Luck of the Bodkins (28 page)

'Mr Bodkin presents his compliments to Miss Blossom and Mr Bodkin would be glad if Miss Blossom would return Mr Bodkin's Mickey Mouse which Miss Blossom was given by that ass Albert Peasemarch at Miss Blossom's earliest convenience.'

He read this through and was satisfied with it. It seemed to him both lucid and dignified. He had never seen a diplomatic note from the ambassadorial representatives of one great power to another, but he imagined that such a note would have been worded in very much the same style - civil and restrained, but getting crisply down to brass tacks.

He pressed the bell and requested his bedroom steward to send Albert Peasemarch to him.

In every exchange of diplomatic notes a messenger is essential, and Monty felt very strongly that Albert Peasemarch, having been directly responsible for the whole trouble, was the ideal choice. A glance at the boat deck had shown him that Lottie Blossom was up there again playing quoits, and that meant that there would be a good deal of sweating about and climbing stairs to be done by the intermediary. The thought of

Albert Peasemarch sweating about and climbing stairs made
a
powerful appeal to him.

Presently there was
a
faint sound of the 'Yeoman's Wedding Song'without, and Albert appeared.

'What ho, Peasemarch.
’

'Good afternoon, sir.'

'I want you,' said Monty, 'to take this note to Miss Blossom and bring back an answer. You will find her on the boat deck.
’

There was already a look of disapproval on the steward's face, for Monty's summons had broken in upon him at
a
moment when he had been hoping to enjoy a quiet lie down and
a
pipe. At these words it became intensified. He drew his lips together in that duenna-like way with which Monty was so familiar. It was plain that the moral aspect of the matter was troubling him.

'Is this wise, sir?' he said gravely.

‘
Eh?
’

‘
I am. of course, aware,' proceeded Albert Peasemarch, with
a
dignified humility which became him well, 'that it is not my place to offer criticism or censure, but if I may take the liberty of saying so, I have become respectfully attached to you in the course of the voyage, sir, and I have your best interests at heart. And I say - Is this wise? If you insist upon me taking this letter to Miss Blossom, I will, of course, do so, being always willing to oblige, but I say again - Is it wise?'

'Peasemarch,' said Monty, 'you're an ass.'

'No, sir, begging your pardon, sir, I am nothing of the kind. I've seen more of life than what you have, if you will excuse me saying so, sir, and I know what I'm talking about. My uncle Sidney, who was a travelling salesman for a Portsmouth firm, used to say to me: "Never put anything in writing, Albert," and you'll find there's no better rule in life. It was the salvation of my uncle Sidney. Oh, I know how it is with you, sir. Don't think I don't understand. This Miss Blossom is what I might call a fam fatarl, and in spite of being engaged to
a
pure, sweet English girl, if you'll excuse me mentioning it, you've gone and fallen beneath her spell -'

'Listen,' said Monty. 'You just pop off as requested with that note and look slippy about it.'

"Very good, sir,
’
said Albert Peasemarch with a sigh. 'If you insist.'

The somewhat lengthy interval which separated the steward's departure and return Monty occupied in pacing the floor. Owing to limitations of space, the pacing is never very good in liner state-rooms, but he did the best he could and was still going well when the door opened.

The lady gave me a letter, sir,' said Albert Peasemarch, speaking in a voice which disapproval, the heat of the day and unaccustomed exercise rendered thick and unmusical.

'Did she say anything?'

'No, sir. She laughed.'

Monty did not like the sound of this. He could imagine that laugh. No doubt one of those mocking, tinkling ones which in certain circumstances can churn a man up as if an egg whisk had been introduced into his vitals. It was in no sanguine spirit that he opened the envelope, and it was as well that he had not been optimistic, for the tone of the communication was in no sense encouraging.

'Miss Blossom presents her compliments to Mr Bodkin and declines to return any Mickey Mice except on certain conditions. Miss Blossom says: Come on up and have a talk about it'

Albert Peasemarch mopped a
heated brow. ‘Will that be all,
sir?'

'All
?' Monty stared. 'We've only just begun.'

'You aren't going to ask me to climb all those steps again?'

'I jolly well am.'

'I ought to be practising my "Yeoman's Wedding Song
’’
, sir.'

'Well, practise it as you climb the steps.'

The steward would have spoken further, but Monty, deep now in literary composition, waved him down with an imperious hand. Frowning, he read what he had written. He did not see how he could improve on it Unless ... His pencil hovered over the paper.

'You
don't know how to spell "inexplicable", do you?' he asked.

'No, sir.'

Monty decided not to add the sent
ence he had been contemplating.

He read the thing again, and crossed out one of the 't's' in the word 'conditions'.

'Mr Bodkin presents his compliments to Miss Blossom and begs to inform her that how on earth can he come up and have a talk about it when he has promised his fiancee not to speak to her again? The whole point of this writing notes business is that Mr Bodkin is not allowed to speak to Miss Blossom.

'Mr Bodkin is at a loss to understand what Miss Blossom means about conditions. Mr Bodkin would like to point out to Miss Blossom that this is a straight, clean-cut issue of returning a Mickey Mouse which belongs to Miss Butterwick and does jolly well not belong to Miss Blossom.'

There was a still longer interval this time, but eventually
a
sound of puffing heralded Albert Peasemarch's return. He handed Monty an envelope and with
a
courteous word of apology sat down on the bed and began to massage
a
corn which was paining him.

Monty opened the envelope, read its contents and stood spellbound. The revelation of the depths to which women can sink is always
a
stunning one.

'Miss Blossom presents her compliments to Mr Bodkin and he knows very well what she means by conditions. If he wants his mouse, he must go to Ikey Llewellyn and sign up with him and get him to consent to overlook the fact that poor old Ambrose did not write "The Boy Stood on the Burning Deck" and give him
a
contract
.
Miss Blossom asks Mr Bodkin to sort out all these He's and Him's to see that she has got them right and in conclusion informs Mr Bodkin that unless he kicks in she is going to parade the promenade deck tomorrow with that Mickey Mouse and when Miss Butterwick (ha, ha) comes up and says: Where the heck did you get that mouse? she, Miss Blossom, is going to say: Why, tee-hee, Mr Bodkin gave it to me with warm personal regards. And if that doesn't make Miss Buttersplosh kick Mr Bodkin in the slats and hand him his hat, Miss Blossom will be vastly surprised.

‘
P.S. Think on your feet boy!'

Monty came out of his trance. He was breathing hard. He had decided to stand no more nonsense. There are times when
a
man has to forget his chivalry and talk turkey to the other sex. His ancestor, the Sieur Pharamond, had realized this when, returning home from the Crusades rather earlier than had been expected, he found his wife in her boudoir singing close harmony with three troubadours.

There must, he saw, be no more of that polished third-person stuff. What the situation demanded was good, sinewy prose, straight to the button. He dashed off a single, searing line and handed it to Albert Peasemarch.

It ran:

‘
Do you know what you are?'

Miss Blossom replied:

‘
Yessir. I'm the girl that's got your Mickey Mouse.'

Impatient with this fri
volity, Monty became sterner:'

‘
You're a thief!'

Five minutes later Albert Peasemarch limped back to GH.Q. with the following:

‘
My God! Not that?'

Monty declined to abate by so much as a jot or tittle the gravity of the charge:

‘
Yes, you are. A bally thief.'

To which Mis
s Blossom, in philosophic vein:

'Oh, well, I've got a nice day for it'

Monty then delivered an ultimatum:

'Return that mouse by bearer, or I go to the purser.'

But when Albert Peasemarch returned, panting like the hart when wearied in the chase, there was no Mickey Mouse in his hand. He bore nothing but a sheet of paper on which was written a single ribald word. And Monty, reading it, frowned darkly.

'All right!' he said, between clenched teeth. 'All jolly right!'

Chapter 17

It was as the ship's clocks were pointing to four and busy stewards were bustling about preparing tea and cake for famished passengers who had not touched food since half-past two that Reggie Tennyson, roving the vessel in search of Monty, observed him coming out of the purser's office.

Reggie's was not an unsympathetic nature. It is true that he had left Monty somewhat abruptly at a moment when the latter would have been glad of his advice and comfort, but that was because he wanted to play shuffleboard with Mabel Spence. He had by no means failed to give his friend's hard case a good deal of thought, and after lunch and another game of shuffle-board he went to look for him, anxious to ascertain how things were coming along.

For some considerable time his quest had been unsuccessful, but at four o'clock his efforts were rewarded. Happening, as has been said, to pass the purser's office, he caught sight of Monty emerging.

Monty was not alone. The ship's doctor was with him. The ship's doctor had placed an arm about his shoulder and there was a kindly, solicitous expression on his face.

There is nothing to be alarmed about,' he was saying. 'You just go to your state-room and lie down. I'll send a steward along with something which I would like you to take in a little water every two hours.
’

And with these words the ship's doctor administered a cheery little pat on the shoulder and made off, in his bearing the unmistakable look which ship's doctors always wear when they are going back to play quoits with the prettiest girl on board.

Reggie hailed Monty with a friendly 'Hoy!' and the latter turned, blinking. He seemed a little dazed.

'What,' inquired Reggie, 'was all that? Have you gone and got leprosy or something?'

'Come on up to the smoking-room,
’
said Monty feverishly. 'I want a drink.
’

'But the medico told you to go to your state-room and lie down.'

'Blast the medico and curse the state-room,' said Monty, with that same odd feverishness.

Reggie decided to postpone any attempt at reasoning with his friend. Whatever scourge he had got, it was plain that he had no intention of lying down and taking things in a little water every two hours. His whole mind was manifestly intent on reaching the smoking-room and getting a snootful. And as the heat of the afternoon was making Reggie feel that he, too, could do with a spot of refreshment, he suspended his remarks and followed, wondering but silent.

It was only after Monty had had one quick and another rather slower that he seemed to return to this world from whatever misty empyrean it was in which his soul had been wandering. He looked at Reggie as if he were seeing him for the first time, and as his eye was now bright and unclouded and as intelligent as it ever was, the latter considered that he might go on where they had left off.

'What,
’
he asked, 'was all that?'

A shudder shook Monty.

‘
Reggie,' he said, 'I've made a bit of an ass of myself.
’
·How?
’

‘I’l
l tell you. Where's that steward?
’