Leave It to Psmith Wodehouse Read Full Text

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Also by P.G. Wodehouse

Leave it to Psmith

Contents

1 DARK PLOTTINGS AT BLANDINGS CASTLE

2 ENTER PSMITH

3 EVE BORROWS AN UMBRELLA

4 PAINFUL SCENE AT THE DRONES CLUB

5 PSMITH APPLIES FOR EMPLOYMENT

six LORD EMSWORTH MEETS A POET

seven BAXTER SUSPECTS

8 CONFIDENCES ON THE LAKE

nine PSMITH ENGAGES A VALET

10 SENSATIONAL OCCURRENCE AT A POETRY READING

11 Well-nigh ENTIRELY Almost FLOWER-POTS

12 More ON THE Flower-POT THEME

13 PSMITH RECEIVES GUESTS

14 PSMITH ACCEPTS EMPLOYMENT

Other Books past P.G. Wodehouse

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Epub ISBN: 9781409064497

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Published by Pointer Books 2008

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First published in the U.k. in 1923 past Herbert Jenkins Ltd

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The writer of almost a hundred books and the creator of Jeeves, Blandings Castle, Psmith, Ukridge, Uncle Fred and Mr Mulliner, P.G. Wodehouse was born in 1881 and educated at Dulwich College. After two years with the Hong Kong and Shanghai Banking company he became a total-fourth dimension writer, contributing to a multifariousness of periodicals including Punch and the World. He married in 1914. Every bit well as his novels and short stories, he wrote lyrics for musical comedies with Guy Bolton and Jerome Kern, and at 1 time had 5 musicals running simultaneously on Broadway. His time in Hollywood too provided much source material for fiction.

At the age of 93, in the New Year's Honours List of 1975, he received a long-overdue knighthood, only to die on St Valentine's Day some 45 days later.

To

MY Daughter LEONORA

Queen of her species.

Some of the P.Grand. Wodehouse titles to be published by Pointer in 2008

JEEVES

The Inimitable Jeeves

Behave On, Jeeves

Very Good, Jeeves

Cheers, Jeeves

Right Ho, Jeeves

The Lawmaking of the Woosters

Joy in the Morning

The Mating Season

Ring for Jeeves

Jeeves and the Feudal Spirit

Jeeves in the Offing

Potent Upper Lip, Jeeves

Much Obliged, Jeeves

Aunts Aren't Gentlemen

BLANDINGS

Something Fresh

Exit it to Psmith

Summer Lightning

Blandings Castle

Uncle Fred in the Springtime

Full Moon

Pigs Accept Wings

Service with a Smile

A Pelican at Blandings

MULLINER

Meet Mr Mulliner

Mulliner Nights

Mr Mulliner Speaking

UNCLE FRED

Cocktail Time

Uncle Dynamite

GOLF

The Clicking of Cuthbert

The Heart of a Goof

OTHERS

Piccadilly Jim

Ukridge

The Luck of the Bodkins

Laughing Gas

A Dryad in Distress

The Small Bachelor

Hot Water

Summer Moonshine

The Adventures of Sally

Coin for Nothing

The Daughter in Blue

Big Coin

CONTENTS

1 Night PLOTTINGS AT BLANDINGS CASTLE

two ENTER PSMITH

3 EVE BORROWS AN UMBRELLA

4 PAINFUL SCENE AT THE DRONES CLUB

5 PSMITH APPLIES FOR EMPLOYMENT

6 LORD EMSWORTH MEETS A POET

seven BAXTER SUSPECTS

viii CONFIDENCES ON THE LAKE

9 PSMITH ENGAGES A VALET

x SENSATIONAL OCCURRENCE AT A Poesy READING

11 ALMOST ENTIRELY Virtually FLOWER-POTS

12 More ON THE FLOWER-POT THEME

13 PSMITH RECEIVES GUESTS

fourteen PSMITH ACCEPTS EMPLOYMENT

one DARK PLOTTINGS AT BLANDINGS CASTLE

§ 1

AT the open window of the bang-up library of Blandings Castle, drooping like a wet sock, every bit was his habit when he had nothing to prop his spine confronting, the Earl of Emsworth, that amiable and boneheaded peer, stood gazing out over his domain.

It was a lovely forenoon and the air was fragrant with gentle summer scents. Yet in his lordship'south pale blue eyes there was a look of melancholy. His brow was furrowed, his oral fissure peevish. And this was all the more strange in that he was normally as happy as only a fluffy-minded man with excellent health and a big income can exist. A author, describing Blandings Castle in a mag article, had once said: 'Tiny mosses have grown in the cavities of the stones, until, viewed near at hand, the place seems shaggy with vegetation.' Information technology would not accept been a bad clarification of the proprietor. L-odd years of serene and unruffled placidity had given Lord Emsworth a curiously moss-covered look. Very few things had the power to disturb him. Fifty-fifty his younger son, the Hon. Freddie Threepwood, could only practise it occasionally.

However at present he was sorry. And – not to brand a mystery of information technology any longer – the reason of his sorrow was the fact that he had mislaid his spectacles and without them was as blind, to use his own neat simile, every bit abat. He was keenly aware of the sunshine that poured downward on his gardens, and was yearning to pop out and potter among the flowers he loved. Only no man, pop he never so wisely, can promise to potter with whatever good result if the world is a mere mistiness.

The door behind him opened, and Embankment the butler entered, a dignified procession of ane.

'Who's that?' inquired Lord Emsworth, spinning on his axis.

'Information technology is I, your lordship – Embankment.'

'Have you found them

?'

'Not yet, your lordship,' sighed the butler.

'You lot can't have looked.'

'I have searched assiduously, your lordship, merely without avail. Thomas and Charles also announce non-success. Stokes has not yet fabricated his report.'

'Ah!'

'I am re-despatching Thomas and Charles to your lordship's chamber,' said the Master of the Hunt. 'I trust that their efforts volition be rewarded.'

Embankment withdrew, and Lord Emsworth turned to the window again. The scene that spread itself beneath him – though he was unfortunately non able to see it – was a singularly cute one, for the castle, which is ane of the oldest inhabited houses in England, stands upon a knoll of ascent ground at the southern end of the celebrated Vale of Blandings in the county of Shropshire. Abroad in the blue distance wooded hills ran downwardly to where the Severn gleamed similar an unsheathed sword; while up from the river rolling park-land, mounting and dipping, surged in a green moving ridge about to the castle walls, breaking on the terraces in a many-coloured flurry of flowers equally it reached the spot where the province of Angus McAllister, his lordship'south caput gardener, began. The day being June the thirtieth, which is the very high-tide time of summer flowers, the immediate neighbourhood of the castle was afire with roses, pinks, pansies, carnations, hollyhocks, columbines, larkspurs, London pride, Canterbury bells, and a multitude of other choice blooms of which only Angus could take told yous the names. A conscientious man was Angus; and in spite of being a good deal hampered by Lord Emsworth'south apprentice assist, he showed excellent results in his department. In his beds there was much at which to indicate with pride, little to view with concern.

Scarcely had Beach removed himself when Lord Emsworth was called upon to plow again. The door had opened for the second time, and a beau in a beautifully-cutting suit of gray flannel was standing in the doorway. He had a long and vacant face up topped by shining hair brushed back and heavily brillian-tined after the prevailing mode, and he was standing on i leg. For Freddie Threepwood was seldom completely at his ease in his parent's presence.

'Hallo, guv'nor.'

'Well, Frederick?'

It would be paltering with the truth to say that Lord Emsworth'due south greeting was a warm one. It lacked the notation of truthful affection. A few weeks before he had had to pay a matter of 5 hundred pounds to settle sure racing debts for his offspring; and, while this had not actually dealt an irretrievable blow at his bank account, information technology had undeniably tended to diminish Freddie'due south charm in his eyes.

'Hear you've lost your glasses, guv'nor.'

'That is so.'

'Nuisance, what?'

'Undeniably.'

'Ought to have a spare pair.'

'I have cleaved my spare pair.'

'Tough luck! And lost the other?'

'And, as you say, lost the other.'

'Have y'all looked for the bally things?'

'I take.'

'Must be somewhere, I mean.'

'Quite perchance.'

'Where,' asked Freddie, warming to his work, 'did yous encounter them last?'

'Go away!' said Lord Emsworth, on whom his child's conversation had begun to exercise an oppressive effect.

'Eh?'

'Go away!'

'Become away?'

'Yes, go abroad!'

'Right ho!'

The door closed. His lordship returned to the window once more.

He had been standing in that location some few minutes when i of those miracles occurred which happen in libraries. Without audio or warning a section of books started to movement away from the parent body and, swinging out in a solid chunk into the room, showed a glimpse of a small, study-like apartment. A young human being in glasses came noiselessly through and the books returned to their place.

The contrast between Lord Emsworth and the new-comer, as they stood at that place, was striking, almost dramatic. Lord Emsworth was so acutely spectacle-less; Rupert Baxter, his secretarial assistant, so pronouncedly spectacled. It was his spectacles that struck you first as yous saw the man. They gleamed efficiently at you. If you had a guilty conscience, they pierced you through and through; and even if your censor was one hundred per cent. pure you could not ignore them. 'Here,' you said to yourself, 'is an efficient swain in glasses.'

In describing Rupert Baxter as efficient, you did non overestimate him. He was substantially that. Technically but a salaried subordinate, he had get by degrees, attributable to the limp amiability of his employer, the real master of the firm. He was the Brains of Blandings, the man at the switch, the person in accuse, and the pilot, so to speak, who weathered the tempest. Lord Emsworth left everything to Baxter, merely request to exist immune to potter in peace; and Baxter, more than than equal to the chore, shouldered it without wincing.

Having got inside range, Baxter coughed; and Lord Emsworth, recognising the audio, wheeled round with a faint flicker of hope. It might be that even this apparently insoluble problem of the missing pince-nez would yield before the other's efficiency.

'Baxter, my love young man, I've lost my glasses. My glasses. I have mislaid them. I cannot think where they tin can have gone to. Yous haven't seen them anywhere by whatever risk?'

'Yes, Lord Emsworth,' replied the secretary, quietly equal to the crunch. 'They are hanging downward your back.'

'Down my dorsum? Why, bless my soul!' His lordship tested the statement and found it – like all Baxter'southward statements – accurate. 'Why, bless my soul, so they are! Practice you know, Baxter, I really believe I must exist growing absent-minded.' He hauled in the slack, secured the pince-nez, adapted them beamingly. His irritability had vanished like the dew off i of his roses. 'Thank you, Baxter, thanks. You are invaluable.'

And with a radiant grin Lord Emsworth made buoyantly for the door, en route for God'due south air and the society of McAllister. The movement drew from Baxter another cough – a sharp, peremptory cough this fourth dimension; and his lordship paused, reluctantly, similar a dog whistled back from the chase. A cloud fell over the sunniness of his mood. Admirable every bit Baxter was in so many respects, he had a trend to worry him at times; and something told Lord Emsworth that he was going to worry him now.

'The car will exist at the door,' said Baxter with serenity firmness, 'at two sharp.'

'Car? What car?'

'The car to take you to the station.'

'Station? What station?'

Rupert Baxter preserved his calm. There were times when he found his employer a little trying, only he never showed it.

'You have perhaps forgotten, Lord Emsworth, that you arranged with Lady Constance to become to London this afternoon.'

'Go to London!' gasped Lord Emsworth, appalled. 'In weather condition like this? With a thousand things to attend to in the garden? What a perfectly preposterous notion! Why should I go to London? I hate London.'

'You bundled with Lady Constance that yous would give Mr McTodd lunch to-morrow at your order.'

'Who the devil is Mr McTodd?'

'The well-known Canadian poet.'

'Never heard of him.'

'Lady Constance has long been a great admirer of his work. She wrote inviting him, should he ever come to England, to pay a visit to Blandings. He is now in London and is to come downwards to-morrow for ii weeks. Lady Constance'south proffer was that, as a compliment to Mr McTodd's eminence in the world of literature, you should come across him in London and bring him back here yourself.'

Lord Emsworth remembered now. He besides remembered that this positively infernal scheme had not been his sister Constance'south in the first place. It was Baxter who had made the suggestion, and Constance had approved. He made use of the recovered pince-nez to glower through them at his secretary; and not for the showtime time in recent months was enlightened of a feeling that this fellow Baxter was becoming a dashed infliction. Baxter was getting in a higher place himself, throwing his weight near, making himself a confounded nuisance. He wished he could become

rid of the man. Just where could he find an adequate successor? That was the trouble. With all his drawbacks, Baxter was efficient. Nevertheless, for a moment Lord Emsworth toyed with the pleasant dream of dismissing him. And information technology is possible, such was his exasperation, that he might on this occasion take done something practical in that management, had not the library door at this moment opened for the third time, to admit still some other intruder – at the sight of whom his lordship'south militant mood faded weakly.

'Oh – hallo, Connie!' he said, guiltily, similar a pocket-size boy caught in the jam cupboard. Somehow his sister always had this effect upon him.

Of all those who had entered the library that morn the new inflow was the all-time worth looking at. Lord Emsworth was alpine and lean and scraggy, Rupert Baxter thick-set up and handicapped by that vaguely grubby appearance which is presented past swarthy immature men of bad complexion, and even Beach, though dignified, and Freddie, though slim, would never have got far in a beauty competition. Simply Lady Constance Keeble really took the eye. She was a strikingly handsome adult female in the centre forties. She had a fair, wide brow, teeth of a perfect even whiteness, and the railroad vehicle of an empress. Her eyes were large and grey, and gentle – and incidentally misleading, for gentle was hardly the adjective which anybody who knew her would have applied to Lady Constance. Though genial enough when she got her way, on the rare occasions when people attempted to thwart her she was apt to acquit herself in a way reminiscent of Cleopatra on one of the latter'southward bad mornings.

'I hope I am not disturbing yous,' said Lady Constance with a bright smile. 'I just came in to tell you to be certain non to forget, Clarence, that you are going to London this afternoon to meet Mr McTodd.'

'I was just telling Lord Emsworth,' said Baxter, 'that the automobile would be at the door at two.'

'Give thanks yous, Mr Baxter. Of course I might have known that you lot would not forget. Y'all are and so wonderfully capable. I don't know what in the globe we would do without you.'

The Efficient Baxter bowed. But, though gratified, he was not overwhelmed by the tribute. The aforementioned thought had oftentimes occurred to him independently.

'If yous will alibi me,' he said, 'I have one or two things to nourish to . . .'

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