Luck of the Bodkins (40 page)

Mr Llewellyn's face darkened. Her words had touched an exposed nerve. It may seem to some a venial fault not to have written 'The Boy Stood on the Burning Deck', but Ivor Llewellyn could not bring himself to forgive Ambrose Tennyson for not having done so. At least, he could not forgive him for not being the right Tennyson. The whole subject of the rightness and wrongness of Tennysons was one on which the president of the Superba-Llewellyn would not be able to think calmly for a long time to come.

'Pshaw!
' he cried, stirred to his depths.

‘
Eh?'

'I've no use for that fellow.' ‘Ikey!
'

‘I
wouldn't have him on the lot,' said Mr Llewellyn with deep emotion, 'not if you paid me.'

He detached her fingers - it seemed to Lottie that everybody was detaching her fingers thi
s afternoon - and with a nimble
ness which would have surprised anybody who did not know how nimble even the stoutest motion-picture magnate can be when evading people who are asking favours of him, shot into a taxi and was carried off.

It was at this moment that Monty Bodkin came out into the street.

In the parts round about the entrance to the White Star pier New York is admittedly not at its best - indeed, it is to be wondered at that some committee of patriotic citizens has not put up one of those signs, so popular in the rural districts, which urge the visitor not to judge the town by the 'deepo'. Nevertheless, this rather raffish district has a quality which other, showier portions of the city lack.

Technically, the Customs sheds are American soil and should excite all sorts of emotions in the bosom of one who is arriving for the first time in the United States. But in actual fact it is only when such a person comes out through the door at the bottom of that toboggan slide where they shoot down the light baggage that he says to himself: 'At last!' Then, and then only, does he really feel that he is in America and that a new life is beginning for him.

To Monty, as he stood in the doorway, this feeling came particularly vividly. Even more than the ordinary immigrant, he was starting afresh, with the future a blank scroll before him. In returning that Mickey Mouse to Gertrude Butterwick, it was as if he had written 'Finis' to a definite phase of his life. The act had been symbolic. He had not actually said 'Good
’
bye to all that,' but that was what it had amounted to.

He was in a new world, with no plans. He might do anything
’
He might seek solace in one of those round-the-globe cruises. He might visit the Rocky Mountains and shoot bears. He might bury himself in some distant South Seas island and grow or catch copra - according to whether (a fact which he had never been quite able to grasp) it was a vegetable or some kind of fish. Or he might go into a monastery. It was all uncertain.

Meanwhile, he sniffed New York and thought it smelt funny.

And as he stood there sniffing there was a sudden rush and whir and he found himself blinking under the bright gaze of Lottie Blossom.

'Hey!
‘
she was saying, plainly in the grip of some very strong emotion. She attached herself to the lapel of his coat. 'Hey, listen!'

The sight of Monty had affected Lottie profoundly. In all the swirl of recent events she had never forgotten that, however abruptly Ivor Llewellyn might turn off the milk of human kindness in his bosom, there was one man who could make
him
turn it on again. And it was this man who stood before her. On the authority of both Reggie and Ambrose she had it that Ivor Llewellyn yearned to secure th
is bimbo Bodkin's artistic ser
vices and would agree to anything in order to obtain his signature to a contract. Undeterred, therefore, by her recent failure to get results by holding the lapel of Mr Llewellyn's coat, she now attached herself to Monty's.

'Hey, listen 1
’
she cried. 'You've go
t to do it 1 You've just got to
see?'

There had been a time, only a few brief days since, when Monty Bodkin's immediate reaction to the discovery that Lottie Blossom was adhering to his coat would have been an attempt to brush her off. But now he made no move to do so. He remained listless and inert. It mattered little, he reflected with infinite sadness, if he was festooned from head to foot with Lottie Blossoms.

‘
Do what?'he said.

‘
Go to Ikey Llewellyn and make him give Ambrose his job back. If you have a spark of common decency in you, you cant refuse. Look what Ammie is doing for you at this very
mo
ment.'

‘
Eh?'

‘
Isaid: "Look-—

'I know. And I said: "Eh?" I mean, what
is
he doing?
’

‘
Squaring you with your Buttersplosh
’

Monty stiffened.

The name is Butterwick
’

'Well, Butterwick, then. At this very moment Ambrose is in those Customs sheds, working like a beaver trying to make things hotsy-totsy for you with the Butterwick beasel.'

Again Monty stiffened.

'I would prefer that you did not call Miss Butterwick
a
weasel.' 'Beasel
’

'Beasel or weasel, I see little difference. And a fat chance, I fear, there is of any hotsy-totsiness resulting from anything Ambrose can do, though I appreciate the kind thought. All is over. She ...' His voice shook. 'She wouldn't speak to me
’

'Oh, that'll be all right. Ambrose will fix that
’

Monty shook his head.

'No. The situation is beyond human fixing. The bird has been definitely given. Still, as I say, it is decent of old Ambrose to have a pop
’

'
Ammi
e is wonderful in that way
’

‘
Yes
’

‘
What a pal!'

The whitest man I know,' agreed Monty moodily. There's nothing he wouldn't do for a friend.' 1 suppose not, no.'

‘
Well, then,' said Miss Blossom insinuatingly, tightening her grasp on the coat lapel, 'won't you do this little thing for him? Won't you go and sign up with Ikey and tell him that before you put pen to dotted line Ambrose must have his contract, too? Oh, I know how you feel about it. You hate the idea of becomin
g a motion picture actor.
But have you considered that you'll probably be so lousy that they'll pay to get rid of you at the end of the first week? I mean, it isn't as if you would have to go
on
acting -
’

'As a matter of fact,' said Monty, 'that part of it is all right. Llewellyn says I can be a production expert.'

‘
Well, isn't that great!'

The only thing is, I was rather thinking of going into
a
monastery.' ‘
I wouldn't.' 'Perhaps you're right.'

'And listen,' said Miss Blossom urgently.
'
I
don't believe you're hep yet to the real vital issue. It's this way. If Ammie doesn't get a job, he and I can't be married.
’

‘
Eh? Why not?'

'Well, it seems he doesn't make a whole lot out of writing his books, so it would be a case of me supporting the home, and he balks at the notion of being one of these Hollywood husbands, living on the little woman's salary and working out his keep by brushing the dog and doing odd jobs around the house. And
I
don't blame him. But it certainly puts the bee on anything in the shape of wedded bliss. So he must get this job. He must. You will go to Ikey, won't you?
’

Monty was gaping at her, aghast. He had never dreamed that the happiness of two lives depended on his falling in with Mr Llewellyn's wishes - hung, as it were, upon his whim.

‘
You don't mean that?'

‘
Don't mean what?'

'When I said "You don't mean that?
’’
I
didn
’
t mean you

didn't mean it; I meant ... well, what I mean to say is, this item of news has come as rather a sock on the jaw. I hadn't an idea things were like that'

They are. Ambrose is as proud as the devil.
’

'How perfectly foul for you!
Why, of course
I’ll
go to Llewellyn.
’

‘
You will?'

'Certainly. I've absolutely nothing on at the moment -
I
mean to say, no plans or anything. As a matter of fact, I was just thinking when you came up how footloose I was. Until the day before yesterday I was more or less employed at a detective agency - the Argus - I don't know if you have heard of it -telegraphic address, Pilgus, Piccy, London - but that was only because there were wheels within wheels. I had to have a job in order to marry Gertrude. But when Gertrude gave me the bird on that second-class promenade deck, there didn't seem any point in carrying on, so I sent the agency chap a wireless, resigning my portfolio. Which leaves me absolutely free. I had been thinking, as I say, of going into a monastery, and I had also turned over in my mind South Sea islands and Rocky Mountains and what not, but I can just as well go to Hollywood and become a production expert.
’

'I could kiss you!
'

'Do, if you like. Nothing matters now. I'll secure a cab, shall
I
,
and go off and see this Llewellyn? Where do I find him?' 'He'll be at his office.'

'Well, as soon as I've clocked in at my hotel -'

'What hotel were you going to?
’

The Piazza. Albert Peasemarch speaks well of it'

'How funny! I'm going to the Piazza, too. I'll tell you what let's do. I'll drop you at Ikey's and go on and engage you a room... Or do you millionaires like suites?'

'A suite, I think.'

'A suite, then. And I'll wait in it till you come.
’
‘
Right ho.'

Lottie released Monty's coat and stepped back, eyeing him adoringly. 'B
rother Bodkin, you're an angel!
‘
‘
Oh, not at all.'

‘
Yes, you are. You've saved my life. And Ambrose's, too. And I'm sure you won't regret it. I'll bet you love Hollywood. What I mean, suppose this beasel-'

'Not beasel.'

'Suppose this Buttersplosh-'
‘
- wick.'

'Suppose this Butterwick of yours
has
handed you your hat, what of it? Think of all the hundreds of girls you'll meet in Hollywood!'

Monty shook his head.

'They will mean nothing to me. I shall always remain true to Gertrude.
’

'Well, there,' said Miss Blossom,
‘
you must use your own judgement. I'm only saying that if you do feel like forgetting the dead past, you'll find all the facilities in Hollywood. Hi, taxi! The Piazza.'

Ivor Llewellyn, meanwhile,
a
cigar in his mouth, contentment in his heart, and his hat on the side of his head, had reached the ornate premises of the corporation of which he was the honoured president. His interview with Lottie Blossom had left him ruffled, but it did not take him long to recover his spirits. There is a bracing quality about the streets of New York, and only a very dejected man can fail to be cheered and uplifted by a drive through them in an open taxi on
a
fine summer afternoon. Lottie and her importunities faded from Mr Llewellyn's mind, and while still several blocks from his destination he had begun to hum extracts from the musical scores of old S.-L. feature films. He was still humming as he got out and paid off the cab, and it was with a theme song on his lips that he entered the dear, familiar office. Ivor Llewellyn's heart was in Southern California, but he loved his New York office, too.

The sort of miniature civic welcome which motion-picture corporations give returning presidents occupied
a
certain amount of time, but presently the last Yes-man had withdrawn and he was alone with his thoughts again.

He could have desired no pleasanter company. At any moment now, he reflected, Reggie Tennyson would be calling to report and the whole unpleasant affair of Grayce's infernal necklace could be written off as finished. It was with a grunt of satisfaction that, reaching for the telephone on his desk some minutes later, he learned that a gentleman waited without, desirous of seeing him.