“I wish to thank you, sir,” he said, “for your kindness.”
“Eh? What?”
“Mister Jeeves gave me purple socks, as you told him. Thank you very much, sir!”
I looked down. The blighter had my purple socks on.
“Oh, ah! Not at all! Glad you like them!” I said.
11
Comrade Bingo
The story really started in the park—at the Marble Arch[150] end—where strange people collect on Sunday afternoons and stand on soap-boxes and make speeches. Now that the Empire isn’t the place it was, I always think the park on a Sunday is the centre of London, if you know what I mean. I mean to say, that’s the spot that makes the returned exile really sure he’s back again. I realized that all had ended happily and Bertram was home again.
While I was standing there somebody spoke to me.
“Mr Wooster, surely?”
Stout fellow. Bingo Little’s uncle, the one I had lunch with at the time when young Bingo was in love with that waitress.
“Oh, hallo!” I said. “How are you?”
“I am in excellent health, I thank you. And you?”
“Excellent. I was in America.”
“Ah! Collecting something for one of your delightful romances?”
“Eh?” I had to think a bit to understand what he meant. “Oh, no,” I said. “Just felt I needed a change. How is Bingo?” I asked quickly.
“Bingo?”
“Your nephew.”
“Oh, Richard? I haven’t seen him for a long time. Since my marriage. A little coolness between us, you know.”
“Sorry to hear that. So you’ve married since I saw you, right? Is Mrs Little all right?”
“My wife is all right. But—er—not Mrs Little. Since we last met I became Lord Bittlesham[151].”
“By God! Really? I say, heartiest congratulations. Lord Bittlesham?” I said. “Why, you’re the owner of Ocean Breeze[152].”
“Yes. Marriage has enlarged my horizon in many directions. My wife is interested in horse-racing, and I now maintain a small stable. I understand that Ocean Breeze is a favourite. The race will take place at the end of the month at Goodwood, the Duke of Richmond’s seat in Sussex[153].”
“The Goodwood Cup! I adore Ocean Breeze.”
“Indeed? Well, I trust the animal will justify your confidence.”
At this moment I suddenly noticed that the audience was gazing in our direction with a good deal of interest, and I saw that the bearded fellow was pointing at us.
“Yes, look at them!” he was yelling. “There you see two typical members of the idle class. Idlers! Non-producers! Look at the tall thin one. Has he ever worked in his life? No! A prowler, a trifler, and a blood-sucker! And I bet he still owes his tailor for those trousers!”
I didn’t like it. Old Bittlesham, on the other hand, was pleased and amused.
“These fellows are very trenchant,” he chuckled.
“And the fat one!” proceeded the fellow. “Don’t miss him. Do you know who that is? That’s Lord Bittlesham! One of the worst. His god is his belly, and he sacrifices offerings to it. If you opened that man now you would find enough lunch to support ten working-class families for a week.”
“Not bad,” I said, but the old man didn’t seem to like it. He was bubbling like a kettle on the boil.
“Come away, Mr Wooster,” he said. “I am the last man to oppose the right of free speech, but I refuse to listen to this vulgar abuse any longer.”
Next day I looked in at the club, and found, young Bingo in the smoking-room.
“Hallo, Bingo,” I said, I was glad to see the chump. “How are you?”
“Not bad.”
“I saw your uncle yesterday.”
“I know you did. Well, sit down, old man, and suck a bit of blood. How’s the prowling these days?”
“Good Lord! You weren’t there!”
“Yes, I was.”
“I didn’t see you.”
“Yes, you did. But perhaps you didn’t recognize me in the shrubbery.”
“The shrubbery?”
“The beard, my boy. Worth every penny I paid for it. But sometimes people call you ‘Beaver’.”
I goggled at him.
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s a long story. Have a martini, and I’ll tell you all about it. Before we start, give me your honest opinion. Isn’t she the most wonderful girl you ever saw in your life?”
He had produced a photograph from somewhere, like a conjurer taking a rabbit out of a hat, and was waving it in front of me.
“Oh, Lord!” I said. “Don’t tell me you’re in love again.”
He seemed aggrieved.
“What do you mean—again?”
“Well, you’ve been in love with at least half a dozen girls since the spring, and it’s only July now. There was that waitress and Honoria Glossop and—”
“Oh, those girls? Fancies. This is the real thing.”
“Where did you meet her?”
“On top of a bus. Her name is Charlotte Corday Rowbotham[154].”
“My God!”
“It’s not her fault, poor child. Her father had her christened that because he adores the Revolution, and it seems that the original Charlotte Corday liked to kill oppressors in their baths. You must meet old Rowbotham, Bertie. A delightful chap. He wants to massacre the bourgeosie, and disembowel the hereditary aristocracy. Well, nothing could be fairer than that, eh? But about Charlotte. We were on top of the bus, and it started to rain. I offered her my umbrella, and we chatted of this and that. I fell in love and got her address, and a couple of days later I bought the beard and toddled round and met the family.”
“But why the beard?”
“Well, she had told me all about her father on the bus, and I understood that I should have to join these Red Dawn[155] blighters; and naturally, if make speeches in the park, where I can meet a dozen people I knew, some disguise is needed. So I bought the beard, and, by God, I liked it. When I take it off to come in here, for instance, I feel absolutely nude. Old Rowbotham thinks I’m a Bolshevist[156] who hides from the police. You really must meet old Rowbotham, Bertie, I tell you. What are you doing tomorrow afternoon?”
“Nothing special. Why?”
“Good! Then you can have us all to tea at your flat. I had promised to take them to Lyons’ Popular Cafe[157] after the meeting, but I can save money this way; and, believe me, nowadays, as far as I’m concerned, a penny saved is a penny earned. My uncle told you he’d got married?”
“Yes. And he said there was a coolness between you.”
“Coolness? Zero. Ever since he married he’s been spending money and economizing on me. I suppose that peerage cost the old devil a lot. And he has a racing-stable. By the way, Ocean Breeze will win. I’m sure.”
“Let’s see.”
“It can’t lose. I mean to win enough on it to marry Charlotte with. You’re going to Goodwood, of course?”
“Certainly!”
“So are we. We’ll be just outside the paddock.”
“But, I say, aren’t you taking risks? Your uncle’s sure to be at Goodwood. What if he recognizes the fellow who insulted him in the park.”
“How will he find out? Use your intelligence, you prowler. If he didn’t recognize me yesterday, why should he recognize me at Goodwood? Well, thanks for your cordial invitation for tomorrow, old man. We shall be delighted to accept. Do us well, old man, and blessings shall reward you. By the way, I used the word ‘tea’, but—none of your wafer slices of breadand-butter. We’re good eaters, we, the people of the Revolution. Scrambled eggs, muffins, jam, ham, cake and sardines. Expect us at five o’clock.”
150
Marble Arch – Мраморная арка (триумфальная арка, стоящая возле Ораторского уголка в Гайд-парке)