P G Wodehouse – Man Upstairs

“I want to tell you something, too,” she said. “I expect it’s too late, but never mind. I want you to hear it. I’ve altered, too, since I came to London. I used to think the Universe had been invented just to look on and wave its hat while I did great things. London has put a large cold piece of ice against my head, and the swelling has gone down. I’m not the girl with ambitions any longer. I just want to keep employed, and not have too bad a time when the day’s works over.”

He came across to where she sat.

“We said we would meet as strangers, and we do. We never have known each other. Don’t you think we had better get acquainted?” he said.

There was a respectful tap at the door.

“Come in?” snapped Mr. Ferguson. “Well?”

Behind the gold-rimmed spectacles of Master Bean there shone a softer look than usual, a look rather complacent than disapproving.

“I must apologise, sir, for intruding upon you. I am no longer in your employment, but I hope that in the circumstances you will forgive my entering your private office. Thinking over our situation just now an idea came to me by means of which I fancy we might be enabled to leave the building.”

“What!”

“It occurred to me, sir, that by telephoning to the nearest police-station-”

“Good heavens!” cried Mr. Ferguson.

Two minutes later he replaced the receiver.

It’s all right,” he said. “I’ve made them understand the trouble. They’re bringing a ladder. I wonder what the time is? It must be about four in the morning.”

Master Bean produced a Waterbury watch.

“The time, sir, is almost exactly half-past ten.”

“Half-past ten! We must have been here longer than three hours. Your watch is wrong.”

“No, sir, I am very careful to keep it exactly right. I do not wish to run any risk of being unpunctual.”

“Half-past ten!” cried Mr. Ferguson. “Why, we’re in heaps of time to look in at the Savoy for supper. This is great. I’ll ‘phone them to keep a table.”

“Supper! I thought-”

She stopped.

“What’s that? Thought what?”

“Hadn’t you an engagement for supper?”

He stared at her.

“Whatever gave you that idea? Of course not.”

“I thought you were taking Miss Templeton-”

“Miss Temp-Oh!” His face cleared. “Oh, there isn’t such a person. I invented her. I had to when you accused me of being like our friend the Miasma. Legitimate self-defence.”

“I do not wish to interrupt you, sir, when you are busy,” said Master Bean, “but-”

“Come and see me to-morrow morning,” said Mr. Ferguson.

“Bob,” said the girl, as the first threatening mutters from the orchestra heralded an imminent storm of melody, “when that boy comes to-morrow, what are you going to do?”

“Call up the police.”

“No, but you must do something. We shouldn’t have been here if it hadn’t been for him.”

“That’s true!” He pondered. “I’ve got it; I’ll get him a job with Raikes and Courtenay.”

“Why Raikes and Courtenay?”

“Because I have a pull with them. But principally,” said Mr. Ferguson, with a devilish grin, “because they live in Edinburgh, which, as you are doubtless aware, is a long, long way from London.”

He bent across the table.

“Isn’t this like old times?” he said. “Do you remember the first time I ever ki-”

Just then the orchestra broke out.

The Good Angel

Any man under thirty years of age who tells you he is not afraid of an English butler lies. He may not show his fear. Outwardly he may be brave-aggressive even, perhaps to the extent of calling the great man “Here!” or “Hi!” But, in his heart, when he meets that cold, blue, introspective eye, he quakes.

The effect that Keggs, the butler at the Keiths’, had on Martin Rossiter was to make him feel as if he had been caught laughing in a cathedral. He fought against the feeling. He asked himself who Keggs was, anyway; and replied defiantly that Keggs was a Menial-and an overfed Menial. But all the while he knew that logic was useless.

When the Keiths had invited him to their country home he had been delighted. They were among his oldest friends. He liked Mr. Keith. He liked Mrs. Keith. He loved Elsa Keith, and had done so from boyhood.