The Girl on the Boat - Penn State University
The Girl on the Boat - Penn State University
The Girl on the Boat - Penn State University
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“Good-night, sir.”<br />
“Stop a moment. Which is Mr. Mortimer’s room?”<br />
“Mr. Mortimer, senior, sir? It is at <strong>the</strong> fur<strong>the</strong>r end of<br />
this passage, <strong>on</strong> <strong>the</strong> left facing <strong>the</strong> main staircase. Goodnight,<br />
sir. I am extremely obliged. I will bring you your<br />
shaving-water when you ring.”<br />
Mr. Bennett, left al<strong>on</strong>e, mused for awhile, <strong>the</strong>n, rising<br />
from his bed, put <strong>on</strong> his dressing-gown, took his<br />
candle, and went down <strong>the</strong> passage.<br />
In a less softened mood, <strong>the</strong> first thing Mr. Bennett<br />
would have d<strong>on</strong>e <strong>on</strong> crossing <strong>the</strong> threshold of <strong>the</strong> door<br />
facing <strong>the</strong> staircase would have been to notice resentfully<br />
that Mr. Mortimer, with his usual astuteness, had<br />
collared <strong>the</strong> best bedroom in <strong>the</strong> house. <str<strong>on</strong>g>The</str<strong>on</strong>g> soft carpet<br />
gave out no sound as Mr. Bennett approached <strong>the</strong><br />
wide and luxurious bed. <str<strong>on</strong>g>The</str<strong>on</strong>g> light of <strong>the</strong> candle fell<br />
<strong>on</strong> <strong>the</strong> back of a semi-bald head. Mr. Mortimer was<br />
sleeping with his face buried in <strong>the</strong> pillow. It cannot<br />
have been good for him, but that was what he was<br />
doing. From <strong>the</strong> porti<strong>on</strong> of <strong>the</strong> pillow in which his<br />
face was buried strange gurgles proceeded, like <strong>the</strong><br />
P. G. Wodehouse<br />
121<br />
distant rumble of an approaching train <strong>on</strong> <strong>the</strong> Underground.<br />
“Mortimer,” said Mr. Bennett.<br />
<str<strong>on</strong>g>The</str<strong>on</strong>g> train stopped at a stati<strong>on</strong> to pick up passengers,<br />
and rumbled <strong>on</strong> again.<br />
“Henry!” said Mr. Bennett, and nudged his sleeping<br />
friend in <strong>the</strong> small of <strong>the</strong> back.<br />
“Leave it <strong>on</strong> <strong>the</strong> mat,” mumbled Mr. Mortimer, stirring<br />
slightly and uncovering <strong>on</strong>e corner of his mouth.<br />
Mr. Bennett began to forget his remorse in a sense of<br />
injury. He felt like a man with a good story to tell who<br />
can get nobody to listen to him. He nudged <strong>the</strong> o<strong>the</strong>r<br />
again, more vehemently this time. Mr. Mortimer made<br />
a noise like a gramoph<strong>on</strong>e when <strong>the</strong> needle slips,<br />
moved restlessly for a moment, <strong>the</strong>n sat up, staring at<br />
<strong>the</strong> candle.<br />
“Rabbits! Rabbits! Rabbits!” said Mr. Mortimer, and<br />
sank back again. He had begun to rumble before he<br />
touched <strong>the</strong> pillow.<br />
“What do you mean, rabbits?” said Mr. Bennett<br />
sharply.