The Girl on the Boat - Penn State University

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