LEAVE IT TO PSMITH (11)
By:
March 12, 2019
Leave It to Psmith (1923) is the last and most rewarding of four novels featuring the dandy, wit, and would-be adventurer Ronald Eustace Psmith, one of P.G. Wodehouse‘s most popular characters. (“One can date exactly,” Evelyn Waugh claimed, in reference to Psmith’s debut in the 1909 novel Mike, “the first moment when Wodehouse was touched by the sacred flame.”) Leave It to Psmith‘s copyright enters the public domain in 2019; HiLoBooks is pleased to serialize this terrific book here at HILOBROW. Enjoy!
Meanwhile at the Drones Club, a rather painful scene had been taking place. Psmith, regaining the shelter of the building, had made his way to the wash room, where, having studied his features with interest tor a moment in the mirror, he smoothed his hair, which the rain had somewhat disordered, and brushed his clothes with extreme care. He then went to the cloakroom for his hat. The attendant regarded him as he entered with the air of one whose mind is not wholly at rest.
‘Mr Walderwick was in here a moment ago, sir,’ said the attendant.
‘Yes?’ said Psmith, mildly interested. ‘An energetic, bustling soul, Comrade Walderwick. Always somewhere. Now here, now there…’
‘Asking about his umbrella, he was,’ pursued the attendant with a touch of coldness.
‘Indeed? Asking about his umbrella?’
‘Made a great fuss about it, he did.’
‘And rightly,’ said Psmith with approval. ‘The good man loves his umbrella.’
‘Of course I had to tell him that you had took it, sir.’
‘I would not have it otherwise,’ assented Psmith heartily. ‘I like this spirit of candour. There must be no reservation, no subterfuges between you and Comrade Walderwick. Let all be open and above board.’
‘He seemed very put out, sir. He went off to find you.’
‘I am always glad of a chat with Comrade Walderwick,’ said Psmith. ‘Always.’
He left the cloak room and made for the hall where he desired the porter to procure him a cab. This having drawn up in front of the club, he descended the steps and was about to enter it, when there was a hoarse cry in his rear, and through the front door there came bounding a pinkly indignant youth, who called loudly:
‘Here! Hi! Smith! Dash it!’
Psmith climbed into the cab and gazed benevolently out at the new-comer.
‘Ah, Comrade Walderwick!’ he said. ‘What have we on our mind?’
‘Where’s my umbrella?’ demanded the pink one. ‘The cloak-room waiter says you took my umbrella. I mean, a joke’s a joke, but that was a dashed good umbrella.’
‘It was, indeed,’ Psmith agreed cordially. ‘It may be of interest to you to know that I selected it as the only possible one from among a number of competitors. I fear this club is becoming very mixed, Comrade Walderwick. You with your pure mind would hardly believe the rottenness of some of the umbrellas I inspected in the cloak-room.’
‘Where is it?’
‘The cloak-room? You turn to the left as you go in at the main entrance and…’
‘My umbrella, dash it! Where’s mv umbrella?’
‘Ah, there,’ said Psmith, and there was a touch of manly regret in bis voice, ‘you have me. I gave it to a young lady in the street. Where she is at the present moment I could not say.’
The pink youth tottered slightly.
‘You gave my umbrella to a girl?’
‘A very loose way of describing her. You would not speak of her in that light fashion if you had seen her, Comrade Walderwick, she was wonderful! I am a plain, blunt, rugged man, above the softer emotions as a general thing, but I frankly confess that she stirred a chord in me which is not often stirred. She thrilled my battered old heart, Comrade Walderwick. There is no other word. Thrilled it!’
‘But, dash it!…’
Psmith reached out a long arm and laid his hand paternally on the other’s shoulder.
‘Be brave, Comrade Walderwick,’ he said. ‘Face this thing like a man! I am sorry to have been the means of depriving you of an excellent umbrella, but as you will readily understand I had no alternative. It was raining. She was over there, crouched despairingly beneath the awning of that shop. She wanted to be elsewhere, but the moisture lay in wait to damage her hat. What could I do? What could any man worthy of the name do but go down to the cloak-room and pinch the best umbrella in sight and take it to her? Yours was easily the best. There was absolutely no comparison. I gave it to her, and she has gone off with it, happy once more. This explanation,’ said Psmith, ‘will, I am sure, sensibly diminish your natural chagrin. You have lost your umbrella, Comrade Walderwick, but in what a cause! In what a cause, Comrade Walderwick! You are now entitled to rank with Sir Philip Sidney and Sir Walter Ralegh. The latter is perhaps the closer historical parallel. He spread his cloak to keep a queen from wetting her feet. You — by proxy — yielded up your umbrella to save a girl’s hat. Posterity will be proud of you, Comrade Walderwick. I shall be vastly surprised if you do not go down in legend and song. Children in ages to come will cluster about their grandfather’s knees, saying, “Tell us how the great Walderwick lost his umbrella, grandpapa!” And he will tell them, and they will rise from the recital better, deeper, broader children… But now, as I see that the driver has started his meter, I fear I must conclude this little chat — which I, for one, have heartily enjoyed. Drive on,’ he said, leaning out of the window. ‘I want to go to Ada Clarkson’s International Employment Bureau in Shaftesbury Avenue.’
The cab moved off. The Hon. Hugo Walderwick, after one passionate glance in its wake, realized that he was getting wet and went back into the club.
Arriving at the address named, Psmith paid his cab and, having mounted the stairs, delicately knuckled the ground-glass window of Enquiries.
‘My dear Miss Clarkson,’ he began in an affable voice, the instant the window had shot up, ‘if you can spare me a few moments of your valuable time…’
‘Miss Clarkson’s engaged.’
Psmith scrutinized her gravely through his monocle.
‘Aren’t you Miss Clarkson?’
Enquiries said she was not.
‘Then,’ said Psmith, ‘there has been a misunderstanding, for which,’ he added cordially, ‘I am to blame. Perhaps I could see her anon? You will find me in the waiting-room when required.’
He went into the waiting-room, and, having picked up a magazine from the table, settled down to read a story in The Girls’ Pet — the January number of the year 1919, for Employment Agencies, like dentists, prefer their literature of a matured vintage. He was absorbed in this when Eve came out of the private office.
Psmith Applies for Employment
Psmith rose courteously as she entered.
‘My dear Miss Clarkson,’ he said, ‘if you can spare me a moment of your valuable time…’
‘Good gracious!’ said Eve. ‘How extraordinary!’
‘A singular coincidence,’ agreed Psmith.
‘You never gave me time to thank you for the umbrella,’ said Eve reproachfully. ‘You must have thought me awfully rude. But you took my breath away.’
‘My dear Miss Clarkson, please do not…’
‘Why do you keep calling me that?’
‘Aren’t you Miss Clarkson, either?’
‘Of course I’m not.’
‘Then,’ said Psmith, ‘I must start my quest all over again. These constant checks are trying to an ardent spirit. Perhaps you are a young bride come to engage her first cook?’
‘No. I’m not married.’
‘Good.’
Eve found his relieved thankfulness a little embarrassing. In the momentary pause which followed his remark, Enquiries entered alertly.
‘Miss Clarkson will see you now, sir.’
‘Leave us,’ said Psmith with a wave of his hand. ‘We would be alone.’
Enquiries stared; then, awed by his manner and general appearance of magnificence, withdrew.
‘I suppose really,’ said Eve, toying with the umbrella, ‘I ought to give this back to you.’ She glanced at the dripping window. ‘But it is raining rather hard, isn’t it?’
‘Like the dickens,’ assented Psmith.
‘Then would you mind very much if I kept it till this evening?’
‘Please do.’
‘Thanks ever so much. I will send it back to you tonight if you will give me the name and address.’
Psmith waved his hand deprecatingly.
‘No, no. If it is of any use to you, I hope that you will look on it as a present.’
‘A present?’
‘A gift,’ explained Psmith.
“But I really can’t go about accepting expensive umbrellas from people. Where shall I send it?’
‘If you insist, you may send it to the Hon. Hugo Walderwick, Drones Club, Dover Street. But it really isn’t necessary.’
‘ I won’t forget. And thank you very much, Mr Walderwick.’
‘Why do you call me that?’
‘Well, you said…’
‘Ah, I see. A slight confusion of ideas. No, I am not Mr. Walderwick. And between ourselves I should hate to be. His is a very C3 intelligence. Comrade Walderwick is merely the man to whom the umbrella belongs.’
Eve’s eyes opened wide.
‘Do you mean to say you gave me somebody else’s umbrella?’
‘I had unfortunately omitted to bring my own out with me this morning.’
‘I never heard of such a thing!’
‘Merely practical Socialism. Other people are content to talk about the Redistribution of Property. I go out and do it.’
‘But won’t he be awfully angry when he finds out it has gone?’
‘He has found out. And it was pretty to see his delight. I explained the circumstances, and he was charmed to have been of service to you.’
The door opened again, and this time it was Miss Clarkson in person who entered. She had found Enquiries’ statement over the speaking-tube rambling and unsatisfactory, and had come to investigate for herself the reason why the machinery of the office was being held up.
SERIALIZED BY HILOBOOKS: Jack London’s The Scarlet Plague | Rudyard Kipling’s With the Night Mail (and “As Easy as A.B.C.”) | Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Poison Belt | H. Rider Haggard’s When the World Shook | Edward Shanks’ The People of the Ruins | William Hope Hodgson’s The Night Land | J.D. Beresford’s Goslings | E.V. Odle’s The Clockwork Man | Cicely Hamilton’s Theodore Savage | Muriel Jaeger’s The Man With Six Senses | Jack London’s “The Red One” | Philip Francis Nowlan’s Armageddon 2419 A.D. | Homer Eon Flint’s The Devolutionist | W.E.B. DuBois’s “The Comet” | Edgar Rice Burroughs’s The Moon Men | Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s Herland | Sax Rohmer’s “The Zayat Kiss” | Eimar O’Duffy’s King Goshawk and the Birds | Frances Hodgson Burnett’s The Lost Prince | Morley Roberts’s The Fugitives | Helen MacInnes’s The Unconquerable | Geoffrey Household’s Watcher in the Shadows | William Haggard’s The High Wire | Hammond Innes’s Air Bridge | James Branch Cabell’s Jurgen | John Buchan’s “No Man’s Land” | John Russell’s “The Fourth Man” | E.M. Forster’s “The Machine Stops” | John Buchan’s Huntingtower | Arthur Conan Doyle’s When the World Screamed | Victor Bridges’ A Rogue By Compulsion | Jack London’s The Iron Heel | H. De Vere Stacpoole’s The Man Who Lost Himself | P.G. Wodehouse’s Leave It to Psmith | Richard Connell’s “The Most Dangerous Game” | Houdini and Lovecraft’s “Imprisoned with the Pharaohs” | Arthur Conan Doyle’s “The Sussex Vampire.”
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