P G Wodehouse – Man Upstairs

Bill, the fox-terrier, over whom Mr. Vince had happened to stumble, was the first to speak. Almost simultaneously Mr. Warden joined in, and there was a striking similarity between the two voices, for Mr. Warden, searching for words, emitted as a preliminary to them a sort of passionate yelp.

Mr. Vince removed the hand that was patting Ruth’s shoulder and waved it reassuringly at him.

“It’s all right,” he said.

“All right! All right!”

“Affinities,” explained Mr. Vince over his shoulder. “Two hearts that beat as one. We’re going to be married. What’s the matter, dear? Don’t you worry; you’re all right.”

“I refuse!” shouted Mr. Warden. “I absolutely refuse.”

Mr. Vince lowered Ruth gently into a chair and, holding her hand, inspected the fermenting old gentleman gravely.

“You refuse?” he said. “Why, I thought you liked me.”

Mr. Warden’s frenzy had cooled. It had been something foreign to his nature. He regretted it. These things had to be managed with restraint.

“My personal likes and dislikes,” he said, “have nothing to do with the matter, Mr. Vince. They are beside the point. I have my daughter to consider. I cannot allow her to marry a man without a penny.”

“Quite right,” said Mr. Vince, approvingly. “Don’t have anything to do with the fellow. If he tries to butt in, send for the police.”

Mr. Warden hesitated. He had always been a little ashamed of Ruth’s occupation. But necessity compelled.

“Mr. Vince, my daughter is employed at the mont-de-piété, and was a witness to all that took place this afternoon.”

Mr. Vince was genuinely agitated. He looked at Ruth, his face full of concern.

“You don’t mean to say that you have been slaving away in that stuffy-Great Scott! I’ll have you out of that quick. You mustn’t go there again.”

He stooped and kissed her.

“Perhaps you had better let me explain,” he said. “Explanations, I always think, are the zero on the roulette- board of life. They’re always somewhere about, waiting to pop up. Have you ever heard of Vince’s Stores, Mr. Warden? Perhaps they are since your time. Well, my father is the proprietor. One of our specialities is children’s toys, but we haven’t picked a real winner for years, and my father when I last saw him seemed so distressed about it that I said I’d see if I couldn’t whack out an idea for something. Something on the lines of the Billiken, only better, was what he felt he needed. I’m not used to brain work, and after a spell of it I felt I wanted a rest. I came here to recuperate, and the very first morning I got the inspiration. You may have noticed that the manager of the monte-de-piété here isn’t strong on conventional good looks. I saw him at the casino, and the thing flashed on me. He thinks his name’s Gandinot, but it isn’t. It’s Uncle Zip, the Hump-Curer, the Man Who Makes You Smile.”

He pressed Ruth’s hand affectionately.

“I lost track of him, and it was only the day before yesterday that I discovered who he was and where he was to be found. Well, you can’t go to a man and ask him to pose as a model for Uncle Zip, the Bill, the fox-terrier, over whom Mr. Vince had happened to stumble, was the first to speak. Almost simultaneously Mr. Warden joined in, and there was a striking similarity between the two voices, for Mr. Warden, searching for words, emitted as a preliminary to them a sort of passionate yelp.

Mr. Vince removed the hand that was patting Ruth’s shoulder and waved it reassuringly at him.

“It’s all right,” he said.

“All right! All right!”

“Affinities,” explained Mr. Vince over his shoulder. “Two hearts that beat as one. We’re going to be married. What’s the matter, dear? Don’t you worry; you’re all right.”

“I refuse!” shouted Mr. Warden. “I absolutely refuse.”

Mr. Vince lowered Ruth gently into a chair and, holding her hand, inspected the fermenting old gentleman gravely.

“You refuse?” he said. “Why, I thought you liked me.”

Mr. Warden’s frenzy had cooled. It had been something foreign to his nature. He regretted it. These things had to be managed with restraint.