Leave It to Psmith - P. G. Wodehouse (i wanna iguana read aloud .TXT) 📗

were at school, you had a rich stepfather in the background. Has he lost his money, too?”

“No.”

“Well, why doesn’t he help you, then?”

“He would, I know, if he was left to himself. But it’s Aunt Constance.”

“What’s Aunt Constance? And who is Aunt Constance?”

“Well, I call her that, but she’s really my stepmother⁠—sort of. I suppose she’s really my step-stepmother. My stepfather married again two years ago. It was Aunt Constance who was so furious when I married Mike. She wanted me to marry Rollo. She has never forgiven me, and she won’t let my stepfather do anything to help us.”

“But the man must be a worm!” said Eve indignantly. “Why doesn’t he insist? You always used to tell me how fond he was of you.”

“He isn’t a worm, Eve. He’s a dear. It’s just that he has let her boss him. She’s rather a terror, you know. She can be quite nice, and they’re awfully fond of each other, but she is as hard as nails sometimes.” Phyllis broke off. The front door had opened, and there were footsteps in the hall. “Here’s Clarkie. I hope she has brought Cynthia with her. She was to pick her up on her way. Don’t talk about what I’ve been telling you in front of her, Eve, there’s an angel.”

“Why not?”

“She’s so motherly about it. It’s sweet of her, but⁠ ⁠…”

Eve understood.

“All right. Later on.”

The door opened to admit Miss Clarkson.

The adjective which Phyllis had applied to her late schoolmistress was obviously well chosen. Miss Clarkson exuded motherliness. She was large, wholesome, and soft, and she swooped on Eve like a hen on its chicken almost before the door had closed.

“Eve! How nice to see you after all this time! My dear, you’re looking perfectly lovely! And so prosperous. What a beautiful hat!”

“I’ve been envying it ever since you came, Eve,” said Phyllis. “Where did you get it?”

“Madeleine Sœurs, in Regent Street.”

Miss Clarkson, having acquired and stirred a cup of tea, started to improve the occasion. Eve had always been a favourite of hers at school. She beamed affectionately upon her.

“Now doesn’t this show⁠—what I always used to say to you in the dear old days, Eve⁠—that one must never despair, however black the outlook may seem? I remember you at school, dear, as poor as a church mouse, and with no prospects, none whatever. And yet here you are⁠—rich⁠ ⁠…”

Eve laughed. She got up and kissed Miss Clarkson. She regretted that she was compelled to strike a jarring note, but it had to be done.

“I’m awfully sorry, Clarkie dear,” she said, “but I’m afraid I’ve misled you. I’m just as broke as I ever was. In fact, when Phyllis told me you were running an Employment Agency, I made a note to come and see you and ask if you had some attractive billet to dispose of. Governess to a thoroughly angelic child would do. Or isn’t there some nice cosy author or something who wants his letters answered and his press-clippings pasted in an album?”

“Oh, my dear!” Miss Clarkson was deeply concerned. “I did hope⁠ ⁠… That hat⁠ ⁠… !”

“The hat’s the whole trouble. Of course I had no business even to think of it, but I saw it in the shopwindow and coveted it for days, and finally fell. And then, you see, I had to live up to it⁠—buy shoes and a dress to match. I tell you it was a perfect orgy, and I’m thoroughly ashamed of myself now. Too late, as usual.”

“Oh, dear! You always were such a wild, impetuous child, even at school. I remember how often I used to speak to you about it.”

“Well, when it was all over and I was sane again, I found I had only a few pounds left, not nearly enough to see me through till the relief expedition arrived. So I thought it over and decided to invest my little all.”

“I hope you chose something safe?”

“It ought to have been. The Sporting Express called it ‘Today’s Safety Bet.’ It was Bounding Willie for the two-thirty race at Sandown last Wednesday.”

“Oh, dear!”

“That’s what I said when poor old Willie came in sixth. But it’s no good worrying, is it? What it means is that I simply must find something to do that will carry me through till I get my next quarter’s allowance. And that won’t be till September.⁠ ⁠… But don’t let’s talk business here. I’ll come round to your office, Clarkie, tomorrow.⁠ ⁠… Where’s Cynthia? Didn’t you bring her?”

“Yes, I thought you were going to pick Cynthia up on your way, Clarkie,” said Phyllis.

If Eve’s information as to her financial affairs had caused Miss Clarkson to mourn, the mention of Cynthia plunged her into the very depths of woe. Her mouth quivered and a tear stole down her cheek. Eve and Phyllis exchanged bewildered glances.

“I say,” said Eve after a moment’s pause and a silence broken only by a smothered sob from their late instructress, “we aren’t being very cheerful, are we, considering that this is supposed to be a joyous reunion? Is anything wrong with Cynthia?”

So poignant was Miss Clarkson’s anguish that Phyllis, in a flutter of alarm, rose and left the room swiftly in search of the only remedy that suggested itself to her⁠—her smelling-salts.

“Poor dear Cynthia!” moaned Miss Clarkson.

“Why, what’s the matter with her?” asked Eve. She was not callous to Miss Clarkson’s grief, but she could not help the tiniest of smiles. In a flash she had been transported to her schooldays, when the other’s habit of extracting the utmost tragedy out of the slimmest material had been a source of ever-fresh amusement to her. Not for an instant did she expect to hear any worse news of her old friend than that she was in bed with a cold or had twisted her ankle.

“She’s married, you know,” said Miss Clarkson.

“Well, I see no harm in that, Clarkie. If a few more Safety Bets go wrong, I shall probably have to rush out and marry someone myself. Some nice, rich,