"Pop!"
"Yes, darling?"
"That one's no good!"
"Which one, darling?"
"The one with a face like a fish."
"But they all have faces like fish, darling."
The child seemed to see the justice of this objection. He became more
definite.
"The ugly one."
"Which ugly one? That one?" said old Blumenfield, pointing to Cyril.
"Yep! He's rotten!"
"I thought so myself."
"He's a pill!"
"You're dead right, my boy. I've noticed it for some time."
Cyril had been gaping a bit while these few remarks were in progress.
He now shot down to the footlights. Even from where I was sitting, I
could see that these harsh words had hit the old Bassington-Bassington
family pride a frightful wallop. He started to get pink in the ears,
and then in the nose, and then in the cheeks, till in about a quarter
of a minute he looked pretty much like an explosion in a tomato cannery
on a sunset evening.
"What the deuce do you mean?"
"What the deuce do you mean?" shouted old Blumenfield. "Don't yell at
me across the footlights!"
"I've a dashed good mind to come down and spank that little brute!"
"What!"
"A dashed good mind!"
Old Blumenfield swelled like a pumped-up tyre. He got rounder than
ever.
"See here, mister--I don't know your darn name----!"
"My name's Bassington-Bassington, and the jolly old
Bassington-Bassingtons--I mean the Bassington-Bassingtons aren't
accustomed----"
Old Blumenfield told him in a few brief words pretty much what he
thought of the Bassington-Bassingtons and what they weren't accustomed
to. The whole strength of the company rallied round to enjoy his
remarks. You could see them jutting out from the wings and protruding
from behind trees.
"You got to work good for my pop!" said the stout child, waggling his
head reprovingly at Cyril.
"I don't want any bally cheek from you!" said Cyril, gurgling a bit.
"What's that?" barked old Blumenfield. "Do you understand that this boy
is my son?"
"Yes, I do," said Cyril. "And you both have my sympathy!"
"You're fired!" bellowed old Blumenfield, swelling a good bit more.
"Get out of my theatre!"
* * * * *
About half-past ten next morning, just after I had finished lubricating
the good old interior with a soothing cup of Oolong, Jeeves filtered
into my bedroom, and said that Cyril was waiting to see me in the
sitting-room.
"How does he look, Jeeves?"
"Sir?"
"What does Mr. Bassington-Bassington look like?"
"It is hardly my place, sir, to criticise the facial peculiarities of
your friends."
"I don't mean that. I mean, does he appear peeved and what not?"
"Not noticeably, sir. His manner is tranquil."
"That's rum!"
"Sir?"
"Nothing. Show him in, will you?"
I'm bound to say I had expected to see Cyril showing a few more traces
of last night's battle. I was looking for a bit of the overwrought soul
and the quivering ganglions, if you know what I mean. He seemed pretty
ordinary and quite fairly cheerful.
"Hallo, Wooster, old thing!"
"Cheero!"
"I just looked in to say good-bye."
"Good-bye?"
"Yes. I'm off to Washington in an hour." He sat down on the bed. "You
know, Wooster, old top," he went on, "I've been thinking it all over,
and really it doesn't seem quite fair to the jolly old guv'nor, my
going on the stage and so forth. What do you think?"
"I see what you mean."
"I mean to say, he sent me over here to broaden my jolly old mind and
words to that effect, don't you know, and I can't help thinking it
would be a bit of a jar for the old boy if I gave him the bird and went
on the stage instead. I don't know if you understand me, but what I
mean to say is, it's a sort of question of conscience."
"Can you leave the show without upsetting everything?"
"Oh, that's all right. I've explained everything to old Blumenfield,
and he quite sees my position. Of course, he's sorry to lose me--said
he didn't see how he could fill my place and all that sort of
thing--but, after all, even if it does land him in a bit of a hole, I
think I'm right in resigning my part, don't you?"
"Oh, absolutely."
"I thought you'd agree with me. Well, I ought to be shifting. Awfully
glad to have seen something of you, and all that sort of rot. Pip-pip!"
"Toodle-oo!"
He sallied forth, having told all those bally lies with the clear,
blue, pop-eyed gaze of a young child. I rang for Jeeves. You know, ever
since last night I had been exercising the old bean to some extent, and
a good deal of light had dawned upon me.
"Jeeves!"
"Sir?"
"Did you put that pie-faced infant up to bally-ragging Mr.
Bassington-Bassington?"
"Sir?"
"Oh, you know what I mean. Did you tell him to get Mr.
Bassington-Bassington sacked from the 'Ask Dad' company?"
"I would not take such a liberty, sir." He started to put out my
clothes. "It is possible that young Master Blumenfield may have
gathered from casual remarks of mine that I did not consider the stage
altogether a suitable sphere for Mr. Bassington-Bassington."
"I say, Jeeves, you know, you're a bit of a marvel."
"I endeavour to give satisfaction, sir."
"And I'm frightfully obliged, if you know what I mean. Aunt Agatha
would have had sixteen or seventeen fits if you hadn't headed him off."
"I fancy there might have been some little friction and unpleasantness,
sir. I am laying out the blue suit with the thin red stripe, sir. I
fancy the effect will be pleasing."
* * * * *
It's a rummy thing, but I had finished breakfast and gone out and got
as far as the lift before I remembered what it was that I had meant to
do to reward Jeeves for his really sporting behaviour in this matter of
the chump Cyril. It cut me to the heart to do it, but I had decided to
give him his way and let those purple socks pass out of my life. After
all, there are times when a cove must make sacrifices. I was just going
to nip back and break the glad news to him, when the lift came up, so I
thought I would leave it till I got home.
The coloured chappie in charge of the lift looked at me, as I hopped
in, with a good deal of quiet devotion and what not.
"I wish to thank yo', suh," he said, "for yo' kindness."
"Eh? What?"
"Misto' Jeeves done give me them purple socks, as you told him. Thank
yo' very much, suh!"
I looked down. The blighter was a blaze of mauve from the ankle-bone
southward. I don't know when I've seen anything so dressy.
"Oh, ah! Not at all! Right-o! Glad you like them!" I said.
Well, I mean to say, what? Absolutely!
