Humorous stories; London (England) -- Fiction; Wealth -- Fiction
Mr. Prohack, though fatigued, felt himself to be inordinately well, and
he divined that this felicity was due to the exercise of dancing on the
previous night, following upon the Turkish bath. He had not felt so well
for many years. He laughed to himself at intervals as he performed his
toilette, and knew not quite why. His secretary was just like a new toy
to him, offering many of the advantages of official life and routine
without any of the drawbacks. At half past eleven he descended, wearing
one or two of the more discreet of his new possessions, and with the
sensation of having already transacted a good day's work, into the
breakfast-room and found Miss Warburton and Machin in converse. Machin
feverishly poked the freshly-lit fire and then, pretending to have
urgent business elsewhere, left the room.
"Here are some particulars of a house in Manchester Square," said Mr.
Prohack. "Please read them."
Miss Warburton complied.
"It seems really very nice," said she. "Very nice indeed."
"Does it? Now listen to me. That house is apparently the most practical
and the most beautiful house in London. Judging from the description, it
deserves to be put under a glass-case in a museum and labelled 'the
ideal house.' There is no fault to be found with that house, and I
should probably take it at once but for one point. I don't want it. I do
not want it. Do I make myself clear? I have no use for it whatever."
"Then you've inspected it."
"I have not. But I don't want it. Now a determined effort will shortly
be made to induce me to take that house. I will not go into details or
personalities. I say merely that a determined effort will shortly be
made to force me to act against my will and my wishes. This effort must
be circumvented. In a word, the present is a moment when I may need the
unscrupulous services of an utterly devoted confidential secretary."
"What am I to do?"
"I haven't the slightest idea. All I know is that my existence must not
on any account be complicated, and that the possession of that house
would seriously complicate it."
"Will you leave the matter to me, Mr. Prohack?"
"What shall you do?"
"Wouldn't it be better for you not to know what I should do?" Miss
Warburton glanced at him oddly. Her glance was agreeable, and yet
disconcerting. The attractiveness of the young woman seemed to be
accentuated. The institution of the confidential secretary was
magnified, in the eyes of Mr. Prohack, into one of the greatest
achievements of human society.
"Not at all," said he, in reply. "You are under-rating my capabilities,
for I can know and not know simultaneously."
"Well," said Miss Warburton. "You can't take an old house without having
the drains examined, obviously. Supposing the report on the drains was
unfavourable?"
"Do you propose to tamper with the drains?"
"Certainly not. I shouldn't dream of doing anything so disgraceful. But
I might tamper with the surveyor who made the report on the drains."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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