The Intrusion of Jimmy by P. G. Wodehouse (new books to read .txt) 📗
- Author: P. G. Wodehouse
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He missed the chance. He had had time to think, and his arguments were ready again. With stolid good-humor, he marched along the line he had mapped out. He was kindly and shrewd and practical; and the gulf gaped wider with every word.
"You mustn't be rash, my dear. You mustn't act without thinking in these things. Lord Dreever is only a boy, as you say, but he will grow. You say you don't love him. Nonsense! You like him. You would go on liking him more and more. And why? Because you could make what you pleased of him. You've got character, my dear. With a girl like you to look after him, he would go a long way, a very long way. It's all there. It only wants bringing out. And think of it, Molly! Countess of Dreever! There's hardly a better title in England. It would make me very happy, my dear. It's been my one hope all these years to see you in the place where you ought to be. And now the chance has come. Molly, dear, don't throw it away."
She had leaned back with closed eyes. A wave of exhaustion had swept over her. She listened in a dull dream. She felt beaten. They were too strong for her. There were too many of them. What did it matter? Why not give in, and end it all and win peace? That was all she wanted—peace now. What did it all matter?
"Very well, father," she said, listlessly.
McEachern stopped short.
"You'll do it, dear?" he cried. "You will?"
"Very well, father."
He stooped and kissed her.
"My own dear little girl," he said.
She got up.
"I'm rather tired, father," she said. "I think I'll go in."
Two minutes later, Mr. McEachern was in Sir Thomas Blunt's study. Five minutes later, Sir Thomas pressed the bell.
Saunders appeared.
"Tell his lordship," said Sir Thomas, "that I wish to see him a moment. He is in the billiard-room, I think."
CHAPTER XVII — JIMMY REMEMBERS SOMETHING
The game between Hargate and Lord Dreever was still in progress when Jimmy returned to the billiard-room. A glance at the board showed that the score was seventy—sixty-nine, in favor of spot.
"Good game," said Jimmy. "Who's spot?"
"I am," said his lordship, missing an easy cannon. For some reason, he appeared in high spirits. "Hargate's been going great guns. I was eleven ahead a moment ago, but he made a break of twelve."
Lord Dreever belonged to the class of billiard-players to whom a double-figure break is a thing to be noted and greeted with respect.
"Fluky," muttered the silent Hargate, deprecatingly. This was a long speech for him. Since their meeting at Paddington station, Jimmy had seldom heard him utter anything beyond a monosyllable.
"Not a bit of it, dear old son," said Lord Dreever, handsomely. "You're coming on like a two-year-old. I sha'n't be able to give you twenty in a hundred much longer."
He went to a side-table, and mixed himself a whiskey-and-soda, singing a brief extract from musical comedy as he did so. There could be no shadow of doubt that he was finding life good. For the past few days, and particularly that afternoon, he had been rather noticeably ill at ease. Jimmy had seen him hanging about the terrace at half-past five, and had thought that he looked like a mute at a funeral. But now, only a few hours later, he was beaming on the world, and chirping like a bird.
The game moved jerkily along. Jimmy took a seat, and watched. The score mounted slowly. Lord Dreever was bad, but Hargate was worse. At length, in the eighties, his lordship struck a brilliant vein. When he had finished his break, his score was ninety-five. Hargate, who had profited by a series of misses on his opponent's part, had reached ninety-six.
"This is shortening my life," said Jimmy, leaning forward.
The balls had been left in an ideal position. Even Hargate could not fail to make a cannon. He made it.
A close finish to even the worst game is exciting. Jimmy leaned still further forward to watch the next stroke. It looked as if Hargate would have to wait for his victory. A good player could have made a cannon as the balls lay, but not Hargate. They were almost in a straight line, with, white in the center.
Hargate swore under his breath. There was nothing to be done. He struck carelessly at white. White rolled against red, seemed to hang for a moment, and shot straight back against spot. The game was over.
"Great Scott! What a fluke!" cried the silent one, becoming quite garrulous at the miracle.
A quiet grin spread itself slowly across Jimmy's face. He had remembered what he had been trying to remember for over a week.
At this moment, the door opened, and Saunders appeared. "Sir Thomas would like to see your lordship in his study," he said.
"Eh? What does he want?"
"Sir Thomas did not confide in me, your lordship."
"Eh? What? Oh, no! Well, see you later, you men."
He rested his cue against the table, and put on his coat. Jimmy followed him out of the door, which he shut behind him.
"One second, Dreever," he said.
"Eh? Hullo! What's up?"
"Any money on that game?" asked Jimmy.
"Why, yes, by Jove, now you mention it, there was. An even fiver. And—er—by the way, old man—the fact is, just for the moment, I'm frightfully—You haven't such a thing as a fiver anywhere about, have you? The fact is—"
"My dear fellow, of course. I'll square up with him now, shall I?"
"Fearfully obliged, if you would. Thanks, old man. Pay it to-morrow."
"No hurry," said Jimmy; "plenty more in the old oak chest."
He went back to the room. Hargate was practising cannons. He was on the point of making a stroke when Jimmy opened the door.
"Care for a game?" said Hargate.
"Not just at present," said Jimmy.
Hargate attempted his cannon, and failed badly. Jimmy smiled.
"Not such a good shot as the last," he said.
"No."
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