'Listen,' he said. 'Are you sure you've got this straight? It isn't a fiver till Wednesday week that I want, it’s three thousand pounds.'
'So I have always understood you to say.’
'You mean you've actually got three thousand pounds?'
'Precisely.'
'And you're willing to lend them to me?'
'There is nothing I would like better.'
'But look here,' said Freddie, his scruples troubling him again. 'I'll admit that these doubloons would mean everything to me, and it's a great temptation to sit in on the project, because I honestly believe from what Boddington tells me that I should be able to pay you back in the course of time, but I don't like the idea of you risking all your life's savings like this.'
Once more, Mr. Cornelius's beard stirred as if a passing breeze had ruffled it.
‘These are not my life savings, Mr. Widgeon. I think I have spoken to you of my brother Charles?'
'The one who's living in America?'
'The one who was living in America,' corrected Mr. Cornelius. 'He passed away a few days ago. He fell out of his aeroplane.'
'No, really? I say, I'm awfully sorry,’
'I also. I was very fond of Charles, and he of me. He frequently urged me to give up my business and come and join him in New York, but it would have meant leaving Valley Fields, and I always declined. The reason I have brought his name up in the conversation is that he left me his entire fortune, amounting, the lawyers tell me, to between three and four million dollars.'
'What!'
'So they say.’
'Well, fry me for an onion!'
'The will is not yet probated, but the lawyers are in a position to advance me any sums I may require, however large, so you can rest assured that there will be no difficulty over a trivial demand like three thousand pounds.'
'Trivial?'
'A mere bagatelle. So you see that I can well afford to lend you a helping hand, and, as I told you before, it will be a pleasure.’
Freddie drew a deep breath. Mr. Cornelius, his rabbits and the garden of The Nook seemed to him to be executing a spirited version of the dance, so popular in the twenties, known as the shimmy,
'Cornelius.’ he said, 'you would probably object, if I kissed you, so I won't, but may I say…No, words fail me. My gosh, you're wonderful! You've saved two human lives from the soup, and you can quote me as stating this, that if ever an angel in human shape…No, as I said, words fail me.'
Mr. Cornelius, who had been smiling - at least, so thought Freddie, for his beard had been in a constant state of agitation - became grave.
'There is just one thing, Mr. Widgeon. You must not mention a word of this to anyone, except of course Miss Foster, in whom you will naturally have to confide. But you must swear her to secrecy.’
‘I’ll see that her lips are sealed all right. But why?’
'This must never reach Mrs. Cornelius's ears.'
'Hasn't it?'
'Fortunately, no.'
'You mean she doesn't know? You haven't told her about these pennies from heaven?'
‘I have not, and I do not intend to. Mr. Widgeon,' said Mr. Cornelius, graver than ever, 'have you any conception of what would happen, were my wife to learn that I was a millionaire? Do you think I should be allowed to go on living in Valley Fields, the place I love, and continue to be a house agent, the work I love? Do you suppose I should be permitted to keep my old friends, like Mr. Wrenn of San Rafael, with whom I play chess on Saturdays, and feed rabbits in my shirt sleeves? No, I should be whisked off to a flat in Mayfair, I should have to spend long months in the south of France, a butler would be engaged and I should have to dress for dinner every night. I should have to join a London club, take a box at the opera, learn to play polo,' said Mr. Cornelius, allowing his morbid fancy to run away with him a little. 'The best of women are not proof against sudden wealth. Mrs. Cornelius is perfectly happy and contented in the surroundings to which she has always been accustomed - she was a Miss Bulstrode of Happy Haven at the time of our marriage - and I intend that she shall remain happy and contented.' Freddie nodded.
‘I see what you mean. All that programme you were outlining sounds like heaven to me, but I can understand that you might not get the same angle. Just depends how you look at these things. Well, rest assured that none shall ever learn your secret from Frederick Fotheringay Widgeon, or, for the matter of that, from the future Mrs. F.F.W. Her lips, as I say, shall be sealed, if necessary with Scotch tape. I wonder if you'd mind if I left you for a space? I want to go and phone her the good news.’
'Not at all.’
‘I won't be able to see it, but her little face’ll light up like glorious Technicolor. Thanks to you.'
'My dear Mr. Widgeon, please!'
'I repeat, thanks to you. And if ever there's anything I can do for you in return…’
'I can think of nothing. Ah, yes. Could you tell me how "Rock of Ages" goes?'
'A horse? I don't think I have it on my betting list’
'The hymn.'
'Oh, the hymn? Now I get your drift. Why, surely, turn tumty tumty tumty tum, doesn't it?'
'The words, I mean.'
'Oh, the words? Sorry, I've forgotten, though I seem to recall the word "cleft". Or am I thinking of some other hymn?'
Mr. Cornelius's face lit up, as Sally's was so shortly to do. 'Why, of course. It all comes back to me.'
'Well, that's fine. Anything further?'
'No, thank you.'
'Then for the nonce, my dear old multi-millionaire, pip-pip.'
Freddie hurried into the house. Mr. Cornelius returned to his rabbits, who were feeling that it was about time.
'Rock of ages, cleft for me,' he sang.
The rabbits winced a little. They disapproved of the modern craze for music with meals.
Still, the lettuce was good, they felt philosophically. A rabbit learns to take the rough with the smooth.
THE END
P. G. Wodehouse, Ice in the Bedroom
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