Humorous stories; Ukridge, Stanley Featherstonehaugh (Fictitious character) -- Fiction
Memory awoke. I felt ashamed that I could ever have forgotten a
girl so bounding and spectacular.
“Of course! The blister you brought with you that night George
Tupper gave us dinner at the Regent Grill. By the way, has George
ever forgiven you for that?”
“There is still a little coldness,” admitted Ukridge, ruefully.
“I’m bound to say old Tuppy seems to be letting the thing rankle
a bit. The fact of the matter is, old horse, Tuppy has his
limitations. He isn’t a real friend like you. Delightful fellow,
but lacks vision. Can’t understand that there are certain occasions
when it is simply imperative that a man’s pals rally round him.
Now you——”
“Well, I’ll tell you one thing. I am hoping that what I went
through this afternoon really was for some good cause. I should be
sorry, now that I am in a cooler frame of mind, to have to strangle
you where you lie. Would you mind telling me exactly what was the
idea behind all this?”
“It’s like this, laddie. Good old Billson blew in to see me the
other day.”
“I met him down in the East End and he asked for your address.”
“Yes, he told me.”
“What’s going on? Are you still managing him?”
“Yes. That’s what he wanted to see me about. Apparently the contract
has another year to run and he can’t fix up anything without my
O.K. And he’s just had an offer to fight a bloke called Alf Todd
at the Universal.”
“That’s a step up from Wonderland,” I said, for I had a solid
respect for this Mecca of the boxing world. “How much is he getting
this time?”
“Two hundred quid.”
“Two hundred quid! But that’s a lot for practically an unknown
man.”
“Unknown man?” said Ukridge, hurt. “What do you mean, unknown man?
If you ask my opinion, I should say the whole pugilistic world is
seething with excitement about old Billson. Literally seething.
Didn’t he slosh the middleweight champion?”
“Yes, in a rough-and-tumble in a back alley. And nobody saw him do
it.”
“Well, these things get about.”
“But two hundred pounds!”
“A fleabite, laddie, a fleabite. You can take it from me that we
shall be asking a lot more than a measly couple of hundred for our
services pretty soon. Thousands, thousands! Still, I’m not saying
it won’t be something to be going on with. Well, as I say, old
Billson came to me and said he had had this offer, and how about
it? And when I realised that I was in halves, I jolly soon gave
him my blessing and told him to go as far as he liked. So you can
imagine how I felt when Flossie put her foot down like this.”
“Like what? About ten minutes ago when you started talking, you
seemed to be on the point of explaining about Flossie. How does
she come to be mixed up with the thing? What did she do?”
“Only wanted to stop the whole business, laddie, that was all. Just
put the kybosh on the entire works. Said he mustn’t fight!”
“Mustn’t fight?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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