Free Bachelors Anonymous by P.G. Wodehouse

being
run over by a lorry. You rushed to the rescue and saved the child but got
knocked over and have only just got away from the hospital. Am I right?’
    ‘Not
quite. I fell asleep.’
    ‘You …
What did you say you did?’
    ‘I was
tired after a bad night last night and like an idiot I sat down in a very
comfortable chair and when I woke up it was two o’clock. I do hope you didn’t
wait long.’
    ‘About
an hour.’
    ‘Oh,
how perfectly awful!’
    ‘Quite
all right. An hour soon passes.
    ‘I feel
like bowing my head in the dust.’
    ‘No,
really. I was quite happy. But if remorse is gnawing you, you can make amends.’
    ‘How?,
Tell me how.’
    ‘By
dining with me tonight.’
    ‘I’d
love to.’
    ‘Same
place.’
    ‘I’ll
be there.’
    ‘About
half-past seven?’
    ‘Fine.
And it’s wonderful of you not to be frothing with fury.’
    ‘Not at
all. I quite understand. Got to get your sleep. It knits up the ravelled sleeve
of care, as Mr Llewellyn’s school marm would say.’
    The
allusion to the school marm was naturally lost on Sally, but she reacted
powerfully to the mention of Mr Llewellyn’s name.
    ‘Mr
Llewellyn! That reminds me. Now perhaps you will solve the mystery that’s
turning my hair grey. How on earth do you come to be at Mr Llewellyn’s place?’
    ‘Quite
simple. I’m working for him.’
    ‘What
as?’
    ‘General
right-hand man.’
    ‘But
that’s terrific. Then you’ve given up the solicitor job you didn’t like?’
    ‘As of
today.’
    ‘Well,
that really is good news.’
    ‘Yes,
I’m pretty pleased about it.’
    ‘What
sort of a man is he?’
    ‘Very
amiable. Why? Have you come to interview him?’
    ‘Yes,
and I’ve heard he’s a terror.’
    ‘Nothing
of the kind. He’s a bit apt to throw porridge at people when the spirit moves
him, but apart from that he’s all sweetness and light. But here he comes now.
You’ll be able to judge for yourself.’
    A
moment before, the door which marked the line of Mr Llewellyn’s retreat had
opened just enough to allow him to put his ear to the crack and hear the voice
of the visitor whose arrival had sent him into hiding. Satisfied that it was
not that of Miss Vera Dalrymple, he now threw off all concealment and emerged.
    ‘Oh
there you are. Come on in,’ said Joe hospitably. ‘This is Miss Fitch, who wants
to interview you.’
    ‘I made
an appointment,’ said Sally.
    ‘Sure,
I remember. Let’s get down to it. Pop off, Pickering.’
    Joe was
glad to do so. If he was to take up residence at 8 Enniston Gardens, it would
be necessary to go back to his flat and pack a suitcase. His typewriter and
the rest of his belongings could come on later.
    ‘Don’t
forget tonight,’ he said to Sally.
    ‘I
won’t.’
    Joe
went out, his heart singing within him. When he returned, Sally had left and Mr
Llewellyn was smoking a cigar with the unmistakable air of a man who has just
been speaking at length on the subject of The Motion Picture—Whither?
    ‘Nice
girl,’ he said.
    He had
broached a subject on which his young right-hand man felt himself entitled to
speak with authority.
    ‘Yes,’
said Joe, giving the monosyllable a ringing emphasis which must have made his
employer feel he was back with the boys at Llewellyn City. ‘You speak sooth,
I.L., if I may call you I.L. She is the most wonderful girl in the world. Did
you notice her eyes? Terrific. Did you observe her mouth? Sensational. Did you
get her voice? Like silver bells tinkling across a meadow in the moonlight. And
as sweet and kind and lovable as she is beautiful. I’m giving her dinner
tonight.’
    ‘Is
that so?’ said Mr Llewellyn, starting.
    ‘And I
shall instruct her to pay no attention to the prices in the right-hand column,
colossal though they are at Barribault’s, for this, I.L., is an Occasion. Meanwhile
I will be unpacking what I’ve brought for my simple needs. My bulkier
belongings will be coming later. Where’s my room? Capital,’ said Joe,