Doing Clarence a Bit of Good

by P. G. Wodehouse

Have you ever thought about--and, when I say thought about, I meanreally carefully considered the question of--the coolness, the cheek,or, if you prefer it, the gall with which Woman, as a sex, fairlybursts? I have, by Jove! But then I've had it thrust on mynotice, by George, in a way I should imagine has happened to prettyfew fellows. And the limit was reached by that business of theYeardsley "Venus."To make you understand the full what-d'you-call-it of the situation, Ishall have to explain just how matters stood between Mrs. Yeardsley andmyself.When I first knew her she was Elizabeth Shoolbred. Old Worcestershirefamily; pots of money; pretty as a picture. Her brother Bill was atOxford with me.I loved Elizabeth Shoolbred. I loved her, don't you know. And there wasa time, for about a week, when we were engaged to be married. But justas I was beginning to take a serious view of life and study furniturecatalogues and feel pretty solemn when the restaurant orchestra played"The Wedding Glide," I'm hanged if she didn't break it off, and a monthlater she was married to a fellow of the name of Yeardsley--ClarenceYeardsley, an artist.What with golf, and billiards, and a bit of racing, and fellows at theclub rallying round and kind of taking me out of myself, as it were, Igot over it, and came to look on the affair as a closed page in thebook of my life, if you know what I mean. It didn't seem likely to methat we should meet again, as she and Clarence had settled down in thecountry somewhere and never came to London, and I'm bound to own that,by the time I got her letter, the wound had pretty well healed, and Iwas to a certain extent sitting up and taking nourishment. In fact, tobe absolutely honest, I was jolly thankful the thing had ended as ithad done.This letter I'm telling you about arrived one morning out of a bluesky, as it were. It ran like this:"MY DEAR OLD REGGIE,--What ages it seems since I saw anything ofyou. How are you? We have settled down here in the most perfect oldhouse, with a lovely garden, in the middle of delightful country.Couldn't you run down here for a few days? Clarence and I would beso glad to see you. Bill is here, and is most anxious to meet youagain. He was speaking of you only this morning. Do come.Wire your train, and I will send the car to meet you.--Yours most sincerely,ELIZABETH YEARDSLEY."P.S.--We can give you new milk and fresh eggs. Think of that!"P.P.S.--Bill says our billiard-table is one of the best he hasever played on."P.P.S.S.--We are only half a mile from a golf course. Bill saysit is better than St. Andrews."P.P.S.S.S.--You _must_ come!"Well, a fellow comes down to breakfast one morning, with a bit of ahead on, and finds a letter like that from a girl who might quiteeasily have blighted his life! It rattled me rather, I must confess.However, that bit about the golf settled me. I knew Bill knew what hewas talking about, and, if he said the course was so topping, it mustbe something special. So I went.Old Bill met me at the station with the car. I hadn't come across himfor some months, and I was glad to see him again. And he apparently wasglad to see me."Thank goodness you've come," he said, as we drove off. "I was justabout at my last grip.""What's the trouble, old scout?" I asked."If I had the artistic what's-its-name," he went on, "if the meremention of pictures didn't give me the pip, I dare say it wouldn't beso bad. As it is, it's rotten!""Pictures?""Pictures. Nothing else is mentioned in this household. Clarence is anartist. So is his father. And you know yourself what Elizabeth is likewhen one gives her her head?"I remembered then--it hadn't come back to me before--that most of mytime with Elizabeth had been spent in picture-galleries. During theperiod when I had let her do just what she wanted to do with me, I hadhad to follow her like a dog through gallery after gallery, thoughpictures are poison to me, just as they are to old Bill. Somehow it hadnever struck me that she would still be going on in this way aftermarrying an artist. I should have thought that by this time the meresight of a picture would have fed her up. Not so, however, according toold Bill."They talk pictures at every meal," he said. "I tell you, it makes achap feel out of it. How long are you down for?""A few days.""Take my tip, and let me send you a wire from London. I go thereto-morrow. I promised to play against the Scottish. The idea wasthat I was to come back after the match. But you couldn't get meback with a lasso."I tried to point out the silver lining."But, Bill, old scout, your sister says there's a most corking linksnear here."He turned and stared at me, and nearly ran us into the bank."You don't mean honestly she said that?""She said you said it was better than St. Andrews.""So I did. Was that all she said I said?""Well, wasn't it enough?""She didn't happen to mention that I added the words, 'I don't think'?""No, she forgot to tell me that.""It's the worst course in Great Britain."I felt rather stunned, don't you know. Whether it's a bad habit to havegot into or not, I can't say, but I simply can't do without my dailyallowance of golf when I'm not in London.I took another whirl at the silver lining."We'll have to take it out in billiards," I said. "I'm glad the table'sgood.""It depends what you call good. It's half-size, and there's a seven-inchcut just out of baulk where Clarence's cue slipped. Elizabeth has mendedit with pink silk. Very smart and dressy it looks, but it doesn't improvethe thing as a billiard-table.""But she said you said----""Must have been pulling your leg."We turned in at the drive gates of a good-sized house standing wellback from the road. It looked black and sinister in the dusk, and Icouldn't help feeling, you know, like one of those Johnnies you readabout in stories who are lured to lonely houses for rummy purposes andhear a shriek just as they get there. Elizabeth knew me well enough toknow that a specially good golf course was a safe draw to me. And shehad deliberately played on her knowledge. What was the game? That waswhat I wanted to know. And then a sudden thought struck me which broughtme out in a cold perspiration. She had some girl down here and was goingto have a stab at marrying me off. I've often heard that young marriedwomen are all over that sort of thing. Certainly she had said there wasnobody at the house but Clarence and herself and Bill and Clarence'sfather, but a woman who could take the name of St. Andrews in vain asshe had done wouldn't be likely to stick at a trifle."Bill, old scout," I said, "there aren't any frightful girls or any rotof that sort stopping here, are there?""Wish there were," he said. "No such luck."As we pulled up at the front door, it opened, and a woman's figureappeared."Have you got him, Bill?" she said, which in my present frame of mindstruck me as a jolly creepy way of putting it. The sort of thing LadyMacbeth might have said to Macbeth, don't you know."Do you mean me?" I said.She came down into the light. It was Elizabeth, looking just the sameas in the old days."Is that you, Reggie? I'm so glad you were able to come. I was afraidyou might have forgotten all about it. You know what you are. Comealong in and have some tea."* * * * *Have you ever been turned down by a girl who afterwards married andthen been introduced to her husband? If so you'll understand how I feltwhen Clarence burst on me. You know the feeling. First of all, when youhear about the marriage, you say to yourself, "I wonder what he's like."Then you meet him, and think, "There must be some mistake. She can't havepreferred this to me!" That's what I thought, when I set eyes onClarence.He was a little thin, nervous-looking chappie of about thirty-five. Hishair was getting grey at the temples and straggly on top. He worepince-nez, and he had a drooping moustache. I'm no Bombardier Wellsmyself, but in front of Clarence I felt quite a nut. And Elizabeth,mind you, is one of those tall, splendid girls who look like princesses.Honestly, I believe women do it out of pure cussedness."How do you do, Mr. Pepper? Hark! Can you hear a mewing cat?" saidClarence. All in one breath, don't you know."Eh?" I said."A mewing cat. I feel sure I hear a mewing cat. Listen!"While we were listening the door opened, and a white-haired oldgentleman came in. He was built on the same lines as Clarence, but wasan earlier model. I took him correctly, to be Mr. Yeardsley, senior.Elizabeth introduced us."Father," said Clarence, "did you meet a mewing cat outside? I feelpositive I heard a cat mewing.""No," said the father, shaking his head; "no mewing cat.""I can't bear mewing cats," said Clarence. "A mewing cat gets on mynerves!""A mewing cat is so trying," said Elizabeth."I dislike mewing cats," said old Mr. Yeardsley.That was all about mewing cats for the moment. They seemed to thinkthey had covered the ground satisfactorily, and they went back topictures.We talked pictures steadily till it was time to dress for dinner. Atleast, they did. I just sort of sat around. Presently the subject ofpicture-robberies came up. Somebody mentioned the "Monna Lisa," andthen I happened to remember seeing something in the evening paper, as Iwas coming down in the train, about some fellow somewhere having had avaluable painting pinched by burglars the night before. It was thefirst time I had had a chance of breaking into the conversation withany effect, and I meant to make the most of it. The paper was in thepocket of my overcoat in the hall. I went and fetched it."Here it is," I said. "A Romney belonging to Sir Bellamy Palmer----"They all shouted "What!" exactly at the same time, like a chorus.Elizabeth grabbed the paper."Let me look! Yes. 'Late last night burglars entered the residence ofSir Bellamy Palmer, Dryden Park, Midford, Hants----'""Why, that's near here," I said. "I passed through Midford----""Dryden Park is only two miles from this house," said Elizabeth. Inoticed her eyes were sparkling."Only two miles!" she said. "It might have been us! It might have beenthe 'Venus'!"Old Mr. Yeardsley bounded in his chair."The 'Venus'!" he cried.They all seemed wonderfully excited. My little contribution to theevening's chat had made quite a hit.Why I didn't notice it before I don't know, but it was not till Elizabethshowed it to me after dinner that I had my first look at the Yeardsley"Venus." When she led me up to it, and switched on the light, it seemedimpossible that I could have sat right through dinner without noticingit. But then, at meals, my attention is pretty well riveted on thefoodstuffs. Anyway, it was not till Elizabeth showed it to me that Iwas aware of its existence.She and I were alone in the drawing-room after dinner. Old Yeardsleywas writing letters in the morning-room, while Bill and Clarence wererollicking on the half-size billiard table with the pink silk tapestryeffects. All, in fact, was joy, jollity, and song, so to speak, whenElizabeth, who had been sitting wrapped in thought for a bit, benttowards me and said, "Reggie."And the moment she said it I knew something was going to happen. Youknow that pre-what-d'you-call-it you get sometimes? Well, I got itthen."What-o?" I said nervously."Reggie," she said, "I want to ask a great favour of you.""Yes?"She stooped down and put a log on the fire, and went on, with her backto me:"Do you remember, Reggie, once saying you would do anything in theworld for me?"There! That's what I meant when I said that about the cheek of Woman asa sex. What I mean is, after what had happened, you'd have thought shewould have preferred to let the dead past bury its dead, and all thatsort of thing, what?Mind you, I _had_ said I would do anything in the world for her.I admit that. But it was a distinctly pre-Clarence remark. He hadn'tappeared on the scene then, and it stands to reason that a fellow whomay have been a perfect knight-errant to a girl when he was engaged toher, doesn't feel nearly so keen on spreading himself in that directionwhen she has given him the miss-in-baulk, and gone and married a manwho reason and instinct both tell him is a decided blighter.I couldn't think of anything to say but "Oh, yes.""There's something you can do for me now, which will make meeverlastingly grateful.""Yes," I said."Do you know, Reggie," she said suddenly, "that only a few months agoClarence was very fond of cats?""Eh! Well, he still seems--er--interested in them, what?""Now they get on his nerves. Everything gets on his nerves.""Some fellows swear by that stuff you see advertised all over the----""No, that wouldn't help him. He doesn't need to take anything. He wantsto get rid of something.""I don't quite fellow. Get rid of something?""The 'Venus,'" said Elizabeth.She looked up and caught my bulging eye."You saw the 'Venus,'" she said."Not that I remember.""Well, come into the dining-room."We went into the dining-room, and she switched on the lights."There," she said.On the wall close to the door--that may have been why I hadn't noticedit before; I had sat with my back to it--was a large oil-painting. Itwas what you'd call a classical picture, I suppose. What I mean is--well,you know what I mean. All I can say is that it's funny I hadn'tnoticed it."Is that the 'Venus'?" I said.She nodded."How would you like to have to look at that every time you sat down toa meal?""Well, I don't know. I don't think it would affect me much. I'd worrythrough all right."She jerked her head impatiently."But you're not an artist," she said. "Clarence is."And then I began to see daylight. What exactly was the trouble I didn'tunderstand, but it was evidently something to do with the good oldArtistic Temperament, and I could believe anything about that. Itexplains everything. It's like the Unwritten Law, don't you know,which you plead in America if you've done anything they want to sendyou to chokey for and you don't want to go. What I mean is, if you'reabsolutely off your rocker, but don't find it convenient to be scoopedinto the luny-bin, you simply explain that, when you said you were ateapot, it was just your Artistic Temperament, and they apologize andgo away. So I stood by to hear just how the A.T. had affected Clarence,the Cat's Friend, ready for anything.And, believe me, it had hit Clarence badly.It was this way. It seemed that old Yeardsley was an amateur artist andthat this "Venus" was his masterpiece. He said so, and he ought to haveknown. Well, when Clarence married, he had given it to him, as a weddingpresent, and had hung it where it stood with his own hands. All right sofar, what? But mark the sequel. Temperamental Clarence, being aprofessional artist and consequently some streets ahead of the dad atthe game, saw flaws in the "Venus." He couldn't stand it at any price.He didn't like the drawing. He didn't like the expression of the face.He didn't like the colouring. In fact, it made him feel quite ill tolook at it. Yet, being devoted to his father and wanting to do anythingrather than give him pain, he had not been able to bring himself tostore the thing in the cellar, and the strain of confronting thepicture three times a day had begun to tell on him to such an extentthat Elizabeth felt something had to be done."Now you see," she said."In a way," I said. "But don't you think it's making rather heavyweather over a trifle?""Oh, can't you understand? Look!" Her voice dropped as if she was inchurch, and she switched on another light. It shone on the picture nextto old Yeardsley's. "There!" she said. "Clarence painted that!"She looked at me expectantly, as if she were waiting for me to swoon,or yell, or something. I took a steady look at Clarence's effort. Itwas another Classical picture. It seemed to me very much like the otherone.Some sort of art criticism was evidently expected of me, so I made adash at it."Er--'Venus'?" I said.Mark you, Sherlock Holmes would have made the same mistake. On theevidence, I mean."No. 'Jocund Spring,'" she snapped. She switched off the light. "I seeyou don't understand even now. You never had any taste about pictures.When we used to go to the galleries together, you would far rather havebeen at your club."This was so absolutely true, that I had no remark to make. She came upto me, and put her hand on my arm."I'm sorry, Reggie. I didn't mean to be cross. Only I do want to make youunderstand that Clarence is suffering. Suppose--suppose--well, letus take the case of a great musician. Suppose a great musician had to sitand listen to a cheap vulgar tune--the same tune--day after day, day afterday, wouldn't you expect his nerves to break! Well, it's just like thatwith Clarence. Now you see?""Yes, but----""But what? Surely I've put it plainly enough?""Yes. But what I mean is, where do I come in? What do you want me todo?""I want you to steal the 'Venus.'"I looked at her."You want me to----?""Steal it. Reggie!" Her eyes were shining with excitement. "Don't yousee? It's Providence. When I asked you to come here, I had just got theidea. I knew I could rely on you. And then by a miracle this robbery ofthe Romney takes place at a house not two miles away. It removes thelast chance of the poor old man suspecting anything and having hisfeelings hurt. Why, it's the most wonderful compliment to him. Think!One night thieves steal a splendid Romney; the next the same gang takehis 'Venus.' It will be the proudest moment of his life. Do it to-night,Reggie. I'll give you a sharp knife. You simply cut the canvas out ofthe frame, and it's done.""But one moment," I said. "I'd be delighted to be of any use to you,but in a purely family affair like this, wouldn't it be better--infact, how about tackling old Bill on the subject?""I have asked Bill already. Yesterday. He refused.""But if I'm caught?""You can't be. All you have to do is to take the picture, open one ofthe windows, leave it open, and go back to your room."It sounded simple enough."And as to the picture itself--when I've got it?""Burn it. I'll see that you have a good fire in your room.""But----"She looked at me. She always did have the most wonderful eyes."Reggie," she said; nothing more. Just "Reggie."She looked at me."Well, after all, if you see what I mean--The days that are no more,don't you know. Auld Lang Syne, and all that sort of thing. You followme?""All right," I said. "I'll do it."I don't know if you happen to be one of those Johnnies who are steepedin crime, and so forth, and think nothing of pinching diamond necklaces.If you're not, you'll understand that I felt a lot less keen on the jobI'd taken on when I sat in my room, waiting to get busy, than I had donewhen I promised to tackle it in the dining-room. On paper it all seemedeasy enough, but I couldn't help feeling there was a catch somewhere,and I've never known time pass slower. The kick-off was scheduled forone o'clock in the morning, when the household might be expected to bepretty sound asleep, but at a quarter to I couldn't stand it any longer.I lit the lantern I had taken from Bill's bicycle, took a grip of myknife, and slunk downstairs.The first thing I did on getting to the dining-room was to open thewindow. I had half a mind to smash it, so as to give an extra bit oflocal colour to the affair, but decided not to on account of the noise.I had put my lantern on the table, and was just reaching out for it,when something happened. What it was for the moment I couldn't havesaid. It might have been an explosion of some sort or an earthquake.Some solid object caught me a frightful whack on the chin. Sparks andthings occurred inside my head and the next thing I remember is feelingsomething wet and cold splash into my face, and hearing a voice thatsounded like old Bill's say, "Feeling better now?"I sat up. The lights were on, and I was on the floor, with old Billkneeling beside me with a soda siphon."What happened?" I said."I'm awfully sorry, old man," he said. "I hadn't a notion it was you. Icame in here, and saw a lantern on the table, and the window open and achap with a knife in his hand, so I didn't stop to make inquiries. Ijust let go at his jaw for all I was worth. What on earth do you thinkyou're doing? Were you walking in your sleep?""It was Elizabeth," I said. "Why, you know all about it. She said shehad told you.""You don't mean----""The picture. You refused to take it on, so she asked me.""Reggie, old man," he said. "I'll never believe what they say aboutrepentance again. It's a fool's trick and upsets everything. If Ihadn't repented, and thought it was rather rough on Elizabeth not todo a little thing like that for her, and come down here to do it afterall, you wouldn't have stopped that sleep-producer with your chin. I'msorry.""Me, too," I said, giving my head another shake to make certain it wasstill on."Are you feeling better now?""Better than I was. But that's not saying much.""Would you like some more soda-water? No? Well, how about getting thisjob finished and going to bed? And let's be quick about it too. You madea noise like a ton of bricks when you went down just now, and it's onthe cards some of the servants may have heard. Toss you who carves.""Heads.""Tails it is," he said, uncovering the coin. "Up you get. I'll hold thelight. Don't spike yourself on that sword of yours."It was as easy a job as Elizabeth had said. Just four quick cuts, andthe thing came out of its frame like an oyster. I rolled it up. OldBill had put the lantern on the floor and was at the sideboard,collecting whisky, soda, and glasses."We've got a long evening before us," he said. "You can't burn a pictureof that size in one chunk. You'd set the chimney on fire. Let's do thething comfortably. Clarence can't grudge us the stuff. We've done hima bit of good this trip. To-morrow'll be the maddest, merriest day ofClarence's glad New Year. On we go."We went up to my room, and sat smoking and yarning away and sipping ourdrinks, and every now and then cutting a slice off the picture andshoving it in the fire till it was all gone. And what with the cosinessof it and the cheerful blaze, and the comfortable feeling of doing goodby stealth, I don't know when I've had a jollier time since the dayswhen we used to brew in my study at school.We had just put the last slice on when Bill sat up suddenly, andgripped my arm."I heard something," he said.I listened, and, by Jove, I heard something, too. My room was just overthe dining-room, and the sound came up to us quite distinctly. Stealthyfootsteps, by George! And then a chair falling over."There's somebody in the dining-room," I whispered.There's a certain type of chap who takes a pleasure in positivelychivvying trouble. Old Bill's like that. If I had been alone, it wouldhave taken me about three seconds to persuade myself that I hadn'treally heard anything after all. I'm a peaceful sort of cove, andbelieve in living and letting live, and so forth. To old Bill, however,a visit from burglars was pure jam. He was out of his chair in onejump."Come on," he said. "Bring the poker."I brought the tongs as well. I felt like it. Old Bill collared theknife. We crept downstairs."We'll fling the door open and make a rush," said Bill."Supposing they shoot, old scout?""Burglars never shoot," said Bill.Which was comforting provided the burglars knew it.Old Bill took a grip of the handle, turned it quickly, and in he went.And then we pulled up sharp, staring.The room was in darkness except for a feeble splash of light at thenear end. Standing on a chair in front of Clarence's "Jocund Spring,"holding a candle in one hand and reaching up with a knife in the other,was old Mr. Yeardsley, in bedroom slippers and a grey dressing-gown. Hehad made a final cut just as we rushed in. Turning at the sound, hestopped, and he and the chair and the candle and the picture came downin a heap together. The candle went out."What on earth?" said Bill.I felt the same. I picked up the candle and lit it, and then a mostfearful thing happened. The old man picked himself up, and suddenlycollapsed into a chair and began to cry like a child. Of course, Icould see it was only the Artistic Temperament, but still, believe me,it was devilish unpleasant. I looked at old Bill. Old Bill looked atme. We shut the door quick, and after that we didn't know what to do. Isaw Bill look at the sideboard, and I knew what he was looking for. Butwe had taken the siphon upstairs, and his ideas of first-aid stoppedshort at squirting soda-water. We just waited, and presently oldYeardsley switched off, sat up, and began talking with a rush."Clarence, my boy, I was tempted. It was that burglary at Dryden Park.It tempted me. It made it all so simple. I knew you would put it downto the same gang, Clarence, my boy. I----"It seemed to dawn upon him at this point that Clarence was not amongthose present."Clarence?" he said hesitatingly."He's in bed," I said."In bed! Then he doesn't know? Even now--Young men, I throw myselfon your mercy. Don't be hard on me. Listen." He grabbed at Bill, whosidestepped. "I can explain everything--everything."He gave a gulp."You are not artists, you two young men, but I will try to make youunderstand, make you realise what this picture means to me. I was twoyears painting it. It is my child. I watched it grow. I loved it. Itwas part of my life. Nothing would have induced me to sell it. And thenClarence married, and in a mad moment I gave my treasure to him. Youcannot understand, you two young men, what agonies I suffered. Thething was done. It was irrevocable. I saw how Clarence valued thepicture. I knew that I could never bring myself to ask him for it back.And yet I was lost without it. What could I do? Till this evening Icould see no hope. Then came this story of the theft of the Romney froma house quite close to this, and I saw my way. Clarence would neversuspect. He would put the robbery down to the same band of criminalswho stole the Romney. Once the idea had come, I could not drive it out.I fought against it, but to no avail. At last I yielded, and crept downhere to carry out my plan. You found me." He grabbed again, at me thistime, and got me by the arm. He had a grip like a lobster. "Young man,"he said, "you would not betray me? You would not tell Clarence?"I was feeling most frightfully sorry for the poor old chap by thistime, don't you know, but I thought it would be kindest to give it himstraight instead of breaking it by degrees."I won't say a word to Clarence, Mr. Yeardsley," I said. "I quiteunderstand your feelings. The Artistic Temperament, and all that sortof thing. I mean--what? I know. But I'm afraid--Well, look!"I went to the door and switched on the electric light, and there,staring him in the face, were the two empty frames. He stood gogglingat them in silence. Then he gave a sort of wheezy grunt."The gang! The burglars! They have been here, and they havetaken Clarence's picture!" He paused. "It might have been mine! MyVenus!" he whispered It was getting most fearfully painful, you know,but he had to know the truth."I'm awfully sorry, you know," I said. "But it was."He started, poor old chap."Eh? What do you mean?""They did take your Venus.""But I have it here."I shook my head."That's Clarence's 'Jocund Spring,'" I said.He jumped at it and straightened it out."What! What are you talking about? Do you think I don't know my ownpicture--my child--my Venus. See! My own signature in the corner. Canyou read, boy? Look: 'Matthew Yeardsley.' This is my picture!"And--well, by Jove, it was, don't you know!* * * * *Well, we got him off to bed, him and his infernal Venus, and we settleddown to take a steady look at the position of affairs. Bill said it wasmy fault for getting hold of the wrong picture, and I said it was Bill'sfault for fetching me such a crack on the jaw that I couldn't be expectedto see what I was getting hold of, and then there was a pretty massivesilence for a bit."Reggie," said Bill at last, "how exactly do you feel about facingClarence and Elizabeth at breakfast?""Old scout," I said. "I was thinking much the same myself.""Reggie," said Bill, "I happen to know there's a milk-train leavingMidford at three-fifteen. It isn't what you'd call a flier. It gets toLondon at about half-past nine. Well--er--in the circumstances, howabout it?"

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