Summer Moonshine (28 page)

'What chance have I of ever seeing the Grand Canyon?'

'Why not?'

Berry writhed.

'Haven't you been listening?' he demanded.

'Certainly I've been listening,' replied the Biscuit, with spirit.
'I haven't missed a word. And your statement seems to me confused and rambling. As I understand you, you wish to roll to 'Rio. And you appear to be beefing because you can't. Why can't you? 'Rio is open for being rolled to at this season, I presume?'

'What about Attwater and that money he lent me? I can't pay him back unless I go on earning money, can I? And how can I earn money if I chuck my job and go tramping round the world?'

'You want to pay him back?' said the Biscuit, startled.

'Of course I do.'

'In that case, there is nothing more to be said. If you intend to go through life deliberately paying back money' said the Biscuit, a little severely, 'you must be content not to roll.'

There was a silence. Berry's face clouded.

'I get so damned restless sometimes,' he said, 'I don't know what to do with myself. Don't you ever get restless?'

'Never. London's good enough for me.'

'It isn't for me. That man who had come from Arizona was telling me how you prospect in the Mojave.'

'A thing I wouldn't do on a bet.'

'You tramp about under a blazing sun and sleep under the stars and single-jack holes in the solid rock—'

'How perfectly foul. And not a chance of getting a drink anywhere, I take it? Well, if that's the sort of thing you've missed, you're well out of it, my lad. Yes, dashed well out of it. No matter how much you may feel like a prawn in aspic.'

'I didn't say I felt like a prawn in aspic. I said I felt like a caged eagle.'

'It's the same thing.'

'It isn't at all the same thing.'

'All right,' said the Biscuit, pacifically. 'Let it go. Have it your own way. But do you mean to say you can't raise even a couple of hundred quid? Weren't any of these shares your aunt left you any good at all?'

'Just waste paper.'

'What were they?'

'I can't remember them all. There were about five thousand of a thing called Federal Dye, and three thousand of another called the Something Development Company. . . . Oh, and a mine. I'd forgotten the mine.'

'What! You really own a mine? Then you're on velvet.'

'But it's a dud, like everything else my aunt bought.'

'What sort of a mine?'

'I don't know how you would describe it, because it hasn't anything in it. It started out with some idea of being a copper mine, I believe. It's called the Dream Come True, but it sounds to me more like a nightmare.'

'Berry, old boy,' said the Biscuit, 'I repeat, and with all the emphasis at my command, that you are on velvet. Why people want copper, I can't say. If you carry it in your trouser-pocket, it rattles. And if you put it in your waistcoat, you feel as if you had a tumour or something. And what can you buy with it? An evening paper or a packet of butterscotch from a slot-machine. Nevertheless, it is an established fact that people do tumble over themselves to buy copper mines. What you must do – and instantly – is to sell this thing, pay old Attwater his money (if you really are resolved on that mad project), lend me what you may see fit of the remainder, and then you would be free to go anywhere and do what you jolly well liked.'

'But I keep telling you the Dream Come True hasn't any copper in it.'

'Well, there are always mugs in the world, aren't there? It will be a sorry day for old England,' said Lord Biskerton, 'when one can't find some mug to buy a mine, however dud. You say yours hasn't anything in it? What of that? My old guv'nor once bought shares in an oil-well, and not only was there no oil, there wasn't even a well. I venture to say that, if you look about you, you will find a dozen fatheads willing and anxious to give you a few hundred quid for the thing.'

Berry picked at the table-cloth. His was an imagination that never required a great deal of firing.

'Do you really think so?'

'Of course I do.'

Berry's eyes were glowing.

'If I could find somebody who would give me enough to pay back old Attwater's loan I wouldn't stay here a day. I'd get on the first boat to America and push West. I can just picture it, Biscuit. Miles of desert, with mountain ranges that seem to change their shape as you look at them. Wagon tracks. Red porphyry cliffs. People going about in sombreros and blue overalls.'

'Probably fearful bounders, all of them,' said the Biscuit. 'Keep well away, is my advice. You're not leaving me?' he asked, as Berry rose.

'I must, I'm afraid. I've got to get back to work.'

'Already.'

'I'm only supposed to take an hour for lunch, and today isn't a good day for breaking rules. Old Frisby's got dyspepsia again, and is a bit edgy.'

'Well, push off, if you must,' said the Biscuit resignedly. 'And don't forget what I said about that mine. I wish I had had an aunt who had left me something like that. There have only been two aunts in my life. One is Vera, on whom I have already touched.
The other, Caroline, passed on some years ago, respected by all, owing me two-and-sixpence for a cab fare.'

Also available in Arrow

P.G. Wodehouse

A Jeeves and Wooster novel

Just as Bertie Wooster is a member of the Drones Club, Jeeves
has a club of his own, the Junior Ganymede, exclusively for
butlers and gentlemen's gentlemen. In its inner sanctum is kept
the Book of Revelations, where the less than perfect habits of
their employers are lovingly recorded. The book is, of course,
pure dynamite. So what happens when it disappears into
potentially hostile hands?

Tossed about in the resulting whirlwind you'll find lots of
Wodehouse's favourite characters – and a welcome return to
Market Snodsbury, in the middle of one of the most chaotic
elections of modern times.

The P G Wodehouse Society (UK) was formed in 1997 to promote the enjoyment of the writings of the twentieth century's greatest humorist. The Society publishes a quarterly magazine,
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