JEEVES AND THE HARD-BOILED EGG
Sometimes of a morning, as I've sat in bed sucking down the early cupof tea and watched my man Jeeves flitting about the room and puttingout the raiment for the day, I've wondered what the deuce I should doif the fellow ever took it into his head to leave me. It's not so badnow I'm in New York, but in London the anxiety was frightful. Thereused to be all sorts of attempts on the part of low blighters to sneakhim away from me. Young Reggie Foljambe to my certain knowledge offeredhim double what I was giving him, and Alistair Bingham-Reeves, who'sgot a valet who had been known to press his trousers sideways, used tolook at him, when he came to see me, with a kind of glittering hungryeye which disturbed me deucedly. Bally pirates!
The thing, you see, is that Jeeves is so dashed competent. You can spotit even in the way he shoves studs into a shirt.
I rely on him absolutely in every crisis, and he never lets me down.And, what's more, he can always be counted on to extend himselfon behalf of any pal of mine who happens to be to all appearancesknee-deep in the bouillon. Take the rather rummy case, for instance,of dear old Bicky and his uncle, the hard-boiled egg.
It happened after I had been in America for a few months. I got back tothe flat latish one night, and when Jeeves brought me the final drinkhe said:
"Mr. Bickersteth called to see you this evening, sir, while you wereout."
"Oh?" I said.
"Twice, sir. He appeared a trifle agitated."
"What, pipped?"
"He gave that impression, sir."
I sipped the whisky. I was sorry if Bicky was in trouble, but, as amatter of fact, I was rather glad to have something I could discussfreely with Jeeves just then, because things had been a bit strainedbetween us for some time, and it had been rather difficult to hit onanything to talk about that wasn't apt to take a personal turn. Yousee, I had decided--rightly or wrongly--to grow a moustache and thishad cut Jeeves to the quick. He couldn't stick the thing at any price,and I had been living ever since in an atmosphere of bally disapprovaltill I was getting jolly well fed up with it. What I mean is, whilethere's no doubt that in certain matters of dress Jeeves's judgment isabsolutely sound and should be followed, it seemed to me that it wasgetting a bit too thick if he was going to edit my face as well as mycostume. No one can call me an unreasonable chappie, and many's thetime I've given in like a lamb when Jeeves has voted against one of mypet suits or ties; but when it comes to a valet's staking out a claimon your upper lip you've simply got to have a bit of the good oldbulldog pluck and defy the blighter.
"He said that he would call again later, sir."
"Something must be up, Jeeves."
"Yes, sir."
I gave the moustache a thoughtful twirl. It seemed to hurt Jeeves agood deal, so I chucked it.
"I see by the paper, sir, that Mr. Bickersteth's uncle is arriving onthe _Carmantic_."
"Yes?"
"His Grace the Duke of Chiswick, sir."
This was news to me, that Bicky's uncle was a duke. Rum, how little oneknows about one's pals! I had met Bicky for the first time at a speciesof beano or jamboree down in Washington Square, not long after myarrival in New York. I suppose I was a bit homesick at the time, and Irather took to Bicky when I found that he was an Englishman and had, infact, been up at Oxford with me. Besides, he was a frightful chump, sowe naturally drifted together; and while we were taking a quiet snortin a corner that wasn't all cluttered up with artists and sculptors andwhat-not, he furthermore endeared himself to me by a most extraordinarilygifted imitation of a bull-terrier chasing a cat up a tree. But, thoughwe had subsequently become extremely pally, all I really knew about himwas that he was generally hard up, and had an uncle who relieved thestrain a bit from time to time by sending him monthly remittances.
"If the Duke of Chiswick is his uncle," I said, "why hasn't he a title?Why isn't he Lord What-Not?"
"Mr. Bickersteth is the son of his grace's late sister, sir, whomarried Captain Rollo Bickersteth of the Coldstream Guards."
Jeeves knows everything.
"Is Mr. Bickersteth's father dead, too?"
"Yes, sir."
"Leave any money?"
"No, sir."
I began to understand why poor old Bicky was always more or less on therocks. To the casual and irreflective observer, if you know what Imean, it may sound a pretty good wheeze having a duke for an uncle, butthe trouble about old Chiswick was that, though an extremely wealthyold buster, owning half London and about five counties up north, he wasnotoriously the most prudent spender in England. He was what Americanchappies would call a hard-boiled egg. If Bicky's people hadn't lefthim anything and he depended on what he could prise out of the oldduke, he was in a pretty bad way. Not that that explained why he washunting me like this, because he was a chap who never borrowed money.He said he wanted to keep his pals, so never bit any one's ear onprinciple.
At this juncture the door bell rang. Jeeves floated out to answer it.
"Yes, sir. Mr. Wooster has just returned," I heard him say. And Bickycame trickling in, looking pretty sorry for himself.
"Halloa, Bicky!" I said. "Jeeves told me you had been trying to get me.Jeeves, bring another glass, and let the revels commence. What's thetrouble, Bicky?"
"I'm in a hole, Bertie. I want your advice."
"Say on, old lad!"
"My uncle's turning up to-morrow, Bertie."
"So Jeeves told me."
"The Duke of Chiswick, you know."
"So Jeeves told me."
Bicky seemed a bit surprised.
"Jeeves seems to know everything."
"Rather rummily, that's exactly what I was thinking just now myself."
"Well, I wish," said Bicky gloomily, "that he knew a way to get me outof the hole I'm in."
Jeeves shimmered in with the glass, and stuck it competently on thetable.
"Mr. Bickersteth is in a bit of a hole, Jeeves," I said, "and wants youto rally round."
"Very good, sir."
Bicky looked a bit doubtful.
"Well, of course, you know, Bertie, this thing is by way of being a bitprivate and all that."
"I shouldn't worry about that, old top. I bet Jeeves knows all about italready. Don't you, Jeeves?"
"Yes, sir."
"Eh!" said Bicky, rattled.
"I am open to correction, sir, but is not your dilemma due to the factthat you are at a loss to explain to his grace why you are in New Yorkinstead of in Colorado?"
Bicky rocked like a jelly in a high wind.
"How the deuce do you know anything about it?"
"I chanced to meet his grace's butler before we left England. Heinformed me that he happened to overhear his grace speaking to you onthe matter, sir, as he passed the library door."
Bicky gave a hollow sort of laugh.
"Well, as everybody seems to know all about it, there's no need to tryto keep it dark. The old boy turfed me out, Bertie, because he said Iwas a brainless nincompoop. The idea was that he would give me aremittance on condition that I dashed out to some blighted locality ofthe name of Colorado and learned farming or ranching, or whatever theycall it, at some bally ranch or farm or whatever it's called. I didn'tfancy the idea a bit. I should have had to ride horses and pursue cows,and so forth. I hate horses. They bite at you. I was all against thescheme. At the same time, don't you know, I had to have thatremittance."
"I get you absolutely, dear boy."
"Well, when I got to New York it looked a decent sort of place to me,so I thought it would be a pretty sound notion to stop here. So Icabled to my uncle telling him that I had dropped into a good businesswheeze in the city and wanted to chuck the ranch idea. He wrote backthat it was all right, and here I've been ever since. He thinks I'mdoing well at something or other over here. I never dreamed, don't youknow, that he would ever come out here. What on earth am I to do?"
"Jeeves," I said, "what on earth is Mr. Bickersteth to do?"
"You see," said Bicky, "I had a wireless from
him to say that he wascoming to stay with me--to save hotel bills, I suppose. I've alwaysgiven him the impression that I was living in pretty good style. Ican't have him to stay at my boarding-house."
"Thought of anything, Jeeves?" I said.
"To what extent, sir, if the question is not a delicate one, are youprepared to assist Mr. Bickersteth?"
"I'll do anything I can for you, of course, Bicky, old man."
"Then, if I might make the suggestion, sir, you might lend Mr.Bickersteth----"
"No, by Jove!" said Bicky firmly. "I never have touched you, Bertie,and I'm not going to start now. I may be a chump, but it's my boastthat I don't owe a penny to a single soul--not counting tradesmen, ofcourse."
"I was about to suggest, sir, that you might lend Mr. Bickersteth thisflat. Mr. Bickersteth could give his grace the impression that he wasthe owner of it. With your permission I could convey the notion that Iwas in Mr. Bickersteth's employment, and not in yours. You would beresiding here temporarily as Mr. Bickersteth's guest. His grace wouldoccupy the second spare bedroom. I fancy that you would find thisanswer satisfactorily, sir."
Bicky had stopped rocking himself and was staring at Jeeves in an awedsort of way.
"I would advocate the dispatching of a wireless message to his graceon board the vessel, notifying him of the change of address. Mr.Bickersteth could meet his grace at the dock and proceed directly here.Will that meet the situation, sir?"
"Absolutely."
"Thank you, sir."
Bicky followed him with his eye till the door closed.
"How does he do it, Bertie?" he said. "I'll tell you what I think itis. I believe it's something to do with the shape of his head. Have youever noticed his head, Bertie, old man? It sort of sticks out at theback!"
* * * * *
I hopped out of bed early next morning, so as to be among those presentwhen the old boy should arrive. I knew from experience that these oceanliners fetch up at the dock at a deucedly ungodly hour. It wasn't muchafter nine by the time I'd dressed and had my morning tea and wasleaning out of the window, watching the street for Bicky and his uncle.It was one of those jolly, peaceful mornings that make a chappie wishhe'd got a soul or something, and I was just brooding on life ingeneral when I became aware of the dickens of a spate in progress downbelow. A taxi had driven up, and an old boy in a top hat had got outand was kicking up a frightful row about the fare. As far as I couldmake out, he was trying to get the cab chappie to switch from New Yorkto London prices, and the cab chappie had apparently never heard ofLondon before, and didn't seem to think a lot of it now. The old boysaid that in London the trip would have set him back eightpence; andthe cabby said he should worry. I called to Jeeves.
"The duke has arrived, Jeeves."
"Yes, sir?"
"That'll be him at the door now."
Jeeves made a long arm and opened the front door, and the old boycrawled in, looking licked to a splinter.
"How do you do, sir?" I said, bustling up and being the ray ofsunshine. "Your nephew went down to the dock to meet you, but you musthave missed him. My name's Wooster, don't you know. Great pal ofBicky's, and all that sort of thing. I'm staying with him, you know.Would you like a cup of tea? Jeeves, bring a cup of tea."
Old Chiswick had sunk into an arm-chair and was looking about the room.
"Does this luxurious flat belong to my nephew Francis?"
"Absolutely."
"It must be terribly expensive."
"Pretty well, of course. Everything costs a lot over here, you know."
He moaned. Jeeves filtered in with the tea. Old Chiswick took a stab atit to restore his tissues, and nodded.
"A terrible country, Mr. Wooster! A terrible country! Nearly eightshillings for a short cab-drive! Iniquitous!" He took another lookround the room. It seemed to fascinate him. "Have you any idea howmuch my nephew pays for this flat, Mr. Wooster?"
"About two hundred dollars a month, I believe."
"What! Forty pounds a month!"
I began to see that, unless I made the thing a bit more plausible, thescheme might turn out a frost. I could guess what the old boy wasthinking. He was trying to square all this prosperity with what he knewof poor old Bicky. And one had to admit that it took a lot of squaring,for dear old Bicky, though a stout fellow and absolutely unrivalled asan imitator of bull-terriers and cats, was in many ways one of the mostpronounced fatheads that ever pulled on a suit of gent's underwear.
"I suppose it seems rummy to you," I said, "but the fact is New Yorkoften bucks chappies up and makes them show a flash of speed that youwouldn't have imagined them capable of. It sort of develops them.Something in the air, don't you know. I imagine that Bicky in the past,when you knew him, may have been something of a chump, but it's quitedifferent now. Devilish efficient sort of chappie, and looked on incommercial circles as quite the nib!"
"I am amazed! What is the nature of my nephew's business, Mr. Wooster?"
"Oh, just business, don't you know. The same sort of thing Carnegie andRockefeller and all these coves do, you know." I slid for the door."Awfully sorry to leave you, but I've got to meet some of the ladselsewhere."
Coming out of the lift I met Bicky bustling in from the street.
"Halloa, Bertie! I missed him. Has he turned up?"
"He's upstairs now, having some tea."
"What does he think of it all?"
"He's absolutely rattled."
"Ripping! I'll be toddling up, then. Toodle-oo, Bertie, old man. Seeyou later."
"Pip-pip, Bicky, dear boy."
He trotted off, full of merriment and good cheer, and I went off to theclub to sit in the window and watch the traffic coming up one way andgoing down the other.
It was latish in the evening when I looked in at the flat to dress fordinner.
"Where's everybody, Jeeves?" I said, finding no little feet patteringabout the place. "Gone out?"
"His grace desired to see some of the sights of the city, sir. Mr.Bickersteth is acting as his escort. I fancy their immediate objectivewas Grant's Tomb."
"I suppose Mr. Bickersteth is a bit braced at the way things aregoing--what?"
"Sir?"
"I say, I take it that Mr. Bickersteth is tolerably full of beans."
"Not altogether, sir."
"What's his trouble now?"
"The scheme which I took the liberty of suggesting to Mr. Bickerstethand yourself has, unfortunately, not answered entirely satisfactorily,sir."
"Surely the duke believes that Mr. Bickersteth is doing well inbusiness, and all that sort of thing?"
"Exactly, sir. With the result that he has decided to cancel Mr.Bickersteth's monthly allowance, on the ground that, as Mr. Bickerstethis doing so well on his own account, he no longer requires pecuniaryassistance."
"Great Scot, Jeeves! This is awful."
"Somewhat disturbing, sir."
"I never expected anything like this!"
"I confess I scarcely anticipated the contingency myself, sir."
"I suppose it bowled the poor blighter over absolutely?"
"Mr. Bickersteth appeared somewhat taken aback, sir."
My heart bled for Bicky.
"We must do something, Jeeves."
"Yes, sir."
"Can you think of anything?"
"Not at the moment, sir."
"There must be something we can do."
"It was a maxim of one of my former employers, sir--as I believe Imentioned to you once before--the present Lord Bridgnorth, that thereis always a way. I remember his lordship using the expression on theoccasion--he was then a business gentleman and had not yet received histitle--when a patent hair-restorer which he chanced to be promotingfailed to attract the public. He put it on the market under anothername as a depilatory, and amassed a substantial fortune. I havegenerally found his lordship's aphorism based on sound foundations. Nodoubt we shall be able to discover some solution of Mr. Bickersteth'sdifficulty, sir."
"Well, have a stab at it, Jeeves!"
"I will spare no pains, sir."
I went and dressed sadly. It will show you pretty well how pipped I waswhen I tell you that I near as a toucher put on a white tie with adinner-jacket. I sallied out for a bit of food more to pass the timethan because I wanted it. It seemed brutal to be wading into the billof fare with poor old Bicky headed for the breadline.
When I got back old Chiswick had gone to bed, but Bicky was there,hunched up in an arm-chair, brooding pretty tensely, with a cigarettehanging out of the corner of his mouth and a more or less glassy starein his eyes. He had the aspect of one who had been soaked with what thenewspaper chappies call "some blunt instrument."
"This is a bit thick, old thing--what!" I said.
He picked up his glass and drained it feverishly, overlooking the factthat it hadn't anything in it.
"I'm done, Bertie!" he said.
He had another go at the glass. It didn't seem to do him any good.
"If only this had happened a week later, Bertie! My next month's moneywas due to roll in on Saturday. I could have worked a wheeze I've beenreading about in the magazine advertisements. It seems that you canmake a dashed amount of money if you can only collect a few dollarsand start a chicken-farm. Jolly sound scheme, Bertie! Say you buy ahen--call it one hen for the sake of argument. It lays an egg everyday of the week. You sell the eggs seven for twenty-five cents. Keepof hen costs nothing. Profit practically twenty-five cents on everyseven eggs. Or look at it another way: Suppose you have a dozen eggs.Each of the hens has a dozen chickens. The chickens grow up and havemore chickens. Why, in no time you'd have the place covered knee-deepin hens, all laying eggs, at twenty-five cents for every seven. You'dmake a fortune. Jolly life, too, keeping hens!" He had begun to getquite worked up at the thought of it, but he slopped back in his chairat this juncture with a good deal of gloom. "But, of course, it's nogood," he said, "because I haven't the cash."
"You've only to say the word, you know, Bicky, old top."
"Thanks awfully, Bertie, but I'm not going to sponge on you."
That's always the way in this world. The chappies you'd like to lendmoney to won't let you, whereas the chappies you don't want to lend itto will do everything except actually stand you on your head and liftthe specie out of your pockets. As a lad who has always rolledtolerably free in the right stuff, I've had lots of experience of thesecond class. Many's the time, back in London, I've hurried alongPiccadilly and felt the hot breath of the toucher on the back of myneck and heard his sharp, excited yapping as he closed in on me. I'vesimply spent my life scattering largesse to blighters I didn't care ahang for; yet here was I now, dripping doubloons and pieces of eightand longing to hand them over, and Bicky, poor fish, absolutely on hisuppers, not taking any at any price.
"Well, there's only one hope, then."
"What's that?"
"Jeeves."
"Sir?"
There was Jeeves, standing behind me, full of zeal. In this matter ofshimmering into rooms the chappie is rummy to a degree. You're sittingin the old arm-chair, thinking of this and that, and then suddenly youlook up, and there he is. He moves from point to point with as littleuproar as a jelly fish. The thing startled poor old Bicky considerably.He rose from his seat like a rocketing pheasant. I'm used to Jeevesnow, but often in the days when he first came to me I've bitten mytongue freely on finding him unexpectedly in my midst.
"Did you call, sir?"
"Oh, there you are, Jeeves!"
"Precisely, sir."
"Jeeves, Mr. Bickersteth is still up the pole. Any ideas?"
"Why, yes, sir. Since we had our recent conversation I fancy I havefound what may prove a solution. I do not wish to appear to be taking aliberty, sir, but I think that we have overlooked his grace'spotentialities as a source of revenue."
Bicky laughed, what I have sometimes seen described as a hollow,mocking laugh, a sort of bitter cackle from the back of the throat,rather like a gargle.
"I do not allude, sir," explained Jeeves, "to the possibility ofinducing his grace to part with money. I am taking the liberty ofregarding his grace in the light of an at present--if I may sayso--useless property, which is capable of being developed."
Bicky looked at me in a helpless kind of way. I'm bound to say I didn'tget it myself.
"Couldn't you make it a bit easier, Jeeves!"
"In a nutshell, sir, what I mean is this: His grace is, in a sense, aprominent personage. The inhabitants of this country, as no doubt youare aware, sir, are peculiarly addicted to shaking hands with prominentpersonages. It occurred to me that Mr. Bickersteth or yourself mightknow of persons who would be willing to pay a small fee--let us say twodollars or three--for the privilege of an introduction, includinghandshake, to his grace."
Bicky didn't seem to think much of it.
"Do you mean to say that anyone would be mug enough to part with solidcash just to shake hands with my uncle?"
"I have an aunt, sir, who paid five shillings to a young fellow forbringing a moving-picture actor to tea at her house one Sunday. It gaveher social standing among the neighbours."
Bicky wavered.
"If you think it could be done----"
"I feel convinced of it, sir."
"What do you think, Bertie?"
"I'm for it, old boy, absolutely. A very brainy wheeze."
"Thank you, sir. Will there be anything further? Good night, sir."
And he floated out, leaving us to discuss details.
Until we started this business of floating old Chiswick as a money-makingproposition I had never realized what a perfectly foul time those StockExchange chappies must have when the public isn't biting freely. NowadaysI read that bit they put in the financial reports about "The marketopened quietly" with a sympathetic eye, for, by Jove, it certainly openedquietly for us! You'd hardly believe how difficult it was to interestthe public and make them take a flutter on the old boy. By the end of theweek the only name we had on our list was a delicatessen-store keeperdown in Bicky's part of the town, and as he wanted us to take it out insliced ham instead of cash that didn't help much. There was a gleam oflight when the brother of Bicky's pawnbroker offered ten dollars, moneydown, for an introduction to old Chiswick, but the deal fell through,owing to its turning out that the chap was an anarchist and intended tokick the old boy instead of shaking hands with him. At that, it took methe deuce of a time to persuade Bicky not to grab the cash and let thingstake their course. He seemed to regard the pawnbroker's brother rather asa sportsman and benefactor of his species than otherwise.
The whole thing, I'm inclined to think, would have been off if ithadn't been for Jeeves. There is no doubt that Jeeves is in a class ofhis own. In the matter of brain and resource I don't think I have evermet a chappie so supremely like mother made. He trickled into my roomone morning with a good old cup of tea, and intimated that there wassomething doing.
"Might I speak to you with regard to that matter of his grace, sir?"
"It's all off. We've decided to chuck it."
"Sir?"
"It won't work. We can't get anybody to come."
"I fancy I can arrange that aspect of the matter, sir."
"Do you mean to say you've managed to get anybody?"
"Yes, sir. Eighty-seven gentlemen from Birdsburg, sir."
I sat up in bed and spilt the tea.
"Birdsburg?"
"Birdsburg, Missouri, sir."
"How did you get them?"
"I happened last night, sir, as you had intimated that you would beabsent from home, to attend a theatrical performance, and entered intoconversation between the acts with the occupant of the adjoining seat.I had observed that he was wearing a somewhat ornate decoration in hisbuttonhole, sir--a large blue button with the words 'Boost forBirdsburg' upon it in red letters, scarcely a judicious addition to agentleman's evening costume. To my surprise I noticed that theauditorium was full of persons similarly decorated. I ventured toinquire the explanation, and was
informed that these gentlemen, forminga party of eighty-seven, are a convention from a town of the name ifBirdsburg, in the State of Missouri. Their visit, I gathered, waspurely of a social and pleasurable nature, and my informant spoke atsome length of the entertainments arranged for their stay in the city.It was when he related with a considerable amount of satisfaction andpride, that a deputation of their number had been introduced to and hadshaken hands with a well-known prizefighter, that it occurred to me tobroach the subject of his grace. To make a long story short, sir, Ihave arranged, subject to your approval, that the entire conventionshall be presented to his grace to-morrow afternoon."
I was amazed. This chappie was a Napoleon.
"Eighty-seven, Jeeves. At how much a head?"
"I was obliged to agree to a reduction for quantity, sir. The termsfinally arrived at were one hundred and fifty dollars for the party."
I thought a bit.
"Payable in advance?"
"No, sir. I endeavoured to obtain payment in advance, but was notsuccessful."
"Well, any way, when we get it I'll make it up to five hundred.Bicky'll never know. Do you suspect Mr. Bickersteth would suspectanything, Jeeves, if I made it up to five hundred?"
"I fancy not, sir. Mr. Bickersteth is an agreeable gentleman, but notbright."
"All right, then. After breakfast run down to the bank and get me somemoney."
"Yes, sir."
"You know, you're a bit of a marvel, Jeeves."
"Thank you, sir."
"Right-o!"
"Very good, sir."
When I took dear old Bicky aside in the course of the morning and toldhim what had happened he nearly broke down. He tottered into thesitting-room and buttonholed old Chiswick, who was reading the comicsection of the morning paper with a kind of grim resolution.
"Uncle," he said, "are you doing anything special to-morrow afternoon?I mean to say, I've asked a few of my pals in to meet you, don't youknow."
The old boy cocked a speculative eye at him.
"There will be no reporters among them?"
"Reporters? Rather not! Why?"
"I refuse to be badgered by reporters. There were a number of adhesiveyoung men who endeavoured to elicit from me my views on America whilethe boat was approaching the dock. I will not be subjected to thispersecution again."
"That'll be absolutely all right, uncle. There won't be a newspaper-manin the place."
"In that case I shall be glad to make the acquaintance of yourfriends."
"You'll shake hands with them and so forth?"
"I shall naturally order my behaviour according to the accepted rulesof civilized intercourse."
Bicky thanked him heartily and came off to lunch with me at the club,where he babbled freely of hens, incubators, and other rotten things.
After mature consideration we had decided to unleash the Birdsburgcontingent on the old boy ten at a time. Jeeves brought his theatre palround to see us, and we arranged the whole thing with him. A verydecent chappie, but rather inclined to collar the conversation and turnit in the direction of his home-town's new water-supply system. Wesettled that, as an hour was about all he would be likely to stand,each gang should consider itself entitled to seven minutes of theduke's society by Jeeves's stop-watch, and that when their time was upJeeves should slide into the room and cough meaningly. Then we partedwith what I believe are called mutual expressions of goodwill, theBirdsburg chappie extending a cordial invitation to us all to pop outsome day and take a look at the new water-supply system, for which wethanked him.
Next day the deputation rolled in. The first shift consisted of thecove we had met and nine others almost exactly like him in everyrespect. They all looked deuced keen and businesslike, as if from youthup they had been working in the office and catching the boss's eye andwhat-not. They shook hands with the old boy with a good deal ofapparent satisfaction--all except one chappie, who seemed to bebrooding about something--and then they stood off and became chatty.
"What message have you for Birdsburg, Duke?" asked our pal.
The old boy seemed a bit rattled.
"I have never been to Birdsburg."
The chappie seemed pained.
"You should pay it a visit," he said. "The most rapidly-growing city inthe country. Boost for Birdsburg!"
"Boost for Birdsburg!" said the other chappies reverently.
The chappie who had been brooding suddenly gave tongue.
"Say!"
He was a stout sort of well-fed cove with one of those determined chinsand a cold eye.
The assemblage looked at him.
"As a matter of business," said the chappie--"mind you, I'm notquestioning anybody's good faith, but, as a matter of strictbusiness--I think this gentleman here ought to put himself onrecord before witnesses as stating that he really is a duke."
"What do you mean, sir?" cried the old boy, getting purple.
"No offence, simply business. I'm not saying anything, mind you, butthere's one thing that seems kind of funny to me. This gentleman heresays his name's Mr. Bickersteth, as I understand it. Well, if you'rethe Duke of Chiswick, why isn't he Lord Percy Something? I've readEnglish novels, and I know all about it."
"This is monstrous!"
"Now don't get hot under the collar. I'm only asking. I've a right toknow. You're going to take our money, so it's only fair that we shouldsee that we get our money's worth."
The water-supply cove chipped in:
"You're quite right, Simms. I overlooked that when making theagreement. You see, gentlemen, as business men we've a right toreasonable guarantees of good faith. We are paying Mr. Bickersteth herea hundred and fifty dollars for this reception, and we naturally wantto know----"
Old Chiswick gave Bicky a searching look; then he turned to thewater-supply chappie. He was frightfully calm.
"I can assure you that I know nothing of this," he said, quitepolitely. "I should be grateful if you would explain."
"Well, we arranged with Mr. Bickersteth that eighty-seven citizensof Birdsburg should have the privilege of meeting and shaking handswith you for a financial consideration mutually arranged, and what myfriend Simms here means--and I'm with him--is that we have only Mr.Bickersteth's word for it--and he is a stranger to us--that you arethe Duke of Chiswick at all."
Old Chiswick gulped.
"Allow me to assure you, sir," he said, in a rummy kind of voice, "thatI am the Duke of Chiswick."
"Then that's all right," said the chappie heartily. "That was all wewanted to know. Let the thing go on."
"I am sorry to say," said old Chiswick, "that it cannot go on. I amfeeling a little tired. I fear I must ask to be excused."
"But there are seventy-seven of the boys waiting round the corner atthis moment, Duke, to be introduced to you."
"I fear I must disappoint them."
"But in that case the deal would have to be off."
"That is a matter for you and my nephew to discuss."
The chappie seemed troubled.
"You really won't meet the rest of them?"
"No!"
"Well, then, I guess we'll be going."
They went out, and there was a pretty solid silence. Then old Chiswickturned to Bicky:
"Well?"
Bicky didn't seem to have anything to say.
"Was it true what that man said?"
"Yes, uncle."
"What do you mean by playing this trick?"
Bicky seemed pretty well knocked out, so I put in a word.
"I think you'd better explain the whole thing, Bicky, old top."
Bicky's Adam's-apple jumped about a bit; then he started:
"You see, you had cut off my allowance, uncle, and I wanted a bit ofmoney to start a chicken farm. I mean to say it's an absolute cert ifyou once get a bit of capital. You buy a hen, and it lays an egg everyday of the week, and you sell the eggs, say, seven for twenty-fivecents.
"Keep of hens cost nothing. Profit practically----"
"What
is all this nonsense about hens? You led me to suppose you were asubstantial business man."
"Old Bicky rather exaggerated, sir," I said, helping the chappie out."The fact is, the poor old lad is absolutely dependent on that remittanceof yours, and when you cut it off, don't you know, he was pretty solidlyin the soup, and had to think of some way of closing in on a bit of theready pretty quick. That's why we thought of this handshaking scheme."
Old Chiswick foamed at the mouth.
"So you have lied to me! You have deliberately deceived me as to yourfinancial status!"
"Poor old Bicky didn't want to go to that ranch," I explained. "Hedoesn't like cows and horses, but he rather thinks he would be hotstuff among the hens. All he wants is a bit of capital. Don't you thinkit would be rather a wheeze if you were to----"
"After what has happened? After this--this deceit and foolery? Not apenny!"
"But----"
"Not a penny!"
There was a respectful cough in the background.
"If I might make a suggestion, sir?"
Jeeves was standing on the horizon, looking devilish brainy.
"Go ahead, Jeeves!" I said.
"I would merely suggest, sir, that if Mr. Bickersteth is in need of alittle ready money, and is at a loss to obtain it elsewhere, he mightsecure the sum he requires by describing the occurrences of thisafternoon for the Sunday issue of one of the more spirited andenterprising newspapers."
"By Jove!" I said.
"By George!" said Bicky.
"Great heavens!" said old Chiswick.
"Very good, sir," said Jeeves.
Bicky turned to old Chiswick with a gleaming eye.
"Jeeves is right. I'll do it! The _Chronicle_ would jump at it.They eat that sort of stuff."
Old Chiswick gave a kind of moaning howl.
"I absolutely forbid you, Francis, to do this thing!"
"That's all very well," said Bicky, wonderfully braced, "but if I can'tget the money any other way----"
"Wait! Er--wait, my boy! You are so impetuous! We might arrangesomething."
"I won't go to that bally ranch."
"No, no! No, no, my boy! I would not suggest it. I would not for amoment suggest it. I--I think----"
He seemed to have a bit of a struggle with himself. "I--I think that,on the whole, it would be best if you returned with me to England. I--Imight--in fact, I think I see my way to doing--to--I might be able toutilize your services in some secretarial position."
"I shouldn't mind that."
"I should not be able to offer you a salary, but, as you know, inEnglish political life the unpaid secretary is a recognized figure----"
"The only figure I'll recognize," said Bicky firmly, "is five hundredquid a year, paid quarterly."
"My dear boy!"
"Absolutely!"
"But your recompense, my dear Francis, would consist in the unrivalledopportunities you would have, as my secretary, to gain experience, toaccustom yourself to the intricacies of political life, to--in fact,you would be in an exceedingly advantageous position."
"Five hundred a year!" said Bicky, rolling it round his tongue. "Why,that would be nothing to what I could make if I started a chicken farm.It stands to reason. Suppose you have a dozen hens. Each of the henshas a dozen chickens. After a bit the chickens grow up and have a dozenchickens each themselves, and then they all start laying eggs! There'sa fortune in it. You can get anything you like for eggs in America.Chappies keep them on ice for years and years, and don't sell them tillthey fetch about a dollar a whirl. You don't think I'm going to chuck afuture like this for anything under five hundred o' goblins a year--what?"
A look of anguish passed over old Chiswick's face, then he seemed to beresigned to it. "Very well, my boy," he said.
"What-o!" said Bicky. "All right, then."
"Jeeves," I said. Bicky had taken the old boy off to dinner tocelebrate, and we were alone. "Jeeves, this has been one of your bestefforts."
"Thank you, sir."
"It beats me how you do it."
"Yes, sir."
"The only trouble is you haven't got much out of it--what!"
"I fancy Mr. Bickersteth intends--I judge from his remarks--to signifyhis appreciation of anything I have been fortunate enough to do toassist him, at some later date when he is in a more favourable positionto do so."
"It isn't enough, Jeeves!"
"Sir?"
It was a wrench, but I felt it was the only possible thing to be done.
"Bring my shaving things."
A gleam of hope shone in the chappie's eye, mixed with doubt.
"You mean, sir?"
"And shave off my moustache."
There was a moment's silence. I could see the fellow was deeply moved.
"Thank you very much indeed, sir," he said, in a low voice, and poppedoff.