I explained that I had been in conference with Aunt Dahlia, and she riposted that the conference was presumably over by now, Aunt D being conspicuous by her absence, so why wasn't I out getting fresh air and sunshine.

  'You're much too fond of frowsting indoors. That's why you have that sallow look.

  ' 'I didn't know I had a sallow look.'

  'Of course you have a sallow look. What else did you expect? You look like the underside of a dead fish.'

  My worst fears seemed to be confirmed. I had anticipated that she would work off her choler on the first innocent bystander she met, and it was just my luck that this happened to be me. With bowed head I prepared to face the storm, and then to my surprise she changed the subject.

  'I'm looking for Harold,' she said.

  'Oh, yes?'

  'Have you seen him? '

  'I don't think I know him.'

  'Don't be a fool. Harold Winship.'

  'Oh, Ginger,' I said, enlightened. 'No, he hasn't swum into my ken. What do you want to see him about? Something important?'

  'It is important to me, and it ought to be to him. Unless he takes himself in hand, he is going to lose this election.'

  'What makes you think that?'

  'His behaviour at lunch today.'

  'Oh, did he take you to lunch? Where did you go? I had mine at a pub, and the garbage there had to be chewed to be believed. But perhaps you went to a decent hotel? '

  'It was the Chamber of Commerce luncheon at the Town Hall. A vitally important occasion, and he made the feeblest speech I have ever heard. A child with water on the brain could have done better. Even you could have done better.'

  Well, I suppose placing me on a level of efficiency with a water-on-the-brained child was quite a stately compliment coming from Florence, so I didn't go further into the matter, and she carried on, puffs of flame emerging from both nostrils.

  'Er, er, er ! '

  'I beg your pardon?'

  'He kept saying Er. Er, er, er. I could have thrown a coffee spoon at him.'

  Here, of course, was my chance to work in the old gag about to err being human, but it didn't seem to me the moment. Instead, I said:

  'He was probably nervous.'

  'That was his excuse. I told him he had no right to be nervous.'

  'Then you've seen him? '

  'I saw him.'

  'After the lunch?'

  'Immediately after the lunch.'

  'But you want to see him again?'

  'I do.'

  'I'll go and look for him, shall I?'

  'Yes, and tell him to meet me in Mr. Travers's study. We shall not be interrupted there.'

  'He's probably sitting in the summerhouse by the lake.'

  'Well, tell him to stop sitting and come to the study,' she said, for all the world as if she had been Arnold Abney M.A. announcing that he would like to see Wooster after morning prayers. Quite took me back to the old days.

  To get to the summerhouse you have to go across the lawn, the one Spode was toying with the idea of buttering me over, and the first thing I saw as I did so, apart from the birds, bees, butterflies, and what not which put in their leisure hours there, was L. P. Runkle lying in the hammock wrapped in slumber, with Aunt Dahlia in a chair at his side. When she sighted me, she rose, headed in my direction and drew me away a yard or two, at the same time putting a finger to her lips.

  'He's asleep,' she said.

  A snore from the hammock bore out the truth of this, and I said I could see he was and what a revolting spectacle he presented, and she told me for heaven's sake not to bellow like that. Somewhat piqued at being accused of bellowing by a woman whose lightest whisper was like someone calling the cattle home across the sands of Dee, I said I wasn't bellowing, and she said

  'Well, don't.'

  'He may be in a nasty mood if he's woken suddenly.'

  It was an astute piece of reasoning, speaking well for her grasp of strategy and tactics, but with my quick intelligence I spotted a flaw in it to which I proceeded to call her attention.

  'On the other hand, if you don't wake him, how can you plead Tuppy's cause?'

  'I said suddenly, ass. It'll be all right if I let Nature take its course.'

  'Yes, you may have a point there. Will Nature be long about it, do you think?'

  'How do I know?'

  'I was only wondering. You can't sit there the rest of the afternoon.'

  'I can if necessary.'

  'Then I'll leave you to it. I've got to go and look for Ginger. Have you seen him?'

  'He came by just now with his secretary on his way to the summerhouse. He told me he had some dictation to do. Why do you want him? '

  'I don't particularly, though always glad of his company. Florence told me to find him. She has been giving thim hell and is anxious to give him some more. Apparently --'

  Here she interrupted me with a sharp 'Hist!', for L. P. Runkle had stirred in his sleep and it looked as if life was returning to the inert frame. But it proved to be a false alarm, and I resumed my remarks.

  'Apparently he failed to wow the customers at the Chamber of Commerce lunch, where she had been counting on him being a regular... who was the Greek chap?'

  'Bertie, if I wasn't afraid of waking Runkle, I'd strike you with a blunt instrument, if I had a blunt instrument. What Greek chap?'

  'That's what I'm asking you. He chewed pebbles.'

  'Do you mean Demosthenes?'

  'You may be right. I'll take it up later with Jeeves. Florence was expecting Ginger to be a regular Demosthenes, if that was the name, which seems unlikely, though I was at school with a fellow called Gianbattista, and he let her down, and this has annoyed her. You know how she speaks her mind, when annoyed.'

  'She speaks her mind much too much,' said the relative severely. 'I wonder Ginger stands it.'

  It so happened that I was in a position to solve the problem that was perplexing her. The facts governing the relationship of guys and dolls had long been an open book to me. I had given deep thought to the matter, and when I give deep thought to a matter perplexities are speedily ironed out.

  'He stands it, aged relative, because he loves her, and you wouldn't be far wrong in saying that love conquers all. I know what you mean, of course. It surprises you that a fellow of his thews and sinews should curl up in a ball when she looks squiggle-eyed at him and receive her strictures, if that's the word I want, with the meekness of a spaniel rebuked for bringing a decaying bone into the drawing-room. What you overlook is the fact that in the matter of finely chiselled profile, willowy figure and platinum-blonde hair , she is well up among the top ten, and these things weigh with a man like Ginger. You and I, regarding Florence coolly, pencil her in as too bossy for human consumption, but he gets a different slant. It's the old business of what Jeeves calls the psychology of the individual. Very possibly the seeds of rebellion start to seethe within him when she speaks her mind, but he catches sight of her sideways or gets a glimpse of her hair, assuming for purposes of argument that she isn't wearing a hat, or notices once again that she has as many curves as a scenic railway, and he feels that it's worth putting up with a spot of mind-speaking in order to make her his own. His love, you see, is not wholly spiritual. There's a bit of the carnal mixed up in it.'

  I would have spoken further, for the subject was one that always calls out the best in me, but at this point the old ancestor, who had been fidgeting for some time, asked me to go and drown myself in the lake. I buzzed off, accordingly, and she returned to her chair beside the hammock, brooding over L. P. Runkle like a mother over her sleeping child.

  I don't suppose she had observed it, for aunts seldom give much attention to the play of expression on the faces of their nephews, but all through these exchanges I had been looking grave, making it pretty obvious that there was something on my mind. I was thinking of what Jeeves had said about the hundred to one which a level-headed bookie would wager against her chance of extracting money from a man so liberally equipped with one-way pockets as L. P. Runkle, and it pained me deeply to picture her dismay and disappointment when, waking from his slumbers, he refused to disgorge. It would be a blow calculated to take all the stuffing out of her, she having been so convinced that she was on a sure thing.

  I was also, of course, greatly concerned about Ginger. Having been engaged to Florence myself, I knew what she could do in the way of ticking off the errant male, and the symptoms seemed to point to the probability that on the present occasion she would eclipse all previous performances. I had not failed to interpret the significance of that dark frown, that bitten lip and those flashing eyes, nor the way the willowy figure had quivered, indicating, unless she had caught a chill, that she was as sore as a sunburned neck. I marvelled at the depths to which my old friend must have sunk as an orator in order to get such stark emotions under way, and I intended -- delicately, of course, -- to question him about this. I had, however, no opportunity to do so, for on entering the summerhouse the first thing I saw was him and Magnolia Glendennon locked in an embrace so close that it seemed to me that only powerful machinery could unglue them.

  CHAPTER Thirteen

  In taking this view, however, I was in error, for scarcely had I uttered the first yip of astonishment when the Glendennon popsy, echoing it with a yip of her own such as might have proceeded from a nymph surprised while bathing, disentangled herself and came whizzing past me, disappearing into the great world outside at a speed which put her in the old ancestor's class as a sprinter on the flat. It was as though she had said 'Oh for the wings of a dove' and had got them.

  I, meanwhile, stood rooted to the s, the mouth slightly ajar and the eyes bulging to their fullest extent. What's that word beginning with dis? Disembodied? No, not disembodied. Distemper? No, not distemper. Disconcerted, that's the one. I was disconcerted. I should imagine that if you happened to wander by accident into the steam room of a Turkish bath on Ladies Night, you would have emotions very similar to those I was experiencing now.

  Ginger, too, seemed not altogether at his ease. Indeed, I would describe him as definitely taken aback. He breathed heavily, as if suffering from asthma: the eye with which he regarded me contained practically none of the chumminess you would expect to see in the eye of an old friend: and his voice, when he spoke resembled that of an annoyed cinnamon bear. Throaty, if you know what I mean, and on the peevish side. His opening words consisted of a well-phrased critique of my tactlessness in selecting that particular moment for entering the summerhouse. He wished, he said, that I wouldn't creep about like a ruddy detective. Had I, he asked, got my magnifying glass with me and did I propose to go around on all fours, picking up small objects and putting them away carefully in an envelope? What, he enquired, was I doing here, anyway?

  To this I might have replied that I was perfectly entitled at all times to enter a summerhouse which was the property of my Aunt Dahlia and so related to me by ties of blood, but something told me that suavity would be the better policy. In rebuttal, therefore, I merely said that I wasn't creeping about like a ruddy detective, but navigating with a firm and manly stride, and had simply been looking for him because Florence had ordered me to and I had learned from a usually well-informed source that this was where he was.

  My reasoning had the soothing effect I had hoped for. His manner changed, losing its cinnamon bear quality and taking on a welcome all-pals-together-ness. It bore out what I have always said, that there's nothing like suavity for pouring oil on the troubled w's. When he spoke again, it was plain that he regarded me as a friend and an ally.

  'I suppose all this seems a bit odd to you, Bertie.'

  'Not at all, old man, not at all.'

  'But there is a simple explanation. I love Magnolia.'

  'I thought you loved Florence.'

  'So did I. But you know how apt one is to make mistakes.'

  'Of course.'

  'When you're looking for the ideal girl, I mean.'

  'Quite.'

  'I dare say you've had the same experience yourself.'

  'From time to, time.'

  'Happens to everybody, I expect.'

  'I shouldn't wonder.'

  'Where one goes wrong when looking for the ideal girl is in making one's selection before walking the full length of the counter. You meet someone with a perfect profile, platinum-blonde hair and a willowy figure, and you think your search is over. "Bingo! " you say to yourself. "This is the one. Accept no substitutes". Little knowing that you are linking your lot with that of a female sergeant-major with strong views on the subject of discipline, and that if you'd only gone on a bit further you would have found the sweetest, kindest, gentlest girl that ever took down outgoing mail in shorthand, who would love you and cherish you and would never dream of giving you hell, no matter what the circumstances. I allude to Magnolia Glendennon.'

  'I thought you did.'

  'I can't tell you how I feel about her, Bertie.'

  'Don't try.'

  'Ever since we came down here I've had a lurking suspicion that she was the mate for me and that in signing on the dotted line with Florence I had made the boner of a lifetime. Just now my last doubts were dispelled.'

  'What happened just now?'

  'She rubbed the back of my neck. My interview with Florence, coming on top of that ghastly Chamber of Commerce lunch, had given me a splitting headache, and she rubbed the back of my neck. Then I knew. As those soft fingers touched my skin like dainty butterflies hovering over a flower -'

  'Right ho.'

  'It was a revelation, Bertie. I knew that I had come to journey's end. I said to myself "This is a good thing. Push it along". I turned. I grasped her hand. I gazed into her eyes. She gazed into mine. I told her I loved her. She said so she did me. She fell into my arms. I grabbed her. We stood murmuring endearments, and for a while everything was fine. Couldn't have been better. Then a thought struck me. There was a snag. You've probably spotted it.'

  'Florence?'

  'Exactly. Bossy though she is, plainspoken though she may be when anything displeases her, and I wish you could have heard her after that Chamber of Commerce lunch, I am still engaged to her. And while girls can break engagements till the cows come home, men can't.'

  I followed his train of thought. It was evident that he, like me, aimed at being a preux chevalier, and you simply can't be preux or anything like it if you go about the place getting betrothed and then telling the party of the second part it's all off. It seemed to me that the snag which had raised its ugly head was one of formidable -- you might say king-size -- dimensions, well calculated to make the current of whatever he proposed to do about it turn awry and lose the name of action. But when I put this to him with a sympathetic tremor in my voice, and I'm not sure I didn't clasp his hand, he surprised me by chuckling like a leaky radiator.

  'That's all right,' he said. 'It would, I admit, appear to be a tricky situation, but I can handle it. I'm going to get Florence to break the engagement.'

  He spoke with such a gay, confident ring in his voice, so like the old ancestor predicting what she was going to do to L. P. Runkle in the playing-on-a-stringed-instrument-line, that I was loth, if that's the word I want, to say anything to depress him, but the question had to be asked.

  'How? ' I said, asking it.

  'Quite simple. We agreed, I think, that she has no use for a loser. I propose to lose this election.'

  Well, it was a thought of course, and I was in complete agreement with his supposition that if the McCorkadale nosed ahead of him in the voting, Florence would in all probability hand him the pink slip, but where it seemed to me that the current went awry was that he had no means of knowing that the electorate would put him in second place. Of course voters are like aunts, you never know what they will be up to from one day to the next, but it was a thing you couldn't count on. I mentioned this to him, and he repeated his impersonation of a leaky radiator.

  'Don't you worry, Bertie. I have the situation well in hand. Something happened in a dark corner of the Town Hall after lunch which justifies my confidence.'

  'What happened in a dark corner of the Town Hall after lunch?'

  'Well, the first thing that happened after lunch was that Florence got hold of me and became extremely personal. It was then that I realized that it would be the act of a fathead to marry her.'

  I nodded adhesion to this sentiment. That time when she had broken her engagement with me my spirits had soared and I had gone about singing like a relieved nightingale.

  One thing rather puzzled me and seemed to call for explanatory notes.

  'Why did Florence draw you into a dark corner when planning to become personal? ' I asked. 'I wouldn't have credited her with so much tact and consideration. As a rule, when she's telling people what she thinks of them, an audience seems to stimulate her. I recall one occasion when she ticked me off in the presence of seventeen Girl Guides, all listening with their ears flapping, and she had never spoken more fluently.'

  He put me straight on the point I had raised. He said he had misled me.

  'It wasn't Florence who drew me into the dark corner, it was Bingley.'

  'Bingley?'

  'A fellow who worked for me once.'

  'He worked for me once.'

  'Really? It's a small world, isn't it.'

  'Pretty small. Did you know he'd come into money?'

  'He'll soon be coming into some more.'

  'But you were saying he drew you into the dark corner. Why did he do that?'

  'Because he had a proposition to make to me which demanded privacy. He... but before going on I must lay a proper foundation. You know in those Perry Mason stories how whenever Perry says anything while crossexamining a witness, the District Attorney jumps up and yells "Objection your honour. The S.O.B. has laid no proper foundation". Well, then, you must know that this man Bingley belongs to a butlers and valets club in London called the Junior Ganymede, and one of the rules there is that members have to record the doings of their employers in the club book.'

  I would have told him I knew all too well about that, but he carried on before I could speak.

 

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