The sudden freshet of vicious energy which had spurred the Efficient Baxter on to his recent exhibition of marksmanship had not lasted. Lethargy was creeping back on him even as he stooped to pick up the flower-pot which had found its billet on Lord Emsworth’s spine1. And, as he stood there after hurling3 that final missile, he had realised that that was his last shot. If that produced no results, he was finished.
And, as far as he could gather, it had produced no results whatever. No head had popped inquiringly out of the window. No sound of anybody stirring had reached his ears. The place was as still as if he had been throwing marsh-mallows. A weary sigh escaped from Baxter’s lips. And a moment later he was reclining on the ground with his head propped4 against the terrace wall, a beaten man.
His eyes closed. Sleep, which he had been denying to himself for so long, would be denied no more. When Psmith arrived, daintily swinging the Hon. Freddie Threepwood’s niblick like a clouded cane5, he had just begun to snore.
* * * * *
[p. 262]Psmith was a kindly6 soul. He did not like Rupert Baxter, but that was no reason why he should allow him to continue lying on turf wet with the morning dew, thus courting lumbago and sciatica. He prodded7 Baxter in the stomach with the niblick, and the secretary sat up, blinking. And with returning consciousness came a burning sense of grievance8.
“Well, you’ve been long enough,” he growled9. Then, as he rubbed his red-rimmed eyes and was able to see more clearly, he perceived who it was that had come to his rescue. The spectacle of Psmith of all people beaming benignly10 down at him was an added offence. “Oh, it’s you?” he said morosely11.
“I in person,” said Psmith genially12. “Awake, beloved! Awake, for morning in the bowl of night has flung the stone that puts the stars to flight; and lo! the hunter of the East has caught the Sultan’s turret13 in a noose14 of light. The Sultan himself,” he added, “you will find behind yonder window, speculating idly on your motives15 for bunging flower-pots at him. Why, if I may venture the question, did you?”
Baxter was in no confiding16 mood. Without replying, he rose to his feet and started to trudge17 wearily along the terrace to the front door. Psmith fell into step beside him.
“If I were you,” said Psmith, “and I offer the suggestion in the most cordial spirit of goodwill18, I would use every effort to prevent this passion for flinging flower-pots from growing upon me. I know you will say that you can take it or leave it alone; that just one more pot won’t hurt you; but can you stop at one? Isn’t it just that first insidious20 flower-pot that does all the mischief21? Be a man, Comrade Baxter!” He laid his hand appealingly on the secretary’s shoulder. “The next time the craving[p. 263] comes on you, fight it. Fight it! Are you, the heir of the ages, going to become a slave to a habit? Tush! You know and I know that there is better stuff in you than that. Use your will-power, man, use your will-power.”
Whatever reply Baxter might have intended to make to this powerful harangue—and his attitude as he turned on his companion suggested that he had much to say—was checked by a voice from above.
“Baxter! My dear fellow!”
The Earl of Emsworth, having observed the secretary’s awakening22 from the safe observation-post of Psmith’s bedroom, and having noted23 that he seemed to be exhibiting no signs of violence, had decided24 to make his presence known. His panic had passed, and he wanted to go into first causes.
“I can explain everything, Lord Emsworth.”
“What?” said his lordship, leaning farther out.
“It turns out after all,” said Psmith pleasantly, “to be very simple. He was practising for the Jerking The Geranium event at the next Olympic Games.”
Lord Emsworth adjusted his glasses.
“Your face is dirty,” he said, peering down at his dishevelled secretary. “Baxter, my dear fellow, your face is dirty.”
“What?”
“Digging!”
“The terrier complex,” explained Psmith. “What,” he asked kindly, turning to his companion, “were you digging for? Forgive me if the question seems an impertinent one, but we are naturally curious.”
[p. 264]Baxter hesitated.
“What were you digging for?” asked Lord Emsworth.
“You see,” said Psmith. “He wants to know.”
Not for the first time since they had become associated, a mad feeling of irritation28 at his employer’s woolly persistence29 flared30 up in Rupert Baxter’s bosom31. The old ass19 was always pottering about asking questions. Fury and want of sleep combined to dull the secretary’s normal prudence32. Dimly he realised that he was imparting Psmith, the scoundrel who he was convinced was the ringleader of last night’s outrage33, valuable information; but anything was better than to have to stand here shouting up at Lord Emsworth. He wanted to get it over and go to bed.
“What?”
The secretary’s powers of endurance gave out. This maddening inquisition, coming on top of the restless night he had had, was too much for him. With a low moan he made one agonised leap for the front door and passed through it to where beyond these voices there was peace.
Psmith, deprived thus abruptly35 of his stimulating36 society, remained for some moments standing37 near the front door, drinking in with grave approval the fresh scents38 of the summer morning. It was many years since he had been up and about as early as this, and he had forgotten how delightful39 the first beginnings of a July day can be. Unlike Baxter, on whose self-centred soul these things had been lost, he revelled40 in the soft breezes, the singing birds, the growing pinkness of the eastern sky. He awoke at length from his reverie to find that Lord Emsworth had toddled41 down and was tapping him on the arm.
[p. 265]“What did he say?” inquired his lordship. He was feeling like a man who has been cut off in the midst of an absorbing telephone conversation.
“Say?” said Psmith. “Oh, Comrade Baxter? Now, let me think. What did he say?”
“Something about something being in a flower-pot,” prompted his lordship.
“Ah, yes. He said he thought that Lady Constance’s necklace was in one of the flower-pots.”
“What!”
Lord Emsworth, it should be mentioned, was not completely in touch with recent happenings in his home. His habit of going early to bed had caused him to miss the sensational42 events in the drawing-room: and, as he was a sound sleeper43, the subsequent screams—or, as Stokes the footman would have said, shrieks—had not disturbed him. He stared at Psmith, aghast. For a while the apparent placidity44 of Baxter had lulled45 his first suspicions, but now they returned with renewed force.
“So I understood him to say.”
“But why should my sister keep her necklace in a flower-pot?”
“Ah, there you take me into deep waters.”
“The man’s mad,” cried Lord Emsworth, his last doubts removed. “Stark, staring mad! I thought so before, and now I’m convinced of it.”
His lordship was no novice47 in the symptoms of insanity48. Several of his best friends were residing in those palatial49 establishments set in pleasant parks and surrounded by high walls with broken bottles on them, to which the wealthy and aristocratic are wont50 to retire when the strain of modern life becomes too great. And one of his uncles by marriage, who believed that[p. 266] he was a loaf of bread, had made his first public statement on the matter in the smoking-room of this very castle. What Lord Emsworth did not know about lunatics was not worth knowing.
“I must get rid of him,” he said. And at the thought the fair morning seemed to Lord Emsworth to take on a sudden new beauty. Many a time had he toyed wistfully with the idea of dismissing his efficient but tyrannical secretary, but never before had that sickeningly competent young man given him any reasonable cause to act. Hitherto, moreover, he had feared his sister’s wrath51 should he take the plunge52. But now . . . Surely even Connie, pig-headed as she was, could not blame him for dispensing53 with the services of a secretary who thought she kept her necklaces in flower-pots, and went out into the garden in the early dawn to hurl2 them at his bedroom window.
His demeanour took on a sudden buoyancy. He hummed a gay air.
“Get rid of him,” he murmured, rolling the blessed words round his tongue. He patted Psmith genially on the shoulder. “Well, my dear fellow,” he said, “I suppose we had better be getting back to bed and seeing if we can’t get a little sleep.”
Psmith gave a little start. He had been somewhat deeply immersed in thought.
“Do not,” he said courteously54, “let me keep you from the hay if you wish to retire. To me—you know what we poets are—this lovely morning has brought inspiration. I think I will push off to my little nook in the woods, and write a poem about something.”
He accompanied his host up the silent stairs, and they parted with mutual55 good will at their respective doors. Psmith, having cleared his brain with a hurried cold bath, began to dress.
[p. 267]As a rule, the donning of his clothes was a solemn ceremony over which he dwelt lovingly; but this morning he abandoned his customary leisurely56 habit. He climbed into his trousers with animation57, and lingered but a moment over the tying of his tie. He was convinced that there was that before him which would pay for haste.
Nothing in this world is sadder than the frequency with which we suspect our fellows without just cause. In the happenings of the night before, Psmith had seen the hand of Edward Cootes. Edward Cootes, he considered, had been indulging in what—in another—he would certainly have described as funny business. Like Miss Simmons, Psmith had quickly arrived at the conclusion that the necklace had been thrown out of the drawing-room window by one of those who made up the audience at his reading: and it was his firm belief that it had been picked up and hidden by Mr. Cootes. He had been trying to think ever since where that persevering58 man could have concealed59 it, and Baxter had provided the clue. But Psmith saw clearer than Baxter. The secretary, having disembowelled fifteen flower-pots and found nothing, had abandoned his theory. Psmith went further, and suspected the existence of a sixteenth. And he proposed as soon as he was dressed to sally downstairs in search of it.
He put on his shoes, and left the room, buttoning his waistcoat as he went.
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1
spine
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| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
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2
hurl
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| vt.猛投，力掷，声叫骂 | |
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3
hurling
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| n.爱尔兰式曲棍球v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的现在分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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4
propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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6
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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7
prodded
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| v.刺，戳( prod的过去式和过去分词 )；刺激；促使；（用手指或尖物）戳 | |
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8
grievance
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| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
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9
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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10
benignly
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| adv.仁慈地，亲切地 | |
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11
morosely
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| adv.愁眉苦脸地，忧郁地 | |
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12
genially
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| adv.亲切地，和蔼地；快活地 | |
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13
turret
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| n.塔楼，角塔 | |
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noose
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| n.绳套，绞索（刑）；v.用套索捉；使落入圈套；处以绞刑 | |
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15
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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16
confiding
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| adj.相信人的，易于相信的v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的现在分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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17
trudge
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| v.步履艰难地走；n.跋涉，费力艰难的步行 | |
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18
goodwill
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| n.善意，亲善，信誉，声誉 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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20
insidious
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| adj.阴险的，隐匿的，暗中为害的，（疾病）不知不觉之间加剧 | |
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21
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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22
awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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23
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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24
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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25
wanly
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| adv.虚弱地；苍白地，无血色地 | |
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26
bellowed
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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27
sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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28
irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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29
persistence
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| n.坚持，持续，存留 | |
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30
Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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31
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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32
prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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33
outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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34
shrilled
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| （声音）尖锐的，刺耳的，高频率的( shrill的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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35
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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36
stimulating
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| adj.有启发性的，能激发人思考的 | |
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37
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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38
scents
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| n.香水( scent的名词复数 )；气味；（动物的）臭迹；（尤指狗的）嗅觉 | |
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39
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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40
revelled
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| v.作乐( revel的过去式和过去分词 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
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41
toddled
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| v.（幼儿等）东倒西歪地走( toddle的过去式和过去分词 )；蹒跚行走；溜达；散步 | |
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42
sensational
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| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
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43
sleeper
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| n.睡眠者，卧车，卧铺 | |
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44
placidity
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| n.平静，安静，温和 | |
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45
lulled
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| vt.使镇静，使安静（lull的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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46
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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47
novice
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| adj.新手的，生手的 | |
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48
insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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49
palatial
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| adj.宫殿般的，宏伟的 | |
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50
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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51
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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52
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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53
dispensing
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| v.分配( dispense的现在分词 )；施与；配（药） | |
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54
courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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55
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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56
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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57
animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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58
persevering
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| a.坚忍不拔的 | |
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59
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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