pgw.uneasymoney-第1部分

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　By　P。　G。　Wodehouse
　
　1
　In　a　day　in　June；　at　the　hour　when　London　moves　abroad　in　quest　of　lunch；　a　young　man　stood　at　the　entrance　of　the　Bandolero　Restaurant　looking　earnestly　up　Shaftesbury　Avenuea　large　young　man　in　excellent　condition；　with　a　pleasant；　good…humoured；　brown；　clean…cut　face。　He　paid　no　attention　to　the　stream　of　humanity　that　flowed　past　him。　His　mouth　was　set　and　his　eyes　wore　a　serious；　almost　a　wistful　expression。　He　was　frowning　slightly。　One　would　have　said　that　here　was　a　man　with　a　secret　sorrow。
　William　FitzWilliam　Delamere　Chalmers；　Lord　Dawlish；　had　no　secret　sorrow。　All　that　he　was　thinking　of　at　that　moment　was　the　best　method　of　laying　a　golf　ball　dead　in　front　of　the　Palace　Theatre。　It　was　his　habit　to　pass　the　time　in　mental　golf　when　Claire　Fenwick　was　late　in　keeping　her　appointments　with　him。　On　one　occasion　she　had　kept　him　waiting　so　long　that　he　had　been　able　to　do　nine　holes；　starting　at　the　Savoy　Grill　and　finishing　up　near　Hammersmith。　His　was　a　simple　mind；　able　to　amuse　itself　with　simple　things。
　As　he　stood　there；　gazing　into　the　middle　distance；　an　individual　of　dishevelled　aspect　sidled　up；　a　vagrant　of　almost　the　maximum　seediness；　from　whose　midriff　there　protruded　a　trayful　of　a　strange　welter　of　collar…studs；　shoe…laces；　rubber　rings；　buttonhooks；　and　dying　roosters。　For　some　minutes　he　had　been　eyeing　his　lordship　appraisingly　from　the　edge　of　the　kerb；　and　now；　secure　in　the　fact　that　there　seemed　to　be　no　policeman　in　the　immediate　vicinity；　he　anchored　himself　in　front　of　him　and　observed　that　he　had　a　wife　and　four　children　at　home；　all　starving。
　This　sort　of　thing　was　always　happening　to　Lord　Dawlish。　There　was　something　about　him；　some　atmosphere　of　unaffected　kindliness；　that　invited　it。
　In　these　days　when　everything；　from　the　shape　of　a　man's　hat　to　his　method　of　dealing　with　asparagus；　is　supposed　to　be　an　index　to　character；　it　is　possible　to　form　some　estimate　of　Lord　Dawlish　from　the　fact　that　his　vigil　in　front　of　the　Bandolero　had　been　expensive　even　before　the　advent　of　the　Benedict　with　the　studs　and　laces。　In　London；　as　in　New　York；　there　are　spots　where　it　is　unsafe　for　a　man　of　yielding　disposition　to　stand　still；　and　the　corner　of　Shaftesbury　Avenue　and　Piccadilly　Circus　is　one　of　them。　Scrubby；　impecunious　men　drift　to　and　fro　there；　waiting　for　the　gods　to　provide　something　easy；　and　the　prudent　man；　conscious　of　the　possession　of　loose　change；　whizzes　through　the　danger　zone　at　his　best　speed；　'like　one　that　on　a　lonesome　road　doth　walk　in　fear　and　dread；　and　having　once　turned　round　walks　on；　and　turns　no　more　his　head；　because　he　knows　a　frightful　fiend　doth　close　behind　him　tread。'　In　the　seven　minutes　he　had　been　waiting　two　frightful　fiends　closed　in　on　Lord　Dawlish；　requesting　loans　of　five　shillings　till　Wednesday　week　and　Saturday　week　respectively；　and　he　had　parted　with　the　money　without　a　murmur。
　A　further　clue　to　his　character　is　supplied　by　the　fact　that　both　these　needy　persons　seemed　to　know　him　intimately；　and　that　each　called　him　Bill。　All　Lord　Dawlish's　friends　called　him　Bill；　and　he　had　a　catholic　list　of　them；　ranging　from　men　whose　names　were　in　'Debrett'　to　men　whose　names　were　on　the　notice　boards　of　obscure　clubs　in　connexion　with　the　non…payment　of　dues。　He　was　the　sort　of　man　one　instinctively　calls　Bill。
　The　anti…race…suicide　enthusiast　with　the　rubber　rings　did　not　call　Lord　Dawlish　Bill；　but　otherwise　his　manner　was　intimate。　His　lordship's　gaze　being　a　little　slow　in　returning　from　the　middle　distancefor　it　was　not　a　matter　to　be　decided　carelessly　and　without　thought；　this　problem　of　carrying　the　length　of　Shaftesbury　Avenue　with　a　single　brassy　shothe　repeated　the　gossip　from　the　home。　Lord　Dawlish　regarded　him　thoughtfully。
　'It　could　be　done；'　he　said；　'but　you'd　want　a　bit　of　pull　on　it。　I'm　sorry；　I　didn't　catch　what　you　said。'
　The　other　obliged　with　his　remark　for　the　third　time；　with　increased　pathos；　for　constant　repetition　was　making　him　almost　believe　it　himself。
　'Four　starving　children？'
　'Four；　guv'nor；　so　help　me！'
　'I　suppose　you　don't　get　much　time　for　golf　then；　what？'　said　Lord　Dawlish；　sympathetically。
　It　was　precisely　three　days；　said　the　man；　mournfully　inflating　a　dying　rooster；　since　his　offspring　had　tasted　bread。
　This　did　not　touch　Lord　Dawlish　deeply。　He　was　not　very　fond　of　bread。　But　it　seemed　to　be　troubling　the　poor　fellow　with　the　studs　a　great　deal；　so；　realizing　that　tastes　differ　and　that　there　is　no　accounting　for　them；　he　looked　at　him　miseratingly。
　'Of　course；　if　they　like　bread；　that　makes　it　rather　rotten；　doesn't　it？　What　are　you　going　to　do　about　it？'
　'Buy　a　dying　rooster；　guv'nor；'　he　advised。　'Causes　great　fun　and　laughter。'
　Lord　Dawlish　eyed　the　strange　fowl　without　enthusiasm。
　'No；'　he　said；　with　a　slight　shudder。
　There　was　a　pause。　The　situation　had　the　appearance　of　being　at　a　deadlock。
　'I'll　tell　you　what；'　said　Lord　Dawlish；　with　the　air　of　one　who；　having　pondered；　has　been　rewarded　with　a　great　idea：　'the　fact　is；　I　really　don't　want　to　buy　anything。　You　seem　by　bad　luck　to　be　stocked　up　with　just　the　sort　of　things　I　wouldn't　be　seen　dead　in　a　ditch　with。　I　can't　stand　rubber　rings；　never　could。　I'm　not　really　keen　on　buttonhooks。　And　I　don't　want　to　hurt　your　feelings；　but　I　think　that　squeaking　bird　of　yours　is　about　the　beastliest　thing　I　ever　met。　So　suppose　I　give　you　a　shilling　and　call　it　square；　what？'
　'Gawd　bless　yer；　guv'nor。'
　'Not　at　all。　You'll　be　able　to　get　those　children　of　yours　some　breadI　expect　you　can　get　a　lot　of　bread　for　a　shilling。　Do　they　really　like　it？　Rum　kids！'
　And　having　concluded　this　delicate　financial　deal　Lord　Dawlish　turned；　the　movement　bringing　him　face　to　face　with　a　tall　girl　in　white。
　During　the　business　talk　which　had　just　e　to　an　end　this　girl　had　been　making　her　way　up　the　side　street　which　forms　a　short　cut　between　Coventry　Street　and　the　Bandolero；　and　several　admirers　of　feminine　beauty　who　happened　to　be　using　the　same　route　had　almost　dislocated　their　necks　looking　after　her。　She　was　a　strikingly　handsome　girl。　She　was　tall　and　willowy。　Her　eyes；　shaded　by　her　hat；　were　large　and　grey。　Her　nose　was　small　and　straight；　her　mouth；　though　somewhat　hard；　admirably　shaped；　and　she　carried　herself　magnificently。　One　cannot　blame　the　policeman　on　duty　in　Leicester　Square　for　remarking　to　a　cabman　as　she　passed　that　he　envied　the　bloke　that　that　was　going　to　meet。
　Bill　Dawlish　was　this　fortunate　bloke；　but；　from　the　look　of　him　as　he　caught　sight　of　her；　one　would　have　said　that　he　did　not　appreciate　his　luck。　The　fact　of　the　matter　was　that　he　had　only　just　finished　giving　the　father　of　the　family　his　shilling；　and　he　was　afraid　that　Claire　had　seen　him　doing　it。　For　Claire；　dear　girl；　was　apt　to　be　unreasonable　about　these　little　generosities　of　his。　He　cast　a　furtive　glance　behind　him　in　the　hope　that　the　disseminator　of　expiring　roosters　had　vanished；　but　the　man　was　still　at　his　elbow。　Worse；　he　faced　them；　and　in　a　hoarse　but　carrying　voice　he　was　instructing　Heaven　to　bless　his　benefactor。
　'Halloa；　Claire　darling！'　said　Lord　Dawlish；　with　a　sort　of　sheepish　breeziness。　'Here　you　are。'
　Claire　was　looking　after　the　stud　merchant；　as；　grasping　his　wealth；　he　scuttled　up　the　avenue。
　'Only　a　bob；'　his　lordship　hastened　to　say。　'Rather　a　sad　case；　don't　you　know。　Squads　of　children　at　home　demanding　bread。　Didn't　want　much　else；　apparently；　but　were　frightfully　keen　on　bread。'
　'He　has　just　gone　into　a　public…house。'
　'He　may　have　gone　to　telephone　or　something；　what？'
　'I　wish；'　said　Claire；　fretfully；　leading　the　way　down　the　grillroom　stairs；　'that　you　wouldn't　let　all　London　sponge　on　you　like　this。　I　keep　telling　you　not　to。　I　should　have　thought　that　if　any　one　needed　to　keep　what　little　money　he　has　got　it　was　you。'
　Certainly　Lord　Dawlish　would　have　been　more　prudent　not　to　have　parted　with　even　eleven　shillings；　for　he　was　not　a　rich　man。　Indeed；　with　the　single　exception　of　the　Earl　of　Wetherby；　whose　finances　were　so　irregular　that　he　could　not　be　said　to　possess　an　ine　at　all；　he　was　the　poorest　man　of　his　rank　in　the　British　Isles。
　It　was　in　the　days　of　the　Regency　that　the　Dawlish　coffers　first　began　to　show　signs　of　cracking　under　the　strain；　in　the　era　of　the　then　celebrated　Beau　Dawlish。　Nor　were　his　successors　backward　in　the　spending　art。　A　breezy　disregard　for　the　preservation　of　the　pence　was　a　family　trait。　Bill　was　at　Cambridge　when　his　predecessor　in　the　title；　his　Uncle　Philip；　was　performing　the　concluding　exercises　of　the　dissipation　of　the　Dawlish　doubloons；　a　feat　which　he　achieved　so　neatly　that　when　he　died　there　was　just　enough　cash　to　pay　the　doctors；　and　no　more。　Bill　found　himself　the　possessor　of　that　most　ironical　thing；　a　moneyless　title。　He　was　then　twenty…three。
　Until　six　months　before；　when　he　had　bee　engaged　to　Claire　Fenwick；　he　had　found　nothing　to　quarrel　with　in　his　lot。　He　was　not　the　type　to　waste　time　in　vain　regrets。　His　tastes　were　simple。　As　long　as　he　could　afford　to　belong　to　one　or　two　golf　clubs　and　have　something　over　for　those　small　loans　which；　in　certain　of　the　numerous　circles　i