Meet Mr Mulliner by PG Wodehouse

Author:PG Wodehouse [Wodehouse, PG]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Humour, Classics
ISBN: 9781585672752
Goodreads: 18053
Publisher: Harry N. Abrams
Published: 1927-09-27T00:00:00+00:00

Lancelot dismissed the man from his thoughts. His whole mind now was concentrated on the coming interview with Angela. For he had decided that the only thing to do was to seek her out at her club, where she would doubtless be spending the afternoon, and plead with her to follow the dictates of her heart and, abandoning parents and wealthy suitors, come with her true mate to a life of honest poverty sweetened by love and vers libre.

Arriving at the Junior Lipstick, he inquired for her, and the hall-porter dispatched a boy in buttons to fetch her from the billiard-room, where she was refereeing the finals of the Debutantes’ Shove-Ha’penny Tournament. And presently his heart leaped as he saw her coming towards him, looking more like a vision of Springtime than anything human and earthly. She was smoking a cigarette in a long holder, and as she approached she inserted a monocle inquiringly in her right eye.

“Hullo, laddie!” she said. “You here? What’s on the mind besides hair? Talk quick. I’ve only got a minute.”

“Angela,” said Lancelot, “I have to report a slight hitch in the programme which I sketched out at our last meeting. I have just been to see my uncle and he has washed his hands of me and cut me out of his will.”

“Nothing doing in that quarter, you mean?” said the girl, chewing her lower lip thoughtfully.

“Nothing. But what of it? What matters it so long as we have each other? Money is dross. Love is everything. Yes, love indeed is light from heaven, a spark of that immortal fire with angels shared, by Allah given to lift from earth our low desire. Give me to live with Love alone, and let the world go dine and dress. If life’s a flower, I choose my own. ‘Tis Love in Idleness. When beauty fires the blood, how love exalts the mind! Come, Angela, let us read together in a book more moving than the Koran, more eloquent than Shakespeare, the book of books, the crown of all literature— Bradshaw’s Railway Guide. We will turn up a page and you shall put your finger down, and wherever it rests there we will go, to five for ever with our happiness. Oh, Angela, let us—”

“Sorry,” said the girl. “Purvis wins. The race goes by the form-book after all. There was a time when I thought you might be going to crowd him on the rails and get your nose first under the wire with a quick last-minute dash, but apparently it is not to be. Deepest sympathy, old crocus, but that’s that.”

Lancelot staggered.

“You mean you intend to marry this Purvis?”

“Pop in about a month from now at St. George’s, Hanover Square, and see for yourself.”

“You would allow this man to buy you with his gold?”

“Don’t overlook his diamonds.”

“Does love count for nothing? Surely you love me?”

“Of course I do, my desert king. When you do that flat-footed Black Bottom step with the sort of wiggly twiggle at

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