Adams lowered his voice to a confidential murmur: “If you will pardon the liberty, your lordship–I saw it in the paper–”
“About Mr. Peters’ indigestion?”
“About Miss Peters, your lordship, and the Honorable Frederick. May I be permitted to offer my congratulations?”
“Eh, Oh, yes–the engagement. Yes, yes, yes! Yes–to be sure. Yes; very satisfactory in every respect. High time he settled down and got a little sense. I put it to him straight. I cut off his allowance and made him stay at home. That made him think–lazy young devil!”
Lord Emsworth had his lucid moments; and in the one that occurred now it came home to him that he was not talking to himself, as he had imagined, but confiding intimate family secrets to the head steward of his club’s dining-room. He checked himself abruptly, and with a slight decrease of amiability fixed his gaze on the bill of fare and ordered cold beef. For an instant he felt resentful against Adams for luring him on to soliloquize; but the next moment his whole mind was gripped by the fascinating spectacle of Mr. Simmonds dealing with a wedge of Stilton cheese, and Adams was forgotten.
The cold beef had the effect of restoring his lordship to complete amiability, and when Adams in the course of his wanderings again found himself at the table he was once more disposed for light conversation.
“So you saw the news of the engagement in the paper, did you, Adams?”
“Yes, your lordship, in the Mail. It had quite a long piece about it. And the Honorable Frederick’s photograph and the young lady’s were in the Mirror. Mrs. Adams clipped them out and put them in an album, knowing that your lordship was a member of ours. If I may say so, your lordship–a beautiful young lady.”
“Devilish attractive, Adams–and devilish rich. Mr. Peters is a millionaire, Adams.”
“So I read in the paper, your lordship.”
“Damme! They all seem to be millionaires in America. Wish I knew how they managed it. Honestly, I hope. Mr. Peters is an honest man, but his digestion is bad. He used to bolt his food. You don’t bolt your food, I hope, Adams?”
“No, your lordship; I am most careful.”
“The late Mr. Gladstone used to chew each mouthful thirty-three times. Deuced good notion if you aren’t in a hurry. What cheese would you recommend, Adams ?”
“The gentlemen as speaking well of the Gorgonzola.”
“All right, bring me some. You know, Adams, what I admire about Americans is their resource. Mr. Peters tells me that as a boy of eleven he earned twenty dollars a week selling mint to saloon keepers, As they call publicans over there. Why they wanted mint I cannot recollect. Mr. Peters explained the reason to me and it seemed highly plausible at the time; but I have forgotten it. Possibly for mint sauce. It impressed me, Adams. Twenty dollars is four pounds. I never earned four pounds a week when I was a boy of eleven; in fact, I don’t think I ever earned four pounds a week. His story impressed me, Adams. Every man ought to have an earning capacity. I was so struck with what he told me that I began to paint.”
“Landscapes, your lordship?”
“Furniture. It is unlikely that I shall ever be compelled to paint furniture for a living, but it is a consolation to me to feel that I could do so if called on. There is a fascination about painting furniture, Adams. I have painted the whole of my bedroom at Blandings and am now engaged on the museum. You would be surprised at the fascination of it. It suddenly came back to me the other day that I had been inwardly longing to mess about with paints and things since I was a boy. They stopped me when I was a boy. I recollect my old father beating me with a walking stick–Tell me, Adams, have I eaten my cheese?”
“Not yet, your lordship. I was about to send the waiter for it.”
“Never mind. Tell him to bring the bill instead. I remember that I have an appointment. I must not be late.”