Bachelors Anonymous by P.G. Wodehouse

car!’
    The
driver was a stout man with a walrus moustache, not that that matters, who
when given instructions liked them to be quite clear, with no margin for
error. He said:
    ‘What
car?’
    ‘The
one over there.’
    ‘Which
one?’
    ‘The
black one.’
    ‘It’s a
cab.’
    ‘Well,
follow it.’
    This
delay had given Mr Trout time to join Joe in the cab, which he had been glad to
do. Eloquent though he had been, he had still much wisdom to impart, and he
was determined that Joe should get the benefit of it. But first there was a
question to be put.
    ‘Where
are we going?’ he asked.
    It was
the first intimation Joe had received that he had a travelling companion. In his
perturbed state of mind he had failed to notice that there was a human form
seated beside him. The discovery gave him no pleasure, but he was a young man
who in all circumstances was polite to his elders.
    ‘I
don’t know,’ he said.
    Mr
Trout looked disapproving. He may even have clicked his tongue, but if this was
the case the roar of London’s traffic made the sound inaudible.
    ‘Is it
not a point,’ he said, ‘on which it would be well to come to a decision before
starting on a journey?’
    Joe saw
that explanations would be necessary. He was not feeling as fond of Mr Trout as
he had been some minutes earlier, before the latter had leaped uninvited into
the seat at his side, but he supposed he was entitled to be taken into his
confidence.
    ‘That
girl I was telling you about,’ he replied. ‘She’s in that cab in front there.’
    Mr
Trout looked more disapproving than ever. He was thankful for the impulse which
had made him join Joe.
    ‘And
you propose to pursue her and insist on a conference?’
    ‘That’s
the idea.’
    Mr
Trout was shocked and hurt. Though not a conceited man, he knew that he was
recognised by his colleagues in Bachelors Anonymous as in a class by himself in
the matter of marshalling arguments against marriage. Fred Basset had often
said so. So had Johnny Runcible and G. J. Flannery. It was galling to him,
therefore, to find that his recent eloquence had had so little effect. This
incandescent young man was plainly still as incandescent as he had been before
a word was spoken.
    ‘You
were not impressed by my warning?’ he said, not attempting to conceal the
coldness in his voice. ‘My efforts were wasted?’
    ‘Your
what?’ said Joe.
    ‘I
spoke at some length on the folly of plunging into matrimony.’
    ‘Oh,
did you?’
    ‘I
did.’
    ‘I’m
sorry. I missed it.’
    ‘Oh?’
    ‘I was
thinking of something else.’
    ‘Oh?’
    ‘You
know how it is when you’re thinking of something else.’
    ‘Quite,’
said Mr Trout icily.
    He was
deeply offended. He was not accustomed to mixing with deaf adders. Even Otis
Bewstridge, though in the end becoming violent, had listened. For an
instant he almost decided to withdraw from his mission and allow Joe to rush
into ruin in the manner popularised by the Gadarene swine. Serve the misguided
young fellow right, he felt. Then the never-say-die spirit which animated all
members of Bachelors Anonymous asserted itself. It was as though he could hear
Fred Basset, Johnny Runcible and G. J. Flannery urging him to have one more
try.
    ‘May I
resume my remarks?’ he said. ‘I touched briefly on the more obvious objections
to marriage, and later I will go into them again, but at the moment what I
would like to stress is what I may call the family peril inseparable from the
wedded state. Most girls have families, and why should the object of your
devotion be an exception? I very much doubt that you have bestowed your
affection on an orphan with no brothers or uncles. You speak enthusiastically
of the dimple in her left cheek, but are you aware that statistics show that
eighty-seven point six of girls with dimples also have brothers who are always
out of a job and have to be supported? And if not brothers, uncles. In
practically every home, if you examine closely, you will