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- Herausgeber: Diamond Book Publishing
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023
Having failed miserably while working for his uncle, Sam finds himself shipped off to America. He would much rather have been headed to Canada as he'd fallen in love with the picture of a women he'd found left behind in a remote cabin when he'd vacationed there. That is, until he sees another picture of her, in America, while visiting an old friend. He discovers his dream girl, Kay, is the niece of Matthew Wrenn who works for Mammoth Publishing Company. Sam takes a job with Mammoth Publishing Company and rents the house next door to the Wrenn's. From there he sets out to win Kay's affections. Throw in a mystery of a lost family treasure and a gang of thieves and you have the makings of a spirited romp! P. G. Wodehouse at his very best.
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Table of contents
CHAPTER I. SAM STARTS ON A JOURNEY
By
P. G. Wodehouse
Table of Contents
CHAPTER I. SAM STARTS ON A JOURNEY
CHAPTER II. KAY OF VALLEY FIELDS
CHAPTER III. SAILORS DON’T CARE
CHAPTER IV. SCENE OUTSIDE FASHIONABLE NIGHT-CLUB
CHAPTER V. PAINFUL AFFAIR AT A COFFEE-STALL
CHAPTER VI. A FRIEND IN NEED
CHAPTER VII. SAM AT SAN RAFAEL
CHAPTER VIII. SAM AT MON REPOS
CHAPTER IX. BREAKFAST FOR ONE
CHAPTER X. SAM FINDS A PHOTOGRAPH
CHAPTER XI. SAM BECOMES A HOUSEHOLDER
CHAPTER XII. SAM IS MUCH TOO SUDDEN
CHAPTER XIII. INTRODUCING A SYNDICATE
CHAPTER XIV. THE CHIRRUP
CHAPTER XV. VISITORS AT MON REPOS
CHAPTER XVI. ASTONISHING STATEMENT OF HASH TODHUNTER
CHAPTER XVII. ACTIVITIES OF THE DOG AMY
CHAPTER XVIII. DISCUSSION AT A LUNCHEON TABLE
CHAPTER XIX. LORD TILBURY ENGAGES AN ALLY
CHAPTER XX. TROUBLE IN THE SYNDICATE
CHAPTER XXI. AUNT YSOBEL POINTS THE WAY
CHAPTER XXII. STORMY TIMES AT MON REPOS
CHAPTER XXIII. SOAPY MOLLOY’S BUSY AFTERNOON
CHAPTER XXIV. MAINLY ABOUT TROUSERS
CHAPTER XXV. SAM HEARS BAD NEWS
CHAPTER XXVI. SAM HEARS GOOD NEWS
CHAPTER XXVII. SPIRITED BEHAVIOUR OF MR. BRADDOCK
CHAPTER XXVIII. THE MISSING MILLIONS
CHAPTER XXIX. MR. CORNELIUS READS HIS HISTORY
CHAPTER I. SAM STARTS ON A JOURNEY
ALL day long, New York, stewing in the rays of a late August sun, had been growing warmer and warmer; until now, at three o’clock in the afternoon, its inhabitants, with the exception of a little group gathered together on the tenth floor of the Wilmot Building on Upper Broadway, had divided themselves by a sort of natural cleavage into two main bodies—the one crawling about and asking those they met if this was hot enough for them, the other maintaining that what they minded was not so much the heat as the humidity.
The reason for the activity prevailing on the tenth floor of the Wilmot was that a sporting event of the first magnitude was being pulled off there—Spike Murphy, of the John B. Pynsent Import and Export Company, being in the act of contesting the final of the Office Boys’ High-Kicking Championship against a willowy youth from the Consolidated Eyebrow Tweezer and Nail File Corporation. The affair was taking place on the premises of a few stenographers, chewing gum; some male wage slaves in shirt sleeves; and Mr. John B. Pynsent’s nephew, Samuel Shotter, a young man of agreeable features, who was acting as referee.
In addition to being referee, Sam Shotter was also the patron and promoter of the tourney; the man but for whose vision and enterprise a wealth of young talent would have lain undeveloped, thereby jeopardising America’s chances should an event of this kind ever be added to the program of the Olympic Games. It was he who, wandering about the office in a restless search for methods of sweetening an uncongenial round of toil, had come upon Master Murphy practicing kicks against the wall of a remote corridor and had encouraged him to kick higher. It was he who had arranged matches with representatives of other firms throughout the building. And it was he who out of his own pocket had provided the purse which, as the lad’s foot crashed against the plaster a full inch above his rival’s best effort, he now handed to Spike together with a few well-chosen words.
“ Murphy,” said Sam, “is the winner. After a contest conducted throughout in accordance with the best traditions of American high kicking, he has upheld the honour of the John B. Pynsent Ex and Imp and retained his title. In the absence of the boss, therefore, who has unfortunately been called away to Philadelphia and so is unable to preside at this meeting, I take much pleasure in presenting him with the guerdon of victory, this handsome dollar bill. Take it, Spike, and in after years, when you are a grey-haired alderman or something, look back to this moment and say to yourself——”
Sam stopped, a little hurt. He thought he had been speaking rather well, yet already his audience was walking out on him. Spike Murphy, indeed, was running.
“ Say to yourself——”
“ When you are at leisure, Samuel,” observed a voice behind him, “I should be glad of a word with you in my office.”
Sam turned.
“ Oh, hullo, uncle,” he said.
He coughed; Mr. Pynsent coughed.
“ I thought you had gone to Philadelphia,” said Sam.
“ Indeed?” said Mr. Pynsent.
He made no further remark, but proceeded sedately to his room, from which he emerged again a moment later with a patient look of inquiry on his face.
“ Come here, Sam,” he said. “Who,” he asked, pointing, “is this?”
Sam peeped through the doorway and perceived, tilted back in a swivel chair, a long, lean man of repellent aspect. His large feet rested comfortably on the desk, his head hung sideways and his mouth was open. From his mouth, which was of generous proportions, there came a gurgling snore.
“ Who,” repeated Mr. Pynsent, “is this gentleman?”
Sam could not help admiring his uncle’s unerring instinct—that amazing intuition which had led him straight to the realisation that if an uninvited stranger was slumbering in his pet chair, the responsibility must of necessity be his nephew Samuel’s.
“ Good Lord!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t know he was there.”
“ A friend of yours?”
“ It’s Hash.”
“ I beg your pardon?”
“ Hash Todhunter, you know, the cook of the Araminta. You remember I took a trip a year ago on a tramp steamer? This fellow was the cook. I met him on Broadway this afternoon and gave him lunch. I brought him back here because he wanted to see the place where I work.”
“ Work?” said Mr. Pynsent, puzzled.
“ I had no notion he had strayed into your room.”
Sam spoke apologetically, but he would have liked to point out that the blame for all these embarrassing occurrences was really Mr. Pynsent’s. If a man creates the impression that he is going to Philadelphia and then does not go, he has only himself to thank for any complications that may ensue. However, this was a technicality with which he did not bother his uncle.
“ Shall I wake him?”
“ If you would be so good. And having done so, take him away and store him somewhere and then come back. I have much to say to you.”
Shaken by a vigorous hand, the sleeper opened his eyes. Hauled to his feet, he permitted himself to be led, still in a trancelike condition, out of the room and down the passage to the cubbyhole where Sam performed his daily duties. Here, sinking into a chair, he fell asleep again; and Sam left him and went back to his uncle. Mr. Pynsent was staring thoughtfully out of the window as he entered.
“ Sit down, Sam,” he said.
Sam sat down.
“ I’m sorry about all that, uncle.”
