sleep beginning to exert their usual
beneficent influence, he might have been entertaining at Blandings Castle
one of his nephews, or one of his sisters, or even – though this was
morbid – his younger son Frederick.
In matters where shades of feeling are involved, it is not
always easy for the historian to be as definite as he could wish.
He wants to keep the record straight, and yet he cannot take any
one particular moment of time, pin it down for the scrutiny of
Posterity and say 'This was the moment when Lord Emsworth
for the first time found himself wishing that his guest would
tumble out of an upper window and break his neck.' To his
lordship it seemed that this had been from the beginning his
constant day-dream, but such was not the case. When, on the
second morning of the other's visit, the luncheon-gong had
found them chatting in the library and the young man, bounding
up, had extended a hand like a ham and, placing it beneath
his host's arm, gently helped him to rise, Lord Emsworth had
been quite pleased by the courteous attention.
But when the fellow did the same thing day after day, night
after night, every time he caught him sitting; when he offered
him an arm to help him across floors; when he assisted him up
stairs, along corridors, down paths, out of rooms and into raincoats;
when he snatched objects from his hands to carry them
himself; when he came galloping out of the house on dewy
evenings laden down with rugs, mufflers, hats and, on one
occasion, positively a blasted respirator ... why, then Lord Emsworth's
proud spirit rebelled. He was a tough old gentleman and,
like most tough old gentlemen, did not enjoy having his juniors
look on him as something pathetically helpless that crawled the
earth waiting for the end.
It had been bad enough when Gertrude was being the Little
Mother. This was infinitely worse. Apparently having conceived
for him one of those unreasoning, overwhelming devotions, this
young Popjoy stuck closer than a brother; and for the first time
Lord Emsworth began to appreciate what must have been the
feelings of that Mary who aroused a similar attachment in
the bosom of her lamb. It was as if he had been an Oldest
Inhabitant fallen into the midst of a troop of Boy Scouts, all
doing Good Deeds simultaneously, and he resented it with an
indescribable bitterness. One can best illustrate his frame of
mind by saying that, during the last phase, if he had been called
upon to choose between his guest and Sir Gregory Parsloe-Parsloe
as a companion for a summer ramble through the
woods, he would have chosen Sir Gregory.
And then, on top of all this, there occurred the episode of
the step-ladder.
The Hon. Freddie Threepwood, who had decided to run
down and see how matters were developing, learned the details
of this rather unfortunate occurrence from his cousin Gertrude.
She met him at Market Blandings Station, and he could
see there was something on her mind. She had not become
positively Maeterlinckian again, but there was sorrow in her
beautiful eyes: and Freddie, rightly holding that with a brainy
egg like himself directing her destinies they should have contained
only joy and sunshine, was disturbed by this.
'Don't tell me the binge has sprung a leak,' he said anxiously.
Gertrude sighed.
'Well, yes and no.'
'What do you mean, yes and no? Properly worked, the thing
can't fail. This points to negligence somewhere. Has old Beefers
been ingratiating himself?'
'Yes.'
'Hanging on the guv'nor's every word? Interesting himself in
his pursuits? Doing him little services? And been at it two
weeks? Good heavens! By now the guv'nor should be looking
on him as a prize pig. Why isn't he?'
'I didn't say he wasn't. Till this afternoon I rather think he
was. At any rate, Rupert says he often found Uncle Clarence
staring at him in a sort of lingering, rather yearning way. But
when that thing happened this afternoon, I'm afraid he wasn't
very pleased.'
'What thing?'
'That
beneficent influence, he might have been entertaining at Blandings Castle
one of his nephews, or one of his sisters, or even – though this was
morbid – his younger son Frederick.
In matters where shades of feeling are involved, it is not
always easy for the historian to be as definite as he could wish.
He wants to keep the record straight, and yet he cannot take any
one particular moment of time, pin it down for the scrutiny of
Posterity and say 'This was the moment when Lord Emsworth
for the first time found himself wishing that his guest would
tumble out of an upper window and break his neck.' To his
lordship it seemed that this had been from the beginning his
constant day-dream, but such was not the case. When, on the
second morning of the other's visit, the luncheon-gong had
found them chatting in the library and the young man, bounding
up, had extended a hand like a ham and, placing it beneath
his host's arm, gently helped him to rise, Lord Emsworth had
been quite pleased by the courteous attention.
But when the fellow did the same thing day after day, night
after night, every time he caught him sitting; when he offered
him an arm to help him across floors; when he assisted him up
stairs, along corridors, down paths, out of rooms and into raincoats;
when he snatched objects from his hands to carry them
himself; when he came galloping out of the house on dewy
evenings laden down with rugs, mufflers, hats and, on one
occasion, positively a blasted respirator ... why, then Lord Emsworth's
proud spirit rebelled. He was a tough old gentleman and,
like most tough old gentlemen, did not enjoy having his juniors
look on him as something pathetically helpless that crawled the
earth waiting for the end.
It had been bad enough when Gertrude was being the Little
Mother. This was infinitely worse. Apparently having conceived
for him one of those unreasoning, overwhelming devotions, this
young Popjoy stuck closer than a brother; and for the first time
Lord Emsworth began to appreciate what must have been the
feelings of that Mary who aroused a similar attachment in
the bosom of her lamb. It was as if he had been an Oldest
Inhabitant fallen into the midst of a troop of Boy Scouts, all
doing Good Deeds simultaneously, and he resented it with an
indescribable bitterness. One can best illustrate his frame of
mind by saying that, during the last phase, if he had been called
upon to choose between his guest and Sir Gregory Parsloe-Parsloe
as a companion for a summer ramble through the
woods, he would have chosen Sir Gregory.
And then, on top of all this, there occurred the episode of
the step-ladder.
The Hon. Freddie Threepwood, who had decided to run
down and see how matters were developing, learned the details
of this rather unfortunate occurrence from his cousin Gertrude.
She met him at Market Blandings Station, and he could
see there was something on her mind. She had not become
positively Maeterlinckian again, but there was sorrow in her
beautiful eyes: and Freddie, rightly holding that with a brainy
egg like himself directing her destinies they should have contained
only joy and sunshine, was disturbed by this.
'Don't tell me the binge has sprung a leak,' he said anxiously.
Gertrude sighed.
'Well, yes and no.'
'What do you mean, yes and no? Properly worked, the thing
can't fail. This points to negligence somewhere. Has old Beefers
been ingratiating himself?'
'Yes.'
'Hanging on the guv'nor's every word? Interesting himself in
his pursuits? Doing him little services? And been at it two
weeks? Good heavens! By now the guv'nor should be looking
on him as a prize pig. Why isn't he?'
'I didn't say he wasn't. Till this afternoon I rather think he
was. At any rate, Rupert says he often found Uncle Clarence
staring at him in a sort of lingering, rather yearning way. But
when that thing happened this afternoon, I'm afraid he wasn't
very pleased.'
'What thing?'
'That
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