The Girl on the Boat - Penn State University

“Very well, Sir Mallaby.”
“That’s that. Ready? Messrs. Brigney, Goole and
Butterworth. What infernal names these people have.
SIRS,—On behalf of our client … oh, hullo, Sam!”
“Good morning, father.”
“Take a seat. I’m busy, but I’ll be finished in a moment.
Where was I, Miss Milliken?”
“‘On behalf of our client ….’”
“Oh, yes. On behalf of our client Mr. Wibblesley
Eggshaw …. Where these people get their names I’m
hanged if I know. Your poor mother wanted to call
you Hyacinth, Sam. You may not know it, but in the
‘nineties when you were born, children were frequently
christened Hyacinth. Well, I saved you from that.”
His attention now diverted to his son, Sir Mallaby
seemed to remember that the latter had just returned
from a long journey and that he had not seen him for
many weeks. He inspected him with interest.
“Very glad you’re back, Sam. So you didn’t win?”
“No, I got beaten in the semi-finals.”
“American amateurs are a very hot lot, the best ones.
P. G. Wodehouse
87
I suppose you were weak on the greens. I warned you
about that. You’ll have to rub up your putting before
next year.”
At the idea that any such mundane pursuit as practising
putting could appeal to his broken spirit now,
Sam uttered a bitter laugh. It was as if Dante had recommended
some lost soul in the Inferno to occupy his
mind by knitting jumpers.
“Well, you seem to be in great spirits,” said Sir
Mallaby approvingly. “It’s pleasant to hear your merry
laugh again. Isn’t it, Miss Milliken?”
“Extremely exhilarating,” agreed the stenographer,
adjusting her spectacles and smiling at Sam, for whom
there was a soft spot in her heart.
A sense of the futility of life oppressed Sam. As he
gazed in the glass that morning, he had thought, not
without a certain gloomy satisfaction, how remarkably
pale and drawn his face looked. And these people
seemed to imagine that he was in the highest spirits.
His laughter, which had sounded to him like the wailing
of a demon, struck Miss Milliken as exhilarating.