JILL THE RECKLESS BY P. G. WODEHOUSE HERBERT JENKINS LIMITED 3 DUKE OF YORK STREET ST. JAMES'S, LONDON, S.W. 1 * * * * * TO MY WIFE BLESS HER * * * * * CONTENTS CHAPTER I. THE FAMILY CURSE II. THE FIRST NIGHT AT THE LEICESTER III. JILL AND THE UNKNOWN ESCAPE IV. THE LAST OF THE ROOKES TAKES A HAND V. LADY UNDERHILL RECEIVES A SHOCK VI. UNCLE CHRIS BANGS THE TABLE VII. JILL CATCHES THE 10.10 VIII. THE DRY-SALTERS WING DEREK IX. JILL IN SEARCH OF AN UNCLE X. JILL IGNORES AUTHORITY XI. MR. PILKINGTON'S LOVE LIGHT XII. UNCLE CHRIS BORROWS A FLAT XIII. THE AMBASSADOR ARRIVES XIV. MR. GOBLE MAKES THE BIG NOISE XV. JILL EXPLAINS XVI. MR. GOBLE PLAYS WITH FATE XVII. THE COST OF A ROW XVIII. JILL RECEIVES NOTICE XIX. MRS. PEAGRIM BURNS INCENSE XX. DEREK LOSES ONE BIRD AND SECURES ANOTHER XXI. WALLY MASON LEARNS A NEW EXERCISE * * * * * JILL THE RECKLESS CHAPTER I THE FAMILY CURSE I Freddie Rooke gazed coldly at the breakfast-table. Through a gleaming eye-glass he inspected the revolting object which Barker, his faithful man, had placed on a plate before him. "Barker!" His voice had a ring of pain. "Sir?" "What's this?" "Poached egg, sir." Freddie averted his eyes with a silent shudder. "It looks just like an old aunt of mine," he said. "Remove it!" He got up, and, wrapping his dressing-gown about his long legs, took up a stand in front of the fireplace. From this position he surveyed the room, his shoulders against the mantelpiece, his calves pressing the club fender. It was a cheerful oasis in a chill and foggy world, a typical London bachelor's breakfast-room. The walls were a restful grey, and the table, set for two, a comfortable arrangement in white and silver. "Eggs, Barker," said Freddie solemnly, "are the acid test!" "Yes, sir?" "If, on the morning after, you can tackle a poached egg, you are all right. If not, not. And don't let anybody tell you otherwise." "No, sir." Freddie pressed the palm of his hand to his brow, and sighed. "It would seem, then, that I must have revelled a trifle whole-heartedly last night. I was possibly a little blotto. Not whiffled, perhaps, but indisputably blotto. Did I make much noise coming in?" "No, sir. You were very quiet." "Ah! A dashed bad sign!" Freddie moved to the table, and poured himself a cup of coffee. "The cream jug is to your right, sir," said the helpful Barker. "Let it remain there. _Café noir_ for me this morning. As _noir_ as it can jolly well stick!" Freddie retired to the fireplace and sipped delicately. "As far as I can remember, it was Ronny Devereux' birthday or something...." "Mr. Martyn's, I think you said, sir."