The Girl on the Boat - P. G. Wodehouse

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… "

      "No?"

      "I'm not a man who. … "

      Mrs. Hignett was never a very patient woman.

      "Let us take all your negative qualities for granted," she said curtly. "I have no doubt that there are many things which you do not do. Let us confine ourselves to issues of definite importance. What is it, if you have no objection to concentrating your attention on that for a moment, that you wish to see me about?"

      "This marriage."

      "What marriage?"

      "Your son's marriage."

      "My son is not married."

      "No, but he's going to be. At eleven o'clock this morning at the Little Church Round the Corner!"

      Mrs. Hignett stared.

      "Are you mad?"

      "Well, I'm not any too well pleased, I'm bound to say," admitted Mr. Mortimer. "You see, darn it all, I'm in love with the girl myself!"

      "Who is this girl?"

      "Have been for years. I'm one of those silent, patient fellows who hang around and look a lot but never tell their love. … "

      "Who is this girl who has entrapped my son?"

      "I've always been one of those men who. … "

      "Mr. Mortimer! With your permission we will take your positive qualities, also, for granted. In fact, we will not discuss you at all. You come to me with this absurd story. … "

      "Not absurd. Honest fact. I had it from my valet who had it from her maid."

      "Will you please tell me who is the girl my misguided son wishes to marry?"

      "I don't know that I'd call him misguided," said Mr. Mortimer, as one desiring to be fair. "I think he's a right smart picker! She's such a corking girl, you know. We were children together, and I've loved her for years. Ten years at least. But you know how it is—somehow one never seems to get in line for a proposal. I thought I saw an opening in the summer of nineteen-twelve, but it blew over. I'm not one of these smooth, dashing chaps, you see, with a great line of talk. I'm not. … "

      "If you will kindly," said Mrs. Hignett impatiently, "postpone this essay in psycho-analysis to some future occasion, I shall be greatly obliged. I am waiting to hear the name of the girl my son wishes to marry."

      "Haven't I told you?" said Mr. Mortimer, surprised. "That's odd. I haven't. It's funny how one doesn't do the things one thinks one does. I'm the sort of man. … "

      "What is her name?"

      " … the sort of man who. … "

      "What is her name?"

      "Bennett."

      "Bennett? Wilhelmina Bennett? The daughter of Mr. Rufus Bennett? The red-haired girl I met at lunch one day at your father's house?"

      "That's it. You're a great guesser. I think you ought to stop the thing."

      "I intend to."

      "Fine!"

      "The marriage would be unsuitable in every way. Miss Bennett and my son do not vibrate on the same plane."

      "That's right. I've noticed it myself."

      "Their auras are not the same colour."

      "If I've thought that once," said Bream Mortimer, "I've thought it a hundred times. I wish I had a dollar for every time I've thought it. Not the same colour. That's the whole thing in a nutshell."

      "I am much obliged to you for coming and telling me of this. I shall take immediate steps."

      "That's good. But what's the procedure? It's getting late. She'll be waiting at the church at eleven."

      "Eustace will not be there."

      "You think you can fix it?"

      "Eustace will not be there," repeated Mrs. Hignett.

      Bream Mortimer hopped down from his chair.

      "Well, you've taken a weight off my mind."

      "A mind, I should imagine, scarcely constructed to bear great weights."

      "I'll be going. Haven't had breakfast yet. Too worried to eat breakfast. Relieved now. This is where three eggs and a rasher of ham get cut off in their prime. I feel I can rely on you."

      "You can!"

      "Then I'll say good-bye."

      "Good-bye."

      "I mean really good-bye. I'm sailing for England on Saturday on the 'Atlantic.'"

      "Indeed? My son will be your fellow-traveller."

      Bream Mortimer looked somewhat apprehensive.

      "You won't tell him that I was the one who spilled the beans?"

      "I beg your pardon?"

      "You won't wise him up that I threw a spanner into the machinery?"

      "I do not understand you."

      "You won't tell him that I crabbed his act … gave the thing away … gummed the game?"

      "I shall not mention your chivalrous intervention."

      "Chivalrous?" said Bream Mortimer a little doubtfully. "I don't know that I'd call it absolutely chivalrous. Of course, all's fair in love and war. Well, I'm glad you're going to keep my share in the business under your hat. It might have been awkward meeting him on board."

      "You are not likely to meet Eustace on board. He is a very indifferent sailor and spends most of his time in his cabin."

      "That's good! Saves a lot of awkwardness. Well, good-bye."

      "Good-bye. When you reach England, remember me to your father."

      "He won't have forgotten you," said Bream Mortimer, confidently. He did not see how it was humanly possible for anyone to forget this woman. She was like a celebrated chewing-gum. The taste lingered.

      Mrs. Hignett was a woman of instant and decisive action. Even while her late visitor was speaking, schemes had begun to form in her mind like bubbles rising to the surface of a rushing river. By the time the door had closed behind Bream Mortimer she had at her disposal no fewer than seven, all good. It took her but a moment to select the best and simplest. She tiptoed softly to her son's room. Rhythmic snores greeted her listening ears. She opened the door and went noiselessly in.

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      The White Star liner "Atlantic" lay at her pier with steam up and gangway down, ready for her trip to Southampton. The hour of departure was near, and there was a good deal of mixed activity going on. Sailors fiddled about with ropes. Junior officers flitted to and fro. White-jacketed stewards wrestled with trunks. Probably the captain, though not visible, was also employed on some useful work of a nautical nature and not wasting his time. Men, women, boxes, rugs, dogs, flowers, and baskets of fruits were flowing on board in a steady stream.

      The usual drove of citizens had come to see the travellers off. There were men on the passenger-list who were

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