of Shaftesbury Avenue and Piccadilly Circus is one of them.Scrubby, impecunious men drift to and fro there, waiting for thegods to provide something easy; and the prudent man, conscious ofthe possession of loose change, whizzes through the danger zone athis best speed, 'like one that on a lonesome road doth walk infear and dread, and having once turned round walks on, and turnsno more his head, because he knows a frightful fiend doth closebehind him tread.' In the seven minutes he had been waiting twofrightful fiends closed in on Lord Dawlish, requesting loans offive shillings till Wednesday week and Saturday week respectively,and he had parted with the money without a murmur.
A further clue to his character is supplied by the fact that boththese needy persons seemed to know him intimately, and that eachcalled him Bill. All Lord Dawlish's friends called him Bill, andhe had a catholic list of them, ranging from men whose names werein 'Debrett' to men whose names were on the notice boards ofobscure clubs in connexion with the non-payment of dues. He wasthe sort of man one instinctively calls Bill.
The anti-race-suicide enthusiast with the rubber rings did not callLord Dawlish Bill, but otherwise his manner was intimate. Hislordship's gaze being a little slow in returning from the middledistance—for it was not a matter to be decided carelessly andwithout thought, this problem of carrying the length of ShaftesburyAvenue with a single brassy shot—he repeated the gossip from thehome. Lord Dawlish regarded him thoughtfully.
'It could be done,' he said, 'but you'd want a bit of pull on it.I'm sorry; I didn't catch what you said.'
The other obliged with his remark for the third time, withincreased pathos, for constant repetition was making him almostbelieve it himself.
'Four starving children?'
'Four, guv'nor, so help me!'
'I suppose you don't get much time for golf then, what?' said LordDawlish, sympathetically.
It was precisely three days, said the man, mournfully inflating adying rooster, since his offspring had tasted bread.
This did not touch Lord Dawlish deeply. He was not very fond ofbread. But it seemed to be troubling the poor fellow with thestuds a great deal, so, realizing that tastes differ and thatthere is no accounting for them, he looked at him commiseratingly.
'Of course, if they like bread, that makes it rather rotten,doesn't it? What are you going to do about it?'
'Buy a dying rooster, guv'nor,' he advised. 'Causes great fun andlaughter.'
Lord Dawlish eyed the strange fowl without enthusiasm.
'No,' he said, with a slight shudder.
There was a pause. The situation had the appearance of being at adeadlock.
'I'll tell you what,' said Lord Dawlish, with the air of one who,having pondered, has been rewarded with a great idea: 'the factis, I really don't want to buy anything. You seem by bad luck tobe stocked up with just the sort of things I wouldn't be seen deadin a ditch with. I can't stand rubber rings, never could. I'm notreally keen on buttonhooks. And I don't want to hurt yourfeelings, but I think that squeaking bird of yours is about thebeastliest thing I ever met. So suppose I give you a shilling andcall it square, what?'
'Gawd bless yer, guv'nor.'
'Not at all. You'll be able to get those children of yours somebread—I expect you can get a lot of bread for a shilling. Do theyreally like it? Rum kids!'
And having concluded this delicate financial deal Lord Dawlishturned, the movement bringing him face to face with a tall girl inwhite.
During the business talk which had just come to an end this girlhad been making her way up the side street which forms a short cutbetween Coventry Street and the Bandolero, and several admirers offeminine beauty who happened to be using the same route had almostdislocated their necks looking after her. She was a strikinglyhandsome girl. She was tall and willowy. Her eyes, shaded by herhat, were large and grey. Her nose was small and straight, hermouth, though somewhat hard, admirably shaped, and she carriedherself magnificently. One cannot blame the policeman on duty inLeicester Square for remarking to a cabman as she passed that heenvied the bloke that that was going to meet.
Bill Dawlish was this fortunate bloke, but, from the look of himas he caught sight of her, one would have said that he did notappreciate his luck. The fact of the matter was that he had onlyjust finished giving the father of the family his shilling, and hewas afraid that Claire had seen him doing it. For Claire, deargirl, was apt to be unreasonable about these little generositiesof his. He cast a furtive glance behind him in the hope that thedisseminator of expiring roosters had vanished, but the man wasstill at his elbow. Worse, he faced them, and in a hoarse butcarrying voice he was instructing Heaven to bless his benefactor.
'Halloa, Claire darling!' said Lord Dawlish, with a sort ofsheepish breeziness. 'Here you are.'
Claire was looking after the stud merchant, as, grasping hiswealth, he scuttled up the avenue.
'Only a bob,' his lordship hastened to say. 'Rather a sad case,don't you know. Squads of children at home demanding bread. Didn'twant much else, apparently, but were frightfully keen on bread.'
'He has just gone into a public-house.'
'He may have gone to telephone or something, what?'
'I wish,' said Claire, fretfully, leading the way down thegrillroom stairs, 'that you wouldn't let all London sponge on youlike this. I keep telling you not to. I should have thought thatif any one needed to keep what little money he has got it wasyou.'
Certainly Lord Dawlish would have been more prudent not to haveparted with even eleven shillings, for he was not a rich man.Indeed, with the single exception of the Earl of Wetherby, whosefinances were so irregular that he could not be said to possess anincome at all, he was the poorest man of his rank in the BritishIsles.
It was in the days of the Regency that the Dawlish coffers firstbegan to show signs of cracking under the strain, in the era ofthe then celebrated Beau Dawlish. Nor were his successors backwardin the spending art. A breezy disregard for the preservation ofthe pence was a family trait. Bill was at Cambridge when hispredecessor in the title, his Uncle Philip, was performing theconcluding exercises of the dissipation of the Dawlish doubloons,a feat which he achieved so neatly that when he died there wasjust enough cash to pay the doctors, and no more. Bill foundhimself the possessor of that most ironical thing, a moneylesstitle. He was then twenty-three.
Until six months before, when he had become engaged to ClaireFenwick, he had found nothing to quarrel with in his lot. He wasnot the type to waste time in vain regrets. His tastes weresimple. As long as he could afford to belong to one or two golfclubs and have something over for those small loans which, incertain of the numerous circles in which he moved, were theinevitable concomitant of popularity, he was satisfied. And thismodest ambition ha