First Aid for Freddie

It was a Beautiful Afternoon. The sky was blue, the sun yellow, butterflies flitted, birds tooted, bees buzzed and, to cut a long story short, all nature smiled. But on Lord Emsworth's younger son Freddie Threepwood, as he sat in his sports car at the front door of Blandings Castle, a fine Alsatian dog at his side, these excellent weather conditions made little impression. He was thinking of dog biscuits.

Freddie was only an occasional visitor at the castle these days. Some years before, he had married the charming daughter of Mr. Donaldson of Donaldson's Dog Joy, the organization whose aim it is to keep the American dog 100 percent red-blooded by supplying it with wholesome and nourishing biscuits, and had gone off to Long Island City, U. S. A., to work for the firm. He was in England now because his father-in-law, anxious to extend Dog Joy's sphere of influence, had sent him back there to see what he could do in the way of increasing sales in the island kingdom. Aggie, his wife, had accompanied him, but after a week or so had found life at Blandings too quiet for her and had left for the French Riviera. The arrangement was that at the conclusion of his English campaign Freddie should join her there.

He was drying his left ear, on which the Alsatian had just bestowed a moist caress, when there came down the front steps a small, dapper elderly gentleman with a black-rimmed monocle in his eye. This was that notable figure of London's bohemia, his Uncle Galahad, at whom the world of the theater, the racecourse and the livelier type of restaurant had been pointing with pride for years. He greeted Gally cordially. To his sisters, Constance, Julia, Dora and Hermione, Gally might be a blot on the escutcheon, but in Freddie he excited only admiration. He considered him a man of infinite resource and sagacity, as, indeed, he was.

"Well, young Freddie," said Gally.

"Where are you off to with that dog?"

"I'm taking him to the Fanshawes'."

"At Marling Hall? That's where that pretty girl I met you with the other day lives, isn't it?"

"That's right. Valerie Fanshawe. Her father's the local master of hounds. And you know what that means."

"What does it mean?"

"That he's the managing director of more dogs than you could shake a stick at, each dog requiring the daily biscuit. And what could be better for them than Donaldson's Dog Joy, containing as it does all the essential vitamins?"

"You're going to sell him dog biscuits?"

"I don't see how I can miss. Valerie is the apple of his eye, to whom he can deny nothing. She covets this Alsatian and says if I'll give it to her, she'll see that the old man comes through with a substantial order. I'm about to deliver it F.O.B."

"But, my good Freddie, that dog is Aggie's dog. She'll go up in flames."

"Oh, that's all right. I've budgeted for that. I have my story all set and ready. I shall tell her it died and I'll get her another just as good. That'll fix Aggie. But I mustn't sit here chewing the fat with you, I must be up and about and off and away. See you later," said Freddie, and disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

He left Gally pursing his lips. A lifetime spent in the society of bookies, racecourse touts and skittle sharps had made him singularly broad-minded, but he could not regard these tactics with approval. Shaking his head, he went back into the house and in the hall encountered Beach, the castle butler. Beach was wheezing a little, for he had been hurrying, and he was no longer the streamlined young butler he had been when he had first taken office.

"Have I missed Mr. Frederick, sir?"

"By a hair's breadth. Why?"

"This telegram has arrived for him, Mr. Galahad. I thought it might be important."

"Most unlikely. Probably somebody just wiring him the results of the four-o'clock race somewhere. Give it to me. I'll see that he gets it on his return."

He continued on his way, feeling now rather at a loose end. A sociable man, he wanted someone to talk to. He could, of course, go and chat with his sister Lady Constance, (continued on page 148)First Aid for Freddie(continued from page 143) who was reading a novel on the terrace, but something told him that there would be little profit and entertainment in this. Most of his conversation consisted of anecdotes of his murky past, and Connie was not a good audience for these. He decided on consideration to look up his brother Clarence, with whom it was always a pleasure to exchange ideas, and found that mild and dreamy peer in the library staring fixedly at nothing.

"Ah, there you are, Clarence," he said, and Lord Emsworth sat up with a startled "Eh, what?," his stringy body quivering.

"Oh, it's you, Galahad?"

"None other. What's the matter, Clarence?"

"Matter?"

"There's something on your mind. The symptoms are unmistakable. A man whose soul is at rest does not leap like a nymph surprised while bathing when somebody tells him he's there. Confide in me."

Lord Emsworth was only too glad to do so. A sympathetic listener was precisely what he wanted.

"It's Connie," he said.

"What's she been doing?"

"Did you hear what she was saying at breakfast?"

"I didn't come down to breakfast."

"Ah, then you probably missed it. Well, right in the middle of the meal--I was eating a kippered herring at the time--she told me she was going to get rid of Beach."

"What! Get rid of Beach?"

"'He is so slow,' she said. 'He wheezes. We ought to have a younger, smarter butler.' I was appalled. I choked on my kippered herring."

"I don't blame you. Blandings without Beach is unthinkable. So is Blandings with what she calls a young, smart butler at the helm. Good God! I can picture the sort of fellow she would get, some acrobatic stripling who would turn somersaults and slide down the banisters. You must put your foot down, Clarence."

"Who, me?" said Lord Emsworth.

The idea seemed to him too bizarre for consideration. He was, as has been said, a mild, dreamy man; his sister Constance a forceful and imperious woman modeled on the lines of the late Cleopatra. Nominally he was the master of the house and, as such, entitled to exercise the presidential, but in practice Connie's word was always law. Look at the way she made him wear a top hat at the annual village school treat. He had reasoned and pleaded, pointing out in the clearest possible away that for a purely rural festivity of that sort a simple fishing hat would be far more suitable, but every year when August came around there he was, balancing the beastly thing on his head again and just asking the children in the tea tent to throw rock cakes at it.

"I can't put my foot down with Connie."

"Well, I can, and I'm going to. Fire Beach, indeed! After eighteen years' devoted service. The idea's monstrous."

"He would, of course, receive a pension."

"It's no good her thinking she can gloss it over with any talk about pensions. Wrap it up as she may, the stark fact remains that she's planning to give him the bum's rush. She must not be allowed to do this frightful thing. Good heavens, you might just as well fire the Archbishop of Canterbury."

He would have spoken further, but at this moment there came from the stairs outside the clumping of feet, announcing that Freddie was back from the Fanshawes and on his way to his room. Lord Emsworth winced. Like so many aristocratic fathers, he was allergic to younger sons; and since going to live in America, Freddie had acquired a brisk, go-getter jumpiness which jarred upon him.

"Frederick," he said with a shudder, and Gally started.

"I've got a telegram for Freddie," he said. "I'd better take it up to him."

"Do," said Lord Emsworth. "And I think I will go and have a look at my flowers."

He left the room and, making for the rose garden, pottered slowly to and fro, sniffing at its contents. It was a procedure that as a rule gave him great pleasure, but today his heavy heart found no solace in the scent of roses. Listlessly he returned to the library and took a favorite pig book from its shelf. But even pig books were no palliative. The thought of Beach fading from the Blandings scene, if a man of his bulk could be said to fade, prohibited concentration.

He had sunk into a somber reverie, when it was interrupted by the entrance of the subject of his gloomy meditations.

"Pardon me, m'lord," said Beach. "Mr. Galahad desires me to ask if you would step down to the smoking room and speak to him."

"Why can't he come up here?"

"He has sprained his ankle, m'lord. He and Mr. Frederick fell downstairs."

"Oh?" said Lord Emsworth, not particularly interested. Freddie was always doing odd things. So was Galahad. "How did that happen?"

"Mr. Galahad informs me that he handed Mr. Frederick a telegram. Mr. Frederick, having opened and perused it, uttered a sharp exclamation, reeled, clutched at Mr. Galahad, and they both fell downstairs. Mr. Frederick, too, has sprained his ankle. He has retired."

"Bless my soul. Are they in pain?"

"I gather that the agony has to some extent abated. They have been receiving treatment from the kitchen maid. She is a brownie."

"She's a what?"

"A brownie, m'lord. It is a species of female boy scout. They are instructed in the fundamentals of first aid."

"Eh? First aid? Oh, you mean first aid," said Lord Emsworth, reading between the lines. "Bandages and that sort of thing, what?"

"Precisely, m'lord."

By the time Lord Emsworth reached the smoking room the brownie had completed her ministrations and gone back to her Screen Gems. Gally was lying on a sofa, looking not greatly disturbed by his accident. He was smoking a cigar.

"Beach tells me you had a fall?" said Lord Emsworth.

"A stinker," Gally assented. "As who wouldn't when an ass of a nephew grabs him at the top of two flights of stairs?"

"Beach seems to think Frederick's action was caused by some bad news in the telegram you gave to him."

"That's right. It was from Aggie."

"Aggie?"

"His wife."

"I thought her name was Frances."

"No, Niagara."

"What a peculiar name."

"A gush of sentiment on the part of her parents. They spent the honeymoon at Niagara Falls."

"Ah, yes, I have heard of Niagara Falls. People go over them in barrels do they not? Now there is a thing I would not care to do myself. Most uncomfortable, I should imagine, though no doubt one would get used to it in time. Why was her telegram so disturbing?"

"Because she says she's coming here and will be with us the day after tomorrow."

"I see no objection to that."

"Freddie does, and I'll tell you why. He's gone and given her dog to Valerie Fanshawe."

"Who is Valerie Fanshawe?"

"The daughter of Colonel Fanshawe of Marling Hall, the tallyho and view-halloo chap. Haven't you met him?"

"No," said Lord Emsworth, who never met anyone if he could help it. "But why should Frances object to Frederick giving this young woman a dog?"

"I didn't say a dog, I said her dog. Her personal Alsatian, whom she loves to distraction. However, that could be straightened out, I imagine, with a few kisses and a remorseful word or two if Valerie Fanshawe were a girl with a pasty face and spectacles, but unfortunately she isn't. Her hair is golden, her eyes blue, and years of huntin', shootin' and fishin', not to mention swimmin', tennis playin' and golfin', have rendered her (continued on page 198)First Aid for Freddie(continued from page 148) figure lissome and slender. She looks like something out of a beauty chorus, and as you are probably aware, the little woman rarely approves of her mate being on chummy terms with someone of that description. Let Aggie get one glimpse of Valerie Fanshawe and learn that Freddie has been showering dogs on her, and she'll probably divorce him."

"Surely not?"

"It's in the cards. American wives get divorces at the drop of a hat."

"Bless my soul. What would Frederick do then?"

"Well, her father obviously wouldn't want him working at his dog-biscuit emporium. I suppose he would come and live here."

"What, at the castle?" cried Lord Emsworth, appalled. "Good God!"

"So you see how serious the situation is. However, I've been giving it intense thought, turning here a stone, exploring there an avenue, and I am glad to say I have found the solution. We must get that dog back before Aggie arrives."

"You will ask Valerie Fanshawe to return it?"

"Not quite that. She would never let it go. It will have to be pinched, and that's where you come in."

"I?"

"Who else is there? Freddie and I are both lying on beds of pain, unable to move, and we can hardly ask Connie to oblige. You are our only mobile force. Your quick intelligence has probably already told you what you have to do. What do people do when they've got a dog? They instruct the butler to let it out for a run last thing at night."

"Do they?"

"Invariably. Or bang go their carpets. Every dog has its last-thing-at-night outing, and I think we can safely assume that it will be via the back door."

"What the back door?"

"Via."

"Oh, via? Yes, yes, quite."

"So you must pop over to the Fanshawes'--say around ten o'clock--and lurk outside their back door till the animal appears, and bring it back here."

Lord Emsworth stared, aghast.

"But, Galahad!"

"It's no good saying 'But, Galahad!' It's got to be done. You don't want Freddie's whole future to turn blue at the edges and go down the drain, do you? Let alone having him at the castle for the rest of his life. Ah, I see you shudder. I thought you would. And, dash it, it's not much I'm asking of you. Merely to go and stand in a back garden and scoop in a dog. A child could do it. If it wasn't that we want to keep the thing a secret just between ourselves, I'd hand the job over to the brownie."

"But what if the dog refuses to accompany me? After all, we've scarcely met."

"I've thought of that. You must sprinkle your trouser legs with aniseed. Dogs follow aniseed to the ends of the earth."

"But I have no aniseed."

"Beach is bound to be able to lay his hands on some. And Beach never asks questions. Unlike Connie's young, smart butler, who would probably be full of them. Oh, Beach," said Gally, who had pressed the bell. "Have we aniseed in the house?"

"Yes, Mr. Galahad."

"Bring me a stoup of it, will you?"

"Very good, sir," said Beach.

If the request surprised him, he did not show it. Your experienced butler never allows himself to look surprised at anything. He brought the aniseed. At the appointed hour Lord Emsworth drove off in Freddie's sports car, smelling to heaven. And Gally, left alone, lit another cigar and turned his attention to the Times crossword puzzle.

He found it, however, difficult to concentrate. This was not merely because these crossword puzzles had become so abstruse nowadays and he was basically a Sun-god-Ra and Large-Australian-bird-emu man. Having seen Lord Emsworth off on his journey, doubts and fears were assailing him. He was wishing he could feel more confident of his brother's chances of success in the mission that had been entrusted to him. A lifetime association with him had left him feeling that the head of the family was a frail reed on which to lean in an emergency. If there was any possible way of bungling the enterprise, he would, he knew, infallibly bungle it. His genius for doing the wrong thing was a byword in his circle of acquaintance.

Which, he was asking himself, of the many ways open to him for messing everything up would Lord Emsworth select? Drive the car into a ditch? Go to the wrong house? Or would he forget all about his assignment and sit by the roadside musing on pigs? It was impossible to say, and Gally's emotions were similar to those of a general who, having planned a brilliant piece of strategy, finds himself dubious as to the ability of his troops to carry it out. Generals in such circumstances chew their mustaches in an overwrought sort of way, and Gally would have chewed his, if he had had one.

Heavy breathing sounded outside the door. Beach entered.

"Miss Fanshawe, sir," he announced.

Gally's acquaintance with Valerie Fanshawe was only a slight one, and in the interval since they had last met he had forgotten some of her finer points. Seeing her now, he realized how accurate had been his description of her to Lord Emsworth. In the best and deepest sense of the words, she was a dish and a pippin--in short, the very last type of girl to whom a young husband should have given his wife's Alsatian.

"Good evening," he said. "You must forgive me for not rising as directed in the books of etiquette. I've sprained my ankle."

"Oh, I'm sorry," said Valerie. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."

"Not at all."

"I asked for Mr. Threepwood, forgetting there were two of you. I came to see Freddie."

"He's gone to bed. He has sprained his ankle."

The girl seemed puzzled.

"Aren't you getting mixed up?" she said. "It was you who sprained the ankle."

"Freddie also."

"What, both of you? What happened?"

"We fell downstairs together."

"What made you do that?"

"Oh, we thought we would. Can I give Freddie a message?"

"If you wouldn't mind. Tell him that all is well. Did he mention to you that he was trying to sell Father those dog biscuits of his?"

"He did."

"Well, I approached Father on the subject and he said, Oh, all right, he would give them a try. He said he didn't suppose they would actually poison the dumb chums, and as I was making such a point of it he'd take a chance."

"Splendid."

"And I've brought back the dog."

It was only the most sensational piece of news that could make Gally's monocle drop from his eye. At these words it fell like a shooting star.

"You've done what?" he exclaimed, retrieving the monocle and replacing it in order the better to goggle at her.

"He gave me an Alsatian dog this afternoon, and I've brought it back."

"You mean you don't want it?"

"I want it all right, but I can't have it. The fatheade's first act on clocking in was to make a beeline for Father's spaniel and try to assassinate it, the one thing calculated to get himself socially ostracized. Father thinks the world of that spaniel. 'Who let this canine paranoiac into the house?' he thundered, foaming at the mouth. I said I had. 'Where did you get the foul creature?' he demanded. 'Freddie gave him to me,' I said. 'Then you can damn well take him back to this Freddie, whoever he is,' he--"

"Vociferated?"

"Yes, vociferated. 'And let me add,' he said, 'that I am about to get my gun and count ten, and if the animal's still around when I reach that figure, I shall blow his head off at the roots, and the Lord have mercy on his soul, if any.' Well, I'm pretty quick and I saw right away that what he was hinting at was that he preferred not to associate with the dog, so I've brought him back. I think he went off to the servants' hall to have a bite of supper. I shall miss him, of course. Still, easy come, easy go."

And so saying, Valerie Fanshawe, reverting to the subject of Gally's ankle, expressed a hope that he would not have to have it amputated, and withdrew.

If at this moment somebody had started to amputate Gally's ankle, it is hardly probable that he would have noticed it, so centered were his thoughts on this astounding piece of good luck that had befallen a nephew of whom he had always been fond. If, as he supposed, it was the latter's guardian angel who had engineered the happy ending like a conjurer pulling a rabbit out of a hat, he would have liked to slap him on the back and tell him how greatly his efforts were appreciated. Joy cometh in the morning, he told himself, putting the clock forward a little, and by way of celebrating the occasion he rang for Beach and asked for a whiskey and soda.

It was some considerable time before the order was filled, and Beach was full of apologies for his tardiness.

"I must express my regret for being so long, Mr. Galahad. I was detained on the telephone by Colonel Fanshawe."

"The Fanshawe family seems very much with us tonight. Is there a Mrs. Fanshawe?"

"I understand so, Mr. Galahad."

"No doubt she will be dropping in shortly. What did the colonel want?"

"He was asking for his lordship, but I have been unable to locate him."

"He's gone for a stroll."

"Indeed? I was not aware. Colonel Fanshawe wished him to come to Marling Hall tomorrow morning in his capacity of justice of the peace. It appears that the butler at Marling Hall apprehended a prowler who was lurking in the vicinity of the back door and has locked him in the cellar. Colonel Fanshawe is hoping that his lordship will give him a sharp sentence."

For the second time that night Gally's monocle had fallen from the parent eye socket. He had not, as we have seen, been sanguine with regard to the possibility of his brother's getting through the evening without mishap, but he had not foreseen anything like this. This was outstanding, even for Clarence.

"Beach," he said, "this opens up a new line of thought. You speak of a prowler."

"Yes, sir."

"Who was lurking at the Fanshawe back door and is now in the Fanshawe cellar."

"Yes, sir."

"Well, here's something for your files. The prowler you have in mind was none other than Clarence, ninth Earl of Emsworth."

"Sir!"

"I assure you, I sent him to Marling Hall on a secret mission, the nature of which I am not empowered to disclose, and how he managed to get copped we shall never know. Suffice it that he did and is now in the cellar. Wine cellar or coal?"

"Coal, I was given to understand, sir."

"Our task, then, is to get him out of it. Don't speak. I must think."

When an ordinary man is trying to formulate a scheme for extricating his brother from a coal cellar, the procedure is apt to be a lengthy one involving the furrowed brow, the scratched head and the snapped finger; but in the case of a man like Gally, this is not so. Only a minimum of time had elapsed before he was able to announce that he had got it.

"Beach!"

"Sir?"

"Go to my bedroom, look in the drawer where the handkerchiefs are, and you will find a small bottle containing white tablets. Bring it to me."

"Would this be the bottle to which you refer, sir?" asked Beach, returning a few minutes later.

"That's the one. Now a few necessary facts. Is the butler at the Fanshawes' a pal of yours?"

"We are acquainted, sir."

"Then he won't be surprised if you suddenly pay him a call?"

"I imagine not, Mr. Galahad. I sometimes do when I find myself in the neighborhood of Marling Hall."

"And on these occasions he sets them up?"

"Sir?"

"You drain a cup or two?"

"Oh yes, sir. I am always offered refreshment."

"Then the thing's in the bag. You see this bottle, Beach? It contains what are known as mickey finns. The name is familiar to you?"

"No, sir."

"They are a recognized sedative in the United States. When I last went to New York, a great friend of mine, a bartender on Eighth Avenue, happened to speak of them and was shocked to learn that I had none in my possession. They were things, he said, that nobody should be without. He gave me a few, assuring me that sooner or later they were bound to come in useful. Hitherto I have had no occasion to make use of them, but I think you will agree that now is the time for them to come to the aid of the party. You follow me, Beach?"

"No, sir."

"Come, come. You know my methods, apply them. Slip one of these into this butler's drink, and almost immediately you will see him fold up like a tired lily. Your path thus made straight, you proceed to the cellar, unleash his lordship and bring him home."

"But, Mr. Galahad!"

"Now what?"

"I hardly like--"

"Don't stand there making frivolous objections. If Clarence is not extracted from that cellar before tomorrow morning, his name will be mud. He will become a hissing and a byword."

"Yes, sir, but--"

"And don't overlook another aspect of the matter. Perform this simple task, and there will be no limit to his gratitude. Purses of gold will change hands. Camels bearing apes, ivory and peacocks, all addressed to you, will shortly be calling at the back door of Blandings Castle. You will clean up to an unimaginable extent."

It was a powerful plea. Beach's two chins, which had been waggling unhappily, ceased to waggle. A light of resolution came into his eyes. He looked like a butler who has stiffened the sinews and summoned up the blood, as recommended by Henry the Fifth.

"Very good, Mr. Galahad," he said.

* * *

Gally resumed his crossword puzzle, more than ever convinced that the compiler of the clues was suffering from softening of the brain, and in due course heavy breathing woke him from the light doze into which he had fallen while endeavoring to read sense into "7 across," and he found that Beach was back from the front. He had the air of one who has recently passed through some great spiritual experience.

"Well?" said Gally. "All washed up? Everything nice and smooth?"

"Yes, Mr. Galahad."

"You administered the medium dose for an adult?"

"Yes, Mr. Galahad."

"And released his lordship?"

"Yes, Mr. Galahad."

"That's my boy. Where is he?"

"Taking a bath, Mr. Galahad. He was somewhat begrimed. Would there be anything further, sir?"

"Not a thing. You can go to bed and sleep peacefully. Good night."

"Good night, sir."

It was some minutes later, while Gally was wrestling with "12 down," that he found his privacy invaded by another caller with whom he had not expected to hobnob. It was seldom that his sister Constance sought his society. Except for shivering austerely whenever she saw him, she rarely had much to do with him.

"Oh, hullo, Connie," he said. "Are you any good at crossword puzzles?"

Lady Constance did not say "To hell with crossword puzzles," but it was plain that only her breeding restrained her from doing so. She was in one of those moods of imperious wrath that so often had reduced Lord Emsworth to an apologetic jelly.

"Galahad," she said, "have you seen Beach?"

"Just been chatting with him. Why?"

"I have been ringing for him for half an hour. He really is quite past his duties."

"Clarence was telling me that that was how you felt about him. He said you were thinking of firing him."

"I am."

"I shouldn't."

"What do you mean?"

"You'll rue the day."

"I don't understand you."

"Then let me tell you a little bedtime story."

"Please do not drivel, Galahad. Really, I sometimes think that you have less sense than Clarence."

"It is a story," Gally proceeded, ignoring the slur, "of a feudal devotion to the family interests that would be hard to overpraise. It shows Beach in so favorable a light that I think you will agree that when you speak of giving him the heave ho you are talking, if you will forgive me saying so, through the back of your neck."

"Have you been drinking, Galahad?"

"Only a series of toasts to a butler who will go down in legend and song. Here comes the story."

He told it well, omitting no detail however slight, and as his narrative unfolded, an ashen pallor spread over Lady Constance's face and she began to gulp in a manner that would have interested any doctor specializing in ailments of the thoracic cavity.

"So there you are," said Gally, concluding. "Even if you are not touched by his selfless service and lost in admiration of his skill in slipping mickey finns into people's drinks, you must realize that it would be madness to hand him the pink slip. You can't afford to have him spreading the tale of Clarence's activities all over the county, and you know as well as I do that, if sacked, he will dine out on the thing for months. If I were you, Connie, I would reconsider."

He eyed with satisfaction the wreck of what had once been a fine upstanding sister. He could read the message of those gulps. He could see that she was reconsidering.