"There!" she said, pointing the moral. "That's through drinking that
stuff. Makes your hand wobble. What I always used to say to the boys
was: 'Port, if you like. Port's wholesome. I appreciate a drop of port
myself. But these new-fangled messes from America, no.' But they would
never listen to me."
I was eyeing her warily. Of course, there must have been thousands of
barmaids at the Criterion in its time, but still it gave one a bit of
a start. It was years ago that Uncle George's dash at a mésalliance
had occurred--long before he came into the title--but the Wooster clan
still quivered at the name of the Criterion.
"Er--when you were at the Cri.," I said, "did you ever happen to run
into a fellow of my name?"
"I've forgotten what it is. I'm always silly about names."
"Wooster."
"Wooster! When you were there yesterday I thought you said 'Foster.'
Wooster! Did I run into a fellow named Wooster? Well! Why, George
Wooster and me--Piggy, I used to call him--were going off to the
registrar's, only his family heard of it and interfered. They offered
me a lot of money to give him up, and, like a silly girl, I let them
persuade me. If I've wondered once what became of him, I've wondered a
thousand times. Is he a relation of yours?"
"Excuse me," I said. "I just want a word with Jeeves." I legged it for
the pantry.
"Jeeves!"
"Sir?
"Do you know what's happened?"
"No, sir."
"This female----"
"Sir?"
"She's Uncle George's barmaid!"
"Sir?"
"Oh, dash it, you must have heard of Uncle George's barmaid. You know
all the family history. The barmaid he wanted to marry years ago."
"Ah, yes, sir."
"She's the only woman he ever loved. He's told me so a million times.
Every time he gets to the second liqueur he always becomes maudlin
about this female. What a dashed bit of bad luck! The first thing we
know the call of the past will be echoing in his heart. I can feel it,
Jeeves. She's just his sort. The first thing she did when she came
in was to start talking about the lining of her stomach. You see the
hideous significance of that, Jeeves? The lining of his stomach is
Uncle George's favourite topic of conversation. It means that he and
she are kindred souls. This woman and he will be like...."
"Deep calling to deep, sir?"
"Exactly."
"Most disturbing, sir."
"What's to be done?"
"I could not say, sir."
"I'll tell you what I'm going to do--phone him and say the lunch is
off."
"Scarcely feasible, sir. I fancy that is his lordship at the door now."
And so it was. Jeeves let him in, and I followed him as he navigated
down the passage to the sitting room. There was a stunned silence as
he went in, and then a couple of the startled yelps you hear when old
buddies get together after long separation.
"Piggy!"
"Maudie!"
"Well, I never!"
"Well, I'm dashed!"
"Did you ever!"
"Well, bless my soul!"
"Fancy you being Lord Yaxley!"
"Came into the title soon after we parted."
"Just to think!"
"You could have knocked me down with a feather!"
I hung about in the offing, now on this leg, now on that. For all the
notice they took of me, I might just as well have been the late Bertram
Wooster, disembodied.
"Maudie, you don't look a day older, dash it!"
"Nor do you, Piggy."
"How have you been all these years?"
"Pretty well. The lining of my stomach isn't all it should be."
"Good Gad! You don't say so? I have trouble with the lining of _my_
stomach."
"It's a sort of heavy feeling after meals."
"_I_ get a sort of heavy feeling after meals. What are you trying for
it?"
"I've been taking Perkins' Digestine."
"My dear girl, no use! No use at all. Tried it myself for years, and
got no relief. Now, if you really want something that is some good..."
I slid away. The last I saw of them, Uncle George was down beside her
on the Chesterfield, buzzing hard.
"Jeeves," I said, tottering into the pantry.
"Sir?"
"There will only be two for lunch. Count me out. If they notice I'm
not there tell them I was called away by an urgent phone message. The
situation has got beyond Bertram, Jeeves. You will find me at the
Drones'."
"Very good, sir."
It was latish in the evening when one of the waiters came to me as I
played a distrait game of snooker pool and informed me that Aunt Agatha
was on the phone.
"Bertie!"
"Hullo?"
I was amazed to note that her voice was that of an aunt who feels that
things are breaking right. It had the birdlike trill.
"Bertie, have you that check I gave you?"
"Yes."
"Then tear it up. It will not be needed."
"Eh?"
"I say it will not be needed. Your uncle has been speaking to me on the
telephone. He is not going to marry that girl."
"Not?"
"No. Apparently he has been thinking it over and sees how unsuitable it
would have been. But what is astonishing is that he _is_ going to be
married!"
"He is?"
"Yes, to an old friend of his, a Mrs. Wilberforce. A woman of a
sensible age, he gave me to understand. I wonder which Wilberforces
that would be. There are two main branches of the family--the Essex
Wilberforces and the Cumberland Wilberforces. I believe there is also a
cadet branch somewhere in Shropshire."
"And one in East Dulwich," I said.
"What did you say?"
"Nothing," I said. "Nothing."