Part 26 (1/2)
”Why, her father....”
”By Jove, I remember now! So worried lately, old boy, that my memory's gone groggy. Of course! Her father fell into the sea, and you fished him out. Why, damme, it's like the stories you read.”
”It's also very like the stories I used to write. But they had one point about them which this story hasn't. They invariably ended happily, with the father joining the hero's and heroine's hands and giving his blessing. Unfortunately, in the present case, that doesn't seem likely to happen.”
”The old man won't give his consent?”
”I'm afraid not. I haven't asked him yet, but the chances are against it.”
”But why? What's the matter with you? You're an excellent chap, sound in wind and limb, and didn't you once tell me that, if you married, you came into a pretty sizeable bit of money?”
”Yes, I do. That part of it is all right.”
Ukridge's voice betrayed perplexity.
”I don't understand this thing, old horse,” he said. ”I should have thought the old boy would have been all over you. Why, damme, I never heard of anything like it. You saved his life! You fished him out of the water.”
”After chucking him in. That's the trouble.”
”You chucked him in?”
”By proxy.”
I explained. Ukridge, I regret to say, laughed in a way that must have been heard miles away in distant villages in Devons.h.i.+re.
”You devil!” he bellowed. ”'Pon my Sam, old horse, to look at you one would never have thought you'd have had it in you.”
”I can't help looking respectable.”
”What are you going to do about it?”
”That's where I wanted your advice. You're a man of resource. What would you do in my place?”
Ukridge tapped me impressively on the shoulder.
”Laddie,” he said, ”there's one thing that'll carry you through any mess.”
”And that is----?”
”Cheek, my boy, cheek. Gall. Nerve. Why, take my case. I never told you how I came to marry, did I. I thought not. Well, it was this way. It'll do you a bit of good, perhaps, to hear the story, for, mark you, blessings weren't going cheap in my case either. You know Millie's Aunt Elizabeth, the female who wrote that letter? Well, when I tell you that she was Millie's nearest relative and that it was her consent I had to snaffle, you'll see that I was faced with a bit of a problem.”
”Let's have it,” I said.
”Well, the first time I ever saw Millie was in a first-cla.s.s carriage on the underground. I'd got a third-cla.s.s ticket, by the way. The carriage was full, and I got up and gave her my seat, and, as I hung suspended over her by a strap, damme, I fell in love with her then and there. You've no conception, laddie, how indescribably ripping she looked, in a sort of blue dress with a bit of red in it and a hat with thingummies. Well, we both got out at South Kensington. By that time I was gasping for air and saw that the thing wanted looking into. I'd never had much time to bother about women, but I realised that this must not be missed. I was in love, old horse. It comes over you quite suddenly, like a tidal wave....”
”I know! I know! Good Heavens, you can't tell me anything about that.”
”Well, I followed her. She went to a house in Thurloe Square. I waited outside and thought it over. I had got to get into that shanty and make her acquaintance, if they threw me out on my ear. So I rang the bell.
'Is Lady Lichenhall at home?' I asked. You spot the devilish cunning of the ruse, what? My asking for a female with a t.i.tle was to make 'em think I was one of the Upper Ten.”
”How were you dressed?” I could not help asking.