Piccadilly Jim - P. G. Wodehouse (best romance ebooks TXT) 📗

Jimmy was profoundly thankful that he had seen this pest in time to be prepared for him. Suddenly assailed in this fashion, he would undoubtedly have incriminated himself by recognition of his name. But, having anticipated the visitation, he was able to say a whole sentence to Ann before showing himself aware that it was he who was addressed.

“I say! Jimmy Crocker!”

Jimmy achieved one of the blankest stares of modern times. He looked at Ann. Then he looked at Bartling again.

“I think there’s some mistake,” he said. “My name is Bayliss.”

Before his stony eye the immaculate Bartling wilted. It was a perfectly astounding likeness, but it was apparent to him when what he had ever heard and read about doubles came to him. He was confused. He blushed. It was deuced bad form going up to a perfect stranger like this and pretending you knew him. Probably the chappie thought he was some kind of a confidence johnnie or something. It was absolutely rotten! He continued to blush till one could have fancied him scarlet to the ankles. He backed away, apologising in ragged mutters. Jimmy was not insensible to the pathos of his suffering acquaintance’s position; he knew Reggie and his devotion to good form sufficiently well to enable him to appreciate the other’s horror at having spoken to a fellow to whom he had never been introduced; but necessity forbade any other course. However Reggie’s soul might writhe and however sleepless Reggie’s nights might become as a result of this encounter, he was prepared to fight it out on those lines if it took all summer. And, anyway, it was darned good for Reggie to get a jolt like that every once in a while. Kept him bright and lively.

So thinking, he turned to Ann again, while the crimson Bartling tottered off to restore his nerve centres to their normal tone at some other hostelry. He found Ann staring amazedly at him, eyes wide and lips parted.

“Odd, that!” he observed with a light carelessness which he admired extremely and of which he would not have believed himself capable. “I suppose I must be somebody’s double. What was the name he said?”

“Jimmy Crocker!” cried Ann.

Jimmy raised his glass, sipped, and put it down.

“Oh yes, I remember. So it was. It’s a curious thing, too, that it sounds familiar. I’ve heard the name before somewhere.”

“I was talking about Jimmy Crocker on the ship. That evening on deck.”

Jimmy looked at her doubtfully.

“Were you? Oh yes, of course. I’ve got it now. He is the man you dislike so.”

Ann was still looking at him as if he had undergone a change into something new and strange.

“I hope you aren’t going to let the resemblance prejudice you against me?” said Jimmy. “Some are born Jimmy Crockers, others have Jimmy Crockers thrust upon them. I hope you’ll bear in mind that I belong to the latter class.”

“It’s such an extraordinary thing.”

“Oh, I don’t know. You often hear of doubles. There was a man in England a few years ago who kept getting sent to prison for things some genial stranger who happened to look like him had done.”

“I don’t mean that. Of course there are doubles. But it is curious that you should have come over here and that we should have met like this at just this time. You see, the reason I went over to England at all was to try to get Jimmy Crocker to come back here.”

“What!”

“I don’t mean that I did. I mean that I went with my uncle and aunt, who wanted to persuade him to come and live with them.”

Jimmy was now feeling completely out of his depth.

“Your uncle and aunt? Why?”

“I ought to have explained that they are his uncle and aunt, too. My aunt’s sister married his father.”

“But⁠—”

“It’s quite simple, though it doesn’t sound so. Perhaps you haven’t read the Sunday Chronicle lately? It has been publishing articles about Jimmy Crocker’s disgusting behaviour in London⁠—they call him Piccadilly Jim, you know⁠—”

In print, that name had shocked Jimmy. Spoken, and by Ann, it was loathly. Remorse for his painful past tore at him.

“There was another one printed yesterday.”

“I saw it,” said Jimmy, to avert description.

“Oh, did you? Well, just to show you what sort of a man Jimmy Crocker is, the Lord Percy Whipple whom he attacked in the club was his very best friend. His stepmother told my aunt so. He seems to be absolutely hopeless.” She smiled. “You’re looking quite sad, Mr. Bayliss. Cheer up! You may look like him, but you aren’t him he?⁠—him?⁠—no, ‘he’ is right. The soul is what counts. If you’ve got a good, virtuous, Algernonish soul, it doesn’t matter if you’re so like Jimmy Crocker that his friends come up and talk to you in restaurants. In fact, it’s rather an advantage, really. I’m sure that if you were to go to my aunt and pretend to be Jimmy Crocker, who had come over after all in a fit of repentance, she would be so pleased that there would be nothing she wouldn’t do for you. You might realise your ambition of being adopted by a millionaire. Why don’t you try it? I won’t give you away.”

“Before they found me out and hauled me off to prison, I should have been near you for a time. I should have lived in the same house with you, spoken to you⁠—!” Jimmy’s voice shook.

Ann turned her head to address an imaginary companion.

“You must listen to this, my dear,” she said in an undertone. “He speaks wonderfully! They used to call him the Boy Orator in his hometown. Sometimes that, and sometimes Eloquent Algernon!”

Jimmy eyed her fixedly. He disapproved of this frivolity.

“One of these days you will try me too high⁠—!”

“Oh, you didn’t hear what I was saying to my friend, did you?” she said in concern. “But I meant it, every word. I love to hear you talk. You have such feeling!”

Jimmy attuned