Psmith Series. P. G. Wodehouse

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      CHAPTER XXIII

      A SURPRISE FOR MR. APPLEBY

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      “You may not know it,” said Wyatt to Mike in the dormitory that night, “but this is the maddest, merriest day of all the glad New Year.”

      Mike could not help thinking that for himself it was the very reverse, but he did not state his view of the case.

      “What’s up?” he asked.

      “Neville-Smith’s giving a meal at his place in honour of his getting his first.; I understand the preparations are on a scale of the utmost magnificence.; No expense has been spared.; Ginger-beer will flow like water.; The oldest cask of lemonade has been broached; and a sardine is roasting whole in the market-place.”

      “Are you going?”

      “If I can tear myself away from your delightful society.; The kick-off is fixed for eleven sharp.; I am to stand underneath his window and heave bricks till something happens.; I don’t know if he keeps a dog.; If so, I shall probably get bitten to the bone.”

      “When are you going to start?”

      “About five minutes after Wain has been round the dormitories to see that all’s well.; That ought to be somewhere about half-past ten.”

      “Don’t go getting caught.”

      “I shall do my little best not to be.; Rather tricky work, though, getting back.; I’ve got to climb two garden walls, and I shall probably be so full of Malvoisie that you’ll be able to hear it swishing about inside me.; No catch steeple-chasing if you’re like that.; They’ve no thought for people’s convenience here.; Now at Bradford they’ve got studies on the ground floor, the windows looking out over the boundless prairie.; No climbing or steeple-chasing needed at all.; All you have to do is to open the window and step out.; Still, we must make the best of things.; Push us over a pinch of that tooth-powder of yours.; I’ve used all mine.”

      Wyatt very seldom penetrated further than his own garden on the occasions when he roamed abroad at night.; For cat-shooting the Wain spinneys were unsurpassed.; There was one particular dustbin where one might be certain of flushing a covey any night; and the wall by the potting-shed was a feline club-house.

      But when he did wish to get out into the open country he had a special route which he always took.; He climbed down from the wall that ran beneath the dormitory window into the garden belonging to Mr. Appleby, the master who had the house next to Mr. Wain’s.; Crossing this, he climbed another wall, and dropped from it into a small lane which ended in the main road leading to Wrykyn town.

      This was the route which he took to-night.; It was a glorious July night, and the scent of the flowers came to him with a curious distinctness as he let himself down from the dormitory window.; At any other time he might have made a lengthy halt, and enjoyed the scents and small summer noises, but now he felt that it would be better not to delay.; There was a full moon, and where he stood he could be seen distinctly from the windows of both houses.; They were all dark, it is true, but on these occasions it was best to take no risks.

      He dropped cautiously into Appleby’s garden, ran lightly across it, and was in the lane within a minute.

      There he paused, dusted his trousers, which had suffered on the two walls, and strolled meditatively in the direction of the town.; Half-past ten had just chimed from the school clock.; He was in plenty of time.

      “What a night!” he said to himself, sniffing as he walked.

      * * * * *

      Now it happened that he was not alone in admiring the beauty of that particular night.; At ten-fifteen it had struck Mr. Appleby, looking out of his study into the moonlit school grounds, that a pipe in the open would make an excellent break in his night’s work.; He had acquired a slight headache as the result of correcting a batch of examination papers, and he thought that an interval of an hour in the open air before approaching the half-dozen or so papers which still remained to be looked at might do him good.; The window of his study was open, but the room had got hot and stuffy.; Nothing like a little fresh air for putting him right.

      For a few moments he debated the rival claims of a stroll in the cricket-field and a seat in the garden.; Then he decided on the latter.; The little gate in the railings opposite his house might not be open, and it was a long way round to the main entrance.; So he took a deck-chair which leaned against the wall, and let himself out of the back door.

      He took up his position in the shadow of a fir-tree with his back to the house.; From here he could see the long garden.; He was fond of his garden, and spent what few moments he could spare from work and games pottering about it.; He had his views as to what the ideal garden should be, and he hoped in time to tinker his own three acres up to the desired standard.; At present there remained much to be done.; Why not, for instance, take away those laurels at the end of the lawn, and have a flower-bed there instead?; Laurels lasted all the year round, true, whereas flowers died and left an empty brown bed in the winter, but then laurels were nothing much to look at at any time, and a garden always had a beastly appearance in winter, whatever you did to it.; Much better have flowers, and get a decent show for one’s money in summer at any rate.

      The problem СКАЧАТЬ