The Adventures of Sally 27 – Wodehouse · Verses Across
Literature · Humor
The Adventures of Sally 27Part 8 · Chapter 1
18
Literature · Humor
The Adventures of Sally 27
Part 8 · Chapter 1
WodehouseEnglish
The only real happiness, we are told, is to be obtained by bringing happiness to others. Bugs Butler's mood, accordingly, when some thirty hours after the painful episode recorded in the last chapter he awoke from a state of coma in the ring at Jersey City to discover that Mr. Lew Lucas had knocked him out in the middle of the third round, should have been one of quiet contentment. His inability to block a short left-hook followed by a right to the point of the jaw had ameliorated quite a number of existences.
Mr. Lew Lucas, for one, was noticeably pleased. So were Mr. Lucas's seconds, one of whom went so far as to kiss him. And most of the crowd, who had betted heavily on the champion, were delighted. Yet Bugs Butler did not rejoice. It is not too much to say that his peevish bearing struck a jarring note in the general gaiety. A heavy frown disfigured his face as he slouched from the ring.
But the happiness which he had spread went on spreading. The two Wise Guys, who had been unable to attend the fight in person, received the result on the ticker and exuberantly proclaimed themselves the richer by five hundred dollars. The pimpled office-boy at the Fillmore Nicholas Theatrical Enterprises Ltd. caused remark in the Subway by whooping gleefully when he read the news in his morning paper, for he, too, had been rendered wealthier by the brittleness of Mr. Butler's chin. And it was with fierce satisfaction that Sally, breakfasting in her little apartment, informed herself through the sporting page of the details of the contender's downfall. She was not a girl who disliked many people, but she had acquired a lively distaste for Bugs Butler.
Lew Lucas seemed a man after her own heart. If he had been a personal friend of Ginger's he could not, considering the brief time at his disposal, have avenged him with more thoroughness. In round one he had done all sorts of diverting things to Mr. Butler's left eye: in round two he had continued the good work on that gentleman's body; and in round three he had knocked him out. Could anyone have done more? Sally thought not, and she drank Lew Lucas's health in a cup of coffee and hoped his old mother was proud of him.
The telephone bell rang at her elbow. She unhooked the receiver.
“Hullo?”
“Oh, hullo,” said a voice.
“Ginger!” cried Sally delightedly.
“I say, I'm awfully glad you're back. I only got your letter this morning. Found it at the boarding-house. I happened to look in there and...”
“Ginger,” interrupted Sally, “your voice is music, but I want to see you. Where are you?”
“I'm at a chemist's shop across the street. I was wondering if...”
“Come here at once!”
“I say, may I? I was just going to ask.”
“You miserable creature, why haven't you been round to see me before?”
“Well, as a matter of fact, I haven't been going about much for the last day. You see...”
“I know. Of course.” Quick sympathy came into Sally's voice. She gave a sidelong glance of approval and gratitude at the large picture of Lew Lucas which beamed up at her from the morning paper. “You poor thing! How are you?”
“Oh, all right, thanks.”
“Well, hurry.”
There was a slight pause at the other end of the wire.
“I say.”
“Well?”
“I'm not much to look at, you know.”
“You never were. Stop talking and hurry over.”
“I mean to say...”
Sally hung up the receiver firmly. She waited eagerly for some minutes, and then footsteps came along the passage. They stopped at her door and the bell rang. Sally ran to the door, flung it open, and recoiled in consternation.
“Oh, Ginger!”
He had stated the facts accurately when he had said that he was not much to look at. He gazed at her devotedly out of an unblemished right eye, but the other was hidden altogether by a puffy swelling of dull purple. A great bruise marred his left cheek-bone, and he spoke with some difficulty through swollen lips.
“It's all right, you know,” he assured her.
“It isn't. It's awful! Oh, you poor darling!” She clenched her teeth viciously. “I wish he had killed him!”
“Eh?”
“I wish Lew Lucas or whatever his name is had murdered him. Brute!”
“Oh, I don't know, you know.” Ginger's sense of fairness compelled him to defend his late employer against these harsh sentiments. “He isn't a bad sort of chap, really. Bugs Butler, I mean.”
“Do you seriously mean to stand there and tell me you don't loathe the creature?”
“Oh, he's all right. See his point of view and all that. Can't blame him, if you come to think of it, for getting the wind up a bit in the circs. Bit thick, I mean to say, a sparring-partner going at him like that. Naturally he didn't think it much of a wheeze. It was my fault right along. Oughtn't to have done it, of course, but somehow, when he started making an ass of me and I knew you were looking on... well, it seemed a good idea to have a dash at doing something on my own. No right to, of course. A sparring-partner isn't supposed...”
“Sit down,” said Sally.
Ginger sat down.
“Ginger,” said Sally, “you're too good to live.”
“Oh, I say!”
“I believe if someone sandbagged you and stole your watch and chain you'd say there were faults on both sides or something. I'm just a cat, and I say I wish your beast of a Bugs Butler had perished miserably. I'd have gone and danced on his grave... But whatever made you go in for that sort of thing?”
“Well, it seemed the only job that was going at the moment. I've always done a goodish bit of boxing and I was very fit and so on, and it looked to me rather an opening. Gave me something to get along with. You get paid quite fairly decently, you know, and it's rather a jolly life...”
“Jolly? Being hammered about like that?”
“Oh, you don't notice it much. I've always enjoyed scrapping rather. And, you see, when your brother gave me the push...”
Sally uttered an exclamation.
“What an extraordinary thing it is--I went all the way out to White Plains that afternoon to find Fillmore and tackle him about that and I didn't say a word about it. And I haven't seen or been able to get hold of him since.”
“No? Busy sort of cove, your brother.”
“Why did Fillmore let you go?”
“Let me go? Oh, you mean... well, there was a sort of mix-up. A kind of misunderstanding.”
“What happened?”
“Oh, it was nothing. Just a...”
“What happened?”
Ginger's disfigured countenance betrayed embarrassment. He looked awkwardly about the room.
“It's not worth talking about.”
“It is worth talking about. I've a right to know. It was I who sent you to Fillmore...”
“Now that,” said Ginger, “was jolly decent of you.”
“Don't interrupt! I sent you to Fillmore, and he had no business to let you go without saying a word to me. What happened?”
Ginger twiddled his fingers unhappily.
“Well, it was rather unfortunate. You see, his wife--I don't know if you know her?...”
“Of course I know her.”
“Why, yes, you would, wouldn't you? Your brother's wife, I mean,” said Ginger acutely. “Though, as a matter of fact, you often find sisters-in-law who won't have anything to do with one another. I know a fellow...”
“Ginger,” said Sally, “it's no good your thinking you can get out of telling me by rambling off on other subjects. I'm grim and resolute and relentless, and I mean to get this story out of you if I have to use a corkscrew. Fillmore's wife, you were saying...”
Ginger came back reluctantly to the main theme.
“Well, she came into the office one morning, and we started fooling about...”
“Fooling about?”
“Well, kind of chivvying each other.”
“Chivvying?”
“At least I was.”
“You were what?”
“Sort of chasing her a bit, you know.”
Sally regarded this apostle of frivolity with amazement.
“What do you mean?”
Ginger's embarrassment increased.
“The thing was, you see, she happened to trickle in rather quietly when I happened to be looking at something, and I didn't know she was there till she suddenly grabbed it...”
“Grabbed what?”
“The thing. The thing I happened to be looking at. She bagged it... collared it... took it away from me, you know, and wouldn't give it back and generally started to rot about a bit, so I rather began to chivvy her to some extent, and I'd just caught her when your brother happened to roll in. I suppose,” said Ginger, putting two and two together, “he had really come with her to the office and had happened to hang back for a minute or two, to talk to somebody or something... well, of course, he was considerably fed to see me apparently doing jiu-jitsu with his wife. Enough to rattle any man, if you come to think of it,” said Ginger, ever fair-minded. “Well, he didn't say anything at the time, but a bit later in the day he called me in and administered the push.”
Sally shook her head.
“It sounds the craziest story to me. What was it that Mrs. Fillmore took from you?”
“Oh, just something.”
Sally rapped the table imperiously.
“Ginger!”
“Well, as a matter of fact,” said her goaded visitor, “It was a photograph.”
“Who of? Or, if you're particular, of whom?”
“Well... you, to be absolutely accurate.”
“Me?” Sally stared. “But I've never given you a photograph of myself.”
Ginger's face was a study in scarlet and purple.
“You didn't exactly give it to me,” he mumbled. “When I say give, I mean...”
“Good gracious!” Sudden enlightenment came upon Sally. “That photograph we were hunting for when I first came here! Had you stolen it all the time?”
“Why, yes, I did sort of pinch it...”
“You fraud! You humbug! And you pretended to help me look for it.” She gazed at him almost with respect. “I never knew you were so deep and snaky. I'm discovering all sorts of new things about you.”
There was a brief silence. Ginger, confession over, seemed a trifle happier.
“I hope you're not frightfully sick about it?” he said at length. “It was lying about, you know, and I rather felt I must have it. Hadn't the cheek to ask you for it, so...”
“Don't apologize,” said Sally cordially. “Great compliment. So I have caused your downfall again, have I? I'm certainly your evil genius, Ginger. I'm beginning to feel like a regular rag and a bone and a hank of hair. First I egged you on to insult your family--oh, by the way, I want to thank you about that. Now that I've met your Uncle Donald I can see how public-spirited you were. I ruined your prospects there, and now my fatal beauty--cabinet size--has led to your destruction once more. It's certainly up to me to find you another job, I can see that.”
“No, really, I say, you mustn't bother. I shall be all right.”
“It's my duty. Now what is there that you really can do? Burglary, of course, but it's not respectable. You've tried being a waiter and a prize-fighter and a right-hand man, and none of those seems to be just right. Can't you suggest anything?”
Ginger shook his head.
“I shall wangle something, I expect.”'
“Yes, but what? It must be something good this time. I don't want to be walking along Broadway and come on you suddenly as a street-cleaner. I don't want to send for an express-man and find you popping up. My idea would be to go to my bank to arrange an overdraft and be told the president could give me two minutes and crawl in humbly and find you prezzing away to beat the band in a big chair. Isn't there anything in the world that you can do that's solid and substantial and will keep you out of the poor-house in your old age? Think!”
“Of course, if I had a bit of capital...”
“Ah! The business man! And what,” inquired Sally, “would you do, Mr. Morgan, if you had a bit of capital?”
“Run a dog-thingummy,” said Ginger promptly.
“What's a dog-thingummy?”
“Why, a thingamajig. For dogs, you know.”
Sally nodded.
“Oh, a thingamajig for dogs? Now I understand. You will put things so obscurely at first. Ginger, you poor fish, what are you raving about? What on earth is a thingamajig for dogs?”
“I mean a sort of place like fellows have. Breeding dogs, you know, and selling them and winning prizes and all that. There are lots of them about.”
“Oh, a kennels?”
“Yes, a kennels.”
“What a weird mind you have, Ginger. You couldn't say kennels at first, could you? That wouldn't have made it difficult enough. I suppose, if anyone asked you where you had your lunch, you would say, 'Oh, at a thingamajig for mutton chops'... Ginger, my lad, there is something in this. I believe for the first time in our acquaintance you have spoken something very nearly resembling a mouthful. You're wonderful with dogs, aren't you?”
“I'm dashed keen on them, and I've studied them a bit. As a matter of fact, though it seems rather like swanking, there isn't much about dogs that I don't know.”
“Of course. I believe you're a sort of honorary dog yourself. I could tell it by the way you stopped that fight at Roville. You plunged into a howling mass of about a million hounds of all species and just whispered in their ears and they stopped at once. Why, the more one examines this, the better it looks. I do believe it's the one thing you couldn't help making a success of. It's very paying, isn't it?”
“Works out at about a hundred per cent on the original outlay, I've been told.”
“A hundred per cent? That sounds too much like something of Fillmore's for comfort. Let's say ninety-nine and be conservative. Ginger, you have hit it. Say no more. You shall be the Dog King, the biggest thingamajigger for dogs in the country. But how do you start?”
“Well, as a matter of fact, while I was up at White Plains, I ran into a cove who had a place of the sort and wanted to sell out. That was what made me think of it.”
“You must start to-day. Or early to-morrow.”
“Yes,” said Ginger doubtfully. “Of course, there's the catch, you know.”
“What catch?”
“The capital. You've got to have that. This fellow wouldn't sell out under five thousand dollars.”
“I'll lend you five thousand dollars.”
“No!” said Ginger.
Sally looked at him with exasperation. “Ginger, I'd like to slap you,” she said. It was maddening, this intrusion of sentiment into business affairs. Why, simply because he was a man and she was a woman, should she be restrained from investing money in a sound commercial undertaking? If Columbus had taken up this bone-headed stand towards Queen Isabella, America would never have been discovered.
“I can't take five thousand dollars off you,” said Ginger firmly.
“Who's talking of taking it off me, as you call it?” stormed Sally. “Can't you forget your burglarious career for a second? This isn't the same thing as going about stealing defenceless girls' photographs. This is business. I think you would make an enormous success of a dog-place, and you admit you're good, so why make frivolous objections? Why shouldn't I put money into a good thing? Don't you want me to get rich, or what is it?”
Ginger was becoming confused. Argument had never been his strong point.
“But it's such a lot of money.”
“To you, perhaps. Not to me. I'm a plutocrat. Five thousand dollars! What's five thousand dollars? I feed it to the birds.”
Ginger pondered woodenly for a while. His was a literal mind, and he knew nothing of Sally's finances beyond the fact that when he had first met her she had come into a legacy of some kind. Moreover, he had been hugely impressed by Fillmore's magnificence. It seemed plain enough that the Nicholases were a wealthy family.
“I don't like it, you know,” he said.
“You don't have to like it,” said Sally. “You just do it.”
A consoling thought flashed upon Ginger.
“You'd have to let me pay you interest.”
“Let you? My lad, you'll have to pay me interest. What do you think this is--a round game? It's a cold business deal.”
“Topping!” said Ginger relieved. “How about twenty-five per cent.”
“Don't be silly,” said Sally quickly. “I want three.”
“No, that's all rot,” protested Ginger. “I mean to say--three. I don't,” he went on, making a concession, “mind saying twenty.”
“If you insist, I'll make it five. Not more.”
“Well, ten, then?”
“Five!”
“Suppose,” said Ginger insinuatingly, “I said seven?”
“I never saw anyone like you for haggling,” said Sally with disapproval. “Listen! Six. And that's my last word.”
“Six?”
“Six.”
Ginger did sums in his head.
“But that would only work out at three hundred dollars a year. It isn't enough.”
“What do you know about it? As if I hadn't been handling this sort of deal in my life. Six! Do you agree?”
“I suppose so.”
“Then that's settled. Is this man you talk about in New York?”
“No, he's down on Long Island at a place on the south shore.”
“I mean, can you get him on the 'phone and clinch the thing?”
“Oh, yes. I know his address, and I suppose his number's in the book.”
“Then go off at once and settle with him before somebody else snaps him up. Don't waste a minute.”
