"What earthly good would that do?" I asked, not without a touch of
asperity.
"He has golden curls, sir."
"What of it?"
"The strongest natures are sometimes not proof against long golden
curls."
Well it was a thought, of course. But I can't say I was leaping about
to any great extent. It might be that the sight of Sebastian Moon
would break down Thos.'s iron self-control to the extent of causing him
to inflict mayhem on the person, but I wasn't any too hopeful.
"It may be so, Jeeves."
"I do not think I am too sanguine, sir. You must remember that Master
Moon, apart from his curls, has a personality which is not uniformly
pleasing. He is apt to express himself with a breezy candour which I
fancy Master Thomas might feel inclined to resent in one some years his
junior."
I had had a feeling all along that there was a flaw somewhere, and now
it seemed to me that I had spotted it.
"But Jeeves. Granted that little Sebastian is the pot of poison you
indicate, why won't he act just as forcibly on young Bonzo as on Thos.?
Pretty silly we should look if our nominee started putting it across
him. Never forget that already Bonzo is twenty marks down and falling
back in the betting."
"I do not anticipate any such contingency, sir. He is in love, and love
is a very powerful restraining influence at the age of thirteen."
"H'm," I mused. "Well, we can but try, Jeeves."
"Yes, sir."
"I'll get Aunt Dahlia to write to Sippy to-night."
* * * * *
I'm bound to say that the spectacle of little Sebastian when he arrived
two days later did much to remove pessimism from my outlook. If ever
there was a kid whose whole appearance seemed to call aloud to any
right-minded boy to lure him into a quiet spot and inflict violence
upon him, that kid was undeniably Sebastian Moon. He reminded me
strongly of Little Lord Fauntleroy.
I marked young Thos.'s demeanour closely at the moment of their meeting
and, unless I was much mistaken, there came into his eyes the sort of
look which would come into those of an Indian chief--Chingachgook,
let us say, or Sitting Bull--just before he started reaching for his
scalping knife. He had the air of one who is about ready to begin.
True, his manner as he shook hands was guarded. Only a keen observer
could have detected that he was stirred to his depths. But I had seen,
and I summoned Jeeves forthwith.
"Jeeves," I said, "if I appeared to think poorly of that scheme of
yours, I now withdraw my remarks. I believe you have found the way.
I was noticing Thos. at the moment of impact. His eyes had a strange
gleam."
"Indeed, sir?"
"He shifted uneasily on his feet and his ears wiggled. He had, in
short, the appearance of a boy who was holding himself in with an
effort almost too great for his frail body."
"Yes, sir?"
"Yes, Jeeves. I received a distinct impression of something being on
the point of exploding. To-morrow I shall ask Aunt Dahlia to take the
two warts for a country ramble, to lose them in some sequestered spot,
and to leave the rest to Nature."
"It is a good idea, sir."
"It is more than a good idea, Jeeves," I said. "It is a pip."
You know, the older I get the more firmly do I become convinced that
there is no such thing as a pip in existence. Again and again have I
seen the apparently sure thing go _phut_, and now it is rarely indeed
that Bertram Wooster can be lured from his aloof skepticism.
Fellows come sidling up to him at the Drones' and elsewhere, urging
him to invest on some horse that can't lose even if it gets struck by
lightning at the starting point, but Bertram Wooster shakes his head.
He has seen too much of life to be certain of anything.
If anyone had told me that my cousin Thos., left alone for an extended
period of time with a kid of the outstanding foulness of Sebastian
Moon, would not only refrain from cutting off his curls with a
pocket-knife and chasing him across country into a muddy pond, but
would actually return home carrying the ghastly kid on his back because
he had got a blister on his foot, I would have laughed scornfully.
I knew Thos. I knew his work. I had seen him in action. And I was
convinced that not even the prospect of collecting five pounds would
give him pause.
And yet, what happened? In the quiet evenfall, when the little birds
were singing their sweetest and all Nature seemed to whisper of hope
and happiness, the blow fell. I was chatting with old Mr. Anstruther on
the terrace when suddenly round a bend in the drive the two kids hove
in view. Sebastian, seated on Thos.'s back, his hat off and his golden
curls floating on the breeze, was singing a comic song, and Thos.,
bowed down by the burden but carrying on gamely, was trudging along,
smiling that bally saintlike smile of his.
He parked the kid on the front steps and came across to us.
"Sebastian got a nail in his shoe," he said in a virtuous voice. "It
hurt him to walk, so I gave him a piggy-back."