Sam in the SuburbsWodehouse, P. G. (Pelham Grenville)
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Sam in the Suburbs
Wodehouse, P. G. (Pelham Grenville)
England -- Fiction; Gangsters -- Fiction; Humorous stories; Publishers and publishing -- Fiction
“And then I wish I was well out of it all, you understand. But then
again, when I’m settin’ with ’er with my arm round ’er little waist----”
“You are still speaking of the mother?”
“No, the girl.”
“Oh, the girl?”
“And when I’m lookin’ at her and she’s lookin’ at me, it’s different.
It’s--well, it’s what I may call different. She’s got a way of tossing
her chin up, Sam, and waggling of ’er ’air----”
Sam nodded.
“I know,” he said, “I know. They have, haven’t they? Confirmed hair
wagglers, all of them. Well, Hash, if you will listen to the advice of
an old lady with girl friends in every part of England--and Scotland,
too, for that matter; you will find a communication from Bonnie Lassie
(Glasgow) in this very issue--I would say, Risk the mother. And
meanwhile, Hash, refrain, if possible, from slaying our odd-job man. He
may not be much to look at, but he is uncommonly useful. Never forget
that in a few days we may want Amy washed again.”
He bestowed an encouraging nod upon his companion and went out into the
garden. He was just picking up his hose when a scuffling sound from the
other side of the fence attracted his attention. It was followed by a
sharp exclamation, and he recognised Kay’s voice.
It was growing dark now, but it was not too dark for Sam to see, if only
sketchily, what was in progress in the garden of San Rafael. Shrouded
though the whole scene was in an evening mist, he perceived a male
figure. He also perceived the figure of Kay. The male figure appeared
either to be giving Kay a lesson in jiujitsu or else embracing her
against her will. From the sound of her voice, he put the latter
construction on the affair, and it seemed to him that, in the inspired
words of the typewriter, now was the time for all good men to come to
the aid of the party.
Sam was a man of action. Several policies were open to him. He could
ignore the affair altogether; he could shout reproof at the aggressor
from a distance; he could climb the fence and run to the rescue. None of
these operations appealed to him. It was his rule in life to act swiftly
and to think, if at all, later. In his simple, direct fashion,
therefore, he lifted the hose and sent a stream of water shooting at the
now closely entangled pair.
§ 2
The treatment was instantaneously effective. The male member of the
combination, receiving several gallons of the Valley Fields Water
Company’s best stuff on the side of his head and then distributed at
random over his person, seemed to understand with a lightning quickness
that something in the nature of reinforcements had arrived. Hastily
picking up his hat, which had fallen off, he stood not upon the order of
his going, but ran. The darkness closed upon him, and Sam, with a
certain smug complacency inevitable in your knight errant who has borne
himself notably well in a difficult situation, turned off the hose and
stood waiting while Kay crossed the lawn.
“Who was our guest?” he asked.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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