I tried to reason with the poor chump.
“But your father will know everything some time.”
“That’ll be all right. I shall be the star by then.”
“And what will he do with me?”
“Why, what have you got to do with it?”
“I introduced you to George Caffyn.”
“So you did, old man, so you did. I quite forgot to thank you. Well, so long. There’s an early rehearsal of Ask Dad tomorrow morning. It’s strange that the thing should be called Ask Dad, when that’s just what I’m not going to do. See what I mean? Well, bye-bye!”
“Bye!” I said sadly. He went away.
I called up George Caffyn.
“I say, George, what’s all this about Cyril Bassington-Bassington?”
“What about him?”
“He tells me you’ve given him a part in your show.”
“Oh, yes. Just a few lines.”
“But I’ve just had a telegram from home telling me on no account to let him go on the stage.”
“I’m sorry. But Cyril is just the type I need for that part. He’s simply got to be himself.”
“Look, George, old man. My Aunt Agatha sent this blighter over here with a letter of introduction to me, and she will hold me responsible.”
“She’ll cut you out of her will?”
“It isn’t a question of money. But—of course, you’ve never met my Aunt Agatha, so it’s rather hard to explain. But she’s a sort of a vampire, and she’ll make things most fearfully unpleasant for me when I go back to England.’
“Well, don’t go back to England, then. Stay here and become President.”
“But, George, old man—!”
“Good night!”
“But, I say, George, old man!”
“You didn’t get my last remark. It was “Good night!” You Idle Rich may not need any sleep, but I’ve got to be bright and fresh in the morning. God bless you!”
I felt as if I hadn’t a friend in the world. I went and banged on Jeeves’s door.
Jeeves emerged in a brown dressing gown.
“Sir?”
“I’m sorry to wake you up, Jeeves, but disturbing things have been happening.”
“I was not asleep. It is my practice to read a few pages of some instructive book before I go to sleep.”
“That’s good! What I mean to say is, Jeeves, Mr Bassington-Bassington is going on the stage!”
“Indeed, sir?”
“Ah! This doesn’t hit you! You don’t understand! Here’s the point. All his family is against his going on the stage. And, what’s worse, my Aunt Agatha will blame me, you see.”
“I see, sir.”
“Well, can’t you think of some way of stopping him?”
“Not, I confess, at the moment, sir. But I shall try, sir.”
10
The Lift Attendant’s[142] Lucky Day
The part which old George had written for the chump Cyril took up about two pages; but that poor pinhead decided it might have been Hamlet[143]. I suppose, I heard him read his lines a dozen times in the first couple of days. I became more or less the shadow. And all the time Jeeves remained still pretty cold and distant about the purple socks.
Soon Aunt Agatha’s letter arrived. It took her about six pages to describe Cyril’s father’s feelings in regard to his going on the stage and about six more to give me a sketch of what she would say, think, and do if I didn’t keep him clear of injurious influences while he was in America. The letter came by the afternoon mail, and I whizzed for the kitchen, bleating for Jeeves, and saw a tea-party. Seated at the table were a depressed-looking cove who might have been a valet or something, and a boy. The valet-fellow was drinking a whisky and soda, and the boy was eating some jam and cake.
“Oh, I say, Jeeves!” I said. “Sorry to interrupt the feast, but—”
At this point the small boy’s eye hit me like a bullet and stopped me. He was a stout infant with a lot of freckles and a good deal of jam on his face.
“Hallo! Hallo! Hallo!” I said. “What?”
The boy may have loved me at first sight, but the impression he gave me was that he didn’t think a lot of me. I had a kind of feeling that I was about as popular with him as a cold rarebit.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“My name? Oh, Wooster, don’t you know.”
“My dad is richer than you!”
I turned to Jeeves:
“I say, Jeeves, can you spare a moment? I want to show you something.”
“Very good, sir.”
We toddled into the sitting-room.
“Who is your little friend, Jeeves?”
“The young gentleman, sir? I happened to meet the young gentleman taking a walk with his father’s valet, sir, whom I used to know in London, and I ventured to invite them both to join me here.”
“Well, never mind about him, Jeeves. Read this letter.”
He read it.
“Very disturbing, sir!” was all he could say.
“What are we going to do about it?”
“Time may provide a solution, sir.”
There was a ring at the door. Jeeves disappeared, and Cyril blew in.
“I say, Wooster, old man,” he said, “I want your advice. You know this part of mine. How ought I to dress it? What I mean is, the first act scene is laid in a hotel, at about three in the afternoon. What ought I to wear, how do you think?’
“You’d better consult Jeeves,” I said.
“An excellent idea! Where is he?”
“Gone back to the kitchen, I suppose.”
Jeeves came silently in.
“Oh, I say, Jeeves,” began Cyril, “I just wanted to have a word or two with you. It’s this way—Hallo, who’s this?”
I then perceived that the stout boy had trickled into the room after Jeeves. He was standing near the door looking at Cyril as if his worst fears had been realized. There was a bit of a silence. The child remained there, drinking Cyril in for about half a minute; then he gave his verdict:
“Fish-face[144]!”
“Eh? What?” said Cyril.
The child, who had evidently been taught at his mother’s knee to speak the truth, said:
“You’ve a face like a fish!”
You know, I liked his conversation.
It seemed to take Cyril a moment or two really to grasp the thing.
“Dash it!” he said. “Dash it!”
“I wouldn’t have a face like that,” proceeded the child, “not if you gave me a million dollars.” He thought for a moment, then corrected himself. “Two million dollars!” he added.
Just what occurred then I couldn’t exactly say, but the next few minutes were exciting. Did Cyril jump to the infant? Anyway, the air seemed congested with arms and legs. I can’t say when I found that Jeeves and the child had retired and Cyril was standing in the middle of the room.
“Who’s that frightful little brute, Wooster?”
“I don’t know. I never saw him before today.”
“I gave him a good lesson. I say, Wooster, that kid said an odd thing. He yelled out something about Jeeves promising him a dollar if he called me—er—what he said.”
It sounded pretty unlikely to me.
“What would Jeeves do that for?”
“It struck me as strange, too.”
“Where would be the sense of it?”
“That’s what I can’t see.”
“I mean to say, Jeeves doesn’t care about your face!”
“No!” said Cyril. He spoke a little coldly. I don’t know why. “Well, good-bye!”
“Bye!”
In a week after this strange little episode George Caffyn called me up and asked me if I would come and see a run-through[145] of his show Ask Dad. This dress-rehearsal, old George explained, was the same as a regular dress-rehearsal, but more exciting because all the blighters could rise and tell what they though about it.
The show started at eight o’clock. When I came the dress-parade[146] was still going on. George was on the stage, talking to a cove and an absolutely round practically hairless fellow with big spectacles. I had seen George with the latter guy once or twice at the club, and I knew that he was Blumenfield[147], the manager. I waved to George, and slid into a seat at the back, so as to be out of the way when the fighting started. Presently George came and joined me, and fairly soon after that the curtain went down. The fellow at the piano began to play, and the curtain went up again.