Free Blandings Castle and Elsewhere by P. G. Wodehouse Page B

did.'
    'Well, what?'
    'I cannot remember.'
    There was a sharp clicking noise in the darkness. It was
caused by Angela's upper front teeth meeting her lower front
teeth; and was followed by a sort of wordless exclamation. It
seemed only too plain that the love and respect which a niece
should have for an uncle were in the present instance at a very
low ebb.
    'I wish you wouldn't do that,' said Lord Emsworth plaintively.
    'Do what?'
    'Make clicking noises at me.'
    'I will make clicking noises at you. You know perfectly well,
Uncle Clarence, that you are behaving like a bohunkus.'
    A what?'
    A bonhunkus,' explained his niece coldly, 'is a very inferior
sort of worm. Not the kind of worm that you see on lawns,
which you can respect, but a really degraded species.'
    'I wish you would go in, my dear,' said Lord Emsworth. 'The
night air may give you a chill.'
    'I won't go in. I came out here to look at the moon and think
of Jimmy. What are you doing out here, if it comes to that?'
    'I came here to think. I am greatly exercised about my pig,
Empress of Blandings. For two days she has refused her food,
and young Belford says she will not eat until she hears the proper
call or cry. He very kindly taught it to me, but unfortunately
I have forgotten it.'
    'I wonder you had the nerve to ask Jimmy to teach you pig calls,
    considering the way you're treating him.'
    'But—'
    'Like a leper, or something. And all I can say is that, if you
remember this call of his, and it makes the Empress eat,
you ought to be ashamed of yourself if you still refuse to let me
marry him.'
    'My dear,' said Lord Emsworth earnestly, 'if through young
Belford's instrumentality Empress of Blandings is induced to
take nourishment once more, there is nothing I will refuse him –
nothing.'
    'Honour bright?'
    'I give you my solemn word.'
    'You won't let Aunt Constance bully you out of it?'
    Lord Emsworth drew himself up.
    'Certainly not,' he said proudly. 'I am always ready to listen to
your Aunt Constance's views, but there are certain matters
where I claim the right to act according to my own judgment.'
He paused and stood musing. 'It began with the word
"Pig—"'
    From somewhere near at hand music made itself heard. The
servants' hall, its day's labours ended, was refreshing itself with
the housekeeper's gramophone. To Lord Emsworth the strains
were merely an additional annoyance. He was not fond of music.
It reminded him of his younger son Frederick, a flat but persevering
songster both in and out of the bath.
    'Yes, I can distinctly recall as much as that. Pig – Pig—'
    'WHO—'
    Lord Emsworth leaped in the air. It was as if an electric shock
had been applied to his person.
    'WHO stole my heart away?' howled the gramophone.
'WHO—?'
    The peace of the summer night was shattered by a triumphant
shout.
    'Pig-HOO-o-o-o-ey!'
    A window opened. A large, bald head appeared. A dignified
voice spoke.
    'Who is there? Who is making that noise?'
    'Beach!' cried Lord Emsworth. 'Come out here at once.'
    'Very good, your lordship.'
    And presently the beautiful night was made still more lovely
by the added attraction of the butler's presence.
    'Beach, listen to this.'
    'Very good, your lordship.'
    'Pig-hoo-o-o-o-ey!'
    'Very good, your lordship.'
    'Now you do it.'
    'I, your lordship?'
    'Yes. It's a way you call pigs.'
    'I do not call pigs, your lordship,' said the butler coldly.
    'What do you want Beach to do it for?' asked Angela.
    'Two heads are better than one. If we both learn it, it will not
matter should I forget it again.'
    'By Jove, yes! Come on, Beach. Push it over the thorax,'
urged the girl eagerly. 'You don't know it, but this is a matter
of life and death. At-a-boy, Beach! Inflate the lungs and go
to it.'
    It had been the butler's intention, prefacing his remarks with
the statement that he had been in service at the castle for eighteen
years, to explain frigidly to Lord Emsworth that it was not
his place to stand in the moonlight practising pig-calls. If, he
would