Love Among the Chickens - P. G. Wodehouse (best motivational novels .txt) 📗

“But, look here,” I said, “this is absurd. You say your father would never see you again, and so on, if you married me. Why? It’s nonsense. It isn’t as if I were a sort of social outcast. We were the best of friends till that man Hawk gave me away like that.”

“I know. But he’s very obstinate about some things. You see, he thinks the whole thing has made him look ridiculous, and it will take him a long time to forgive you for that.”

I realised the truth of this. One can pardon any injury to oneself, unless it hurts one’s vanity. Moreover, even in a genuine case of rescue, the rescued man must always feel a little aggrieved with his rescuer, when he thinks the matter over in cold blood. He must regard him unconsciously as the super regards the actor-manager, indebted to him for the means of supporting existence, but grudging him the limelight and the centre of the stage and the applause. Besides, everyone instinctively dislikes being under an obligation which they can never wholly repay. And when a man discovers that he has experienced all these mixed sensations for nothing, as the professor had done, his wrath is likely to be no slight thing.

Taking everything into consideration, I could not but feel that it would require more than a little persuasion to make the professor bestow his blessing with that genial warmth which we like to see in our fathers-in-law elect.

“You don’t think,” I said, “that time, the Great Healer, and so on⁠—? He won’t feel kindlier disposed towards me⁠—say in a month’s time?”

“Of course he might,” said Phyllis; but she spoke doubtfully.

“He strikes me from what I have seen of him as a man of moods. I might do something one of these days which would completely alter his views. We will hope for the best.”

“About telling father⁠—?”

“Need we, do you think?” I said.

“Yes, we must. I couldn’t bear to think that I was keeping it from him. I don’t think I’ve ever kept anything from him in my life. Nothing bad, I mean.”

“You count this among your darker crimes, then?”

“I was looking at it from father’s point of view. He will be awfully angry. I don’t know how I shall begin telling him.”

“Good heavens!” I cried, “you surely don’t think I’m going to let you do that! Keep safely out of the way while you tell him! Not much. I’m coming back with you now, and we’ll break the bad news together.”

“No, not tonight. He may be tired and rather cross. We had better wait till tomorrow. You might speak to him in the morning.”

“Where shall I find him?”

“He is certain to go to the beach before breakfast for a swim.”

“Good. I’ll be there.”

“Ukridge,” I said, when I got back, “I want your advice.”

It stirred him like a trumpet blast. I suppose, when a man is in the habit of giving unsolicited counsel to everyone he meets, it is as invigorating as an electric shock to him to be asked for it spontaneously.

“Bang it out, laddie!” he replied cordially. “I’m with you. Here, come along into the garden, and state your case.”

This suited me. It is always easier to talk intimately in the dark, and I did not wish to be interrupted by the sudden entrance of the Hired Man or Mrs. Beale, of which there was always a danger indoors. We walked down to the paddock. Ukridge lit a cigar.

“Ukridge,” I said, “I’m engaged!”

“What!” A huge hand whistled through the darkness and smote me heavily between the shoulder-blades. “By Jove, old boy, I wish you luck. ’Pon my Sam I do! Best thing in the world for you. Bachelors are mere excrescences. Never knew what happiness was till I married. When’s the wedding to be?”

“That’s where I want your advice. What you might call a difficulty has arisen about the wedding. It’s like this. I’m engaged to Phyllis Derrick.”

“Derrick? Derrick?”

“You can’t have forgotten her! Good Lord, what eyes some men have! Why, if I’d only seen her once, I should have remembered her all my life.”

“I know, now. Rather a pretty girl, with blue eyes.”

I stared at him blankly. It was not much good, as he could not see my face, but it relieved me. “Rather a pretty girl!” What a description!

“Of course, yes,” continued Ukridge. “She came to dinner here one night with her father, that fat little buffer.”

“As you were careful to call him to his face at the time, confound you! It was that that started all the trouble.”

“Trouble? What trouble?”

“Why, her father⁠ ⁠…”

“By Jove, I remember now! So worried lately, old boy, that my memory’s gone groggy. Of course! Her father fell into the sea, and you fished him out. Why, damme, it’s like the stories you read.”

“It’s also very like the stories I used to write. But they had one point about them which this story hasn’t. They invariably ended happily, with the father joining the hero’s and heroine’s hands and giving his blessing. Unfortunately, in the present case, that doesn’t seem likely to happen.”

“The old man won’t give his consent?”

“I’m afraid not. I haven’t asked him yet, but the chances are against it.”

“But why? What’s the matter with you? You’re an excellent chap, sound in wind and limb, and didn’t you once tell me that, if you married, you came into a pretty sizeable bit of money?”

“Yes, I do. That part of it is all right.”

Ukridge’s voice betrayed perplexity.

“I don’t understand this thing, old horse,” he said. “I should have thought the old boy would have been all over you. Why, damme, I never heard of anything like it. You saved his life! You fished him out of the water.”

“After chucking him in. That’s the trouble.”

“You chucked him in?”

“By proxy.”

I explained. Ukridge, I regret to say, laughed in a way that must have been heard miles away in distant villages in Devonshire.

“You devil!” he bellowed. “ ’Pon my Sam, old horse, to look at you one