Short Fiction - P. G. Wodehouse (top ten ebook reader txt) 📗

“Andy, I’ve something to tell you.”

“What is it?”

She kind of hesitated.

“Andy, dear, I shan’t be able to help any more in the restaurant.”

He looked at her, sort of surprised.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m⁠—I’m going on the stage.”

I put down my paper. What do you mean? Did I listen? Of course I listened. What do you take me for?

From where I sat I could see young Andy’s face, and I didn’t need any more to tell me there was going to be trouble. That jaw of his was right out. I forgot to tell you that the old man had died, poor old feller, maybe six months before, so that now Andy was the real boss instead of just acting boss; and what’s more, in the nature of things, he was, in a manner of speaking, Katie’s guardian, with power to tell her what she could do and what she couldn’t. And I felt that Katie wasn’t going to have any smooth passage with this stage business which she was giving him. Andy didn’t hold with the stage⁠—not with any girl he was fond of being on it anyway. And when Andy didn’t like a thing he said so.

He said so now.

“You aren’t going to do anything of the sort.”

“Don’t be horrid about it, Andy dear. I’ve got a big chance. Why should you be horrid about it?”

“I’m not going to argue about it. You don’t go.”

“But it’s such a big chance. And I’ve been working for it for years.”

“How do you mean working for it?”

And then it came out about this dancing-school she’d been attending regular.

When she’d finished telling him about it, he just shoved out his jaw another inch.

“You aren’t going on the stage.”

“But it’s such a chance. I saw Mr. Mandelbaum yesterday, and he saw me dance, and he was very pleased, and said he would give me a solo dance to do in this new piece he’s putting on.”

“You aren’t going on the stage.”

What I always say is, you can’t beat tact. If you’re smooth and tactful you can get folks to do anything you want; but if you just shove your jaw out at them, and order them about, why, then they get their backs up and sauce you. I knew Katie well enough to know that she would do anything for Andy, if he asked her properly; but she wasn’t going to stand this sort of thing. But you couldn’t drive that into the head of a feller like young Andy with a steam-hammer.

She flared up, quick, as if she couldn’t hold herself in no longer.

“I certainly am,” she said.

“You know what it means?”

“What does it mean?”

“The end of⁠—everything.”

She kind of blinked as if he’d hit her, then she chucks her chin up.

“Very well,” she says. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” says Andy, the pigheaded young mule; and she walks out one way and he walks out another.

I don’t follow the drama much as a general rule, but seeing that it was now, so to speak, in the family, I did keep an eye open for the newspaper notices of “The Rose Girl,” which was the name of the piece which Mr. Mandelbaum was letting Katie do a solo dance in; and while some of them cussed the play considerable, they all gave Katie a nice word. One feller said that she was like cold water on the morning after, which is high praise coming from a newspaper man.

There wasn’t a doubt about it. She was a success. You see, she was something new, and London always sits up and takes notice when you give it that.

There were pictures of her in the papers, and one evening paper had a piece about “How I Preserve My Youth” signed by her. I cut it out and showed it to Andy.

He gave it a look. Then he gave me a look, and I didn’t like his eye.

“Well?” he says.

“Pardon,” I says.

“What about it?” he says.

“I don’t know,” I says.

“Get back to your work,” he says.

So I got back.

It was that same night that the queer thing happened.

We didn’t do much in the supper line at MacFarland’s as a rule in them days, but we kept open, of course, in case Soho should take it into its head to treat itself to a Welsh rabbit before going to bed; so all hands was on deck, ready for the call if it should come, at half past eleven that night; but we weren’t what you might term sanguine.

Well, just on the half-hour, up drives a taxicab, and in comes a party of four. There was a nut, another nut, a girl, and another girl. And the second girl was Katie.

“Hallo, Uncle Bill!” she says.

“Good evening, madam,” I says dignified, being on duty.

“Oh, stop it, Uncle Bill,” she says. “Say ‘Hallo!’ to a pal, and smile prettily, or I’ll tell them about the time you went to the White City.”

Well, there’s some bygones that are best left bygones, and the night at the White City what she was alluding to was one of them. I still maintain, as I always shall maintain, that the constable had no right to⁠—but, there, it’s a story that wouldn’t interest you. And, anyway, I was glad to see Katie again, so I give her a smile.

“Not so much of it,” I says. “Not so much of it. I’m glad to see you, Katie.”

“Three cheers! Jimmy, I want to introduce you to my friend, Uncle Bill. Ted, this is Uncle Bill. Violet, this is Uncle Bill.”

It wasn’t my place to fetch her one on the side of the head, but I’d of liked to have; for she was acting like she’d never used to act when I knew her⁠—all tough and bold. Then it come to me that she was nervous. And natural, too, seeing young Andy might pop out any moment.

And sure enough out he popped from the back room at that very instant. Katie looked at him, and he looked at Katie, and I seen his face