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Jill the Reckless

Пелам Гренвилл Вудхаус (P. G. Wodehouse)

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Title: Jill the Reckless

Author: P. G. (Pelham Grenville) Wodehouse

Release Date: February 6, 2007 [EBook #20533]
[Last updated: November 10, 2011]

Language: English







Produced by Sankar Viswanathan and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net






JILL THE RECKLESS

 

 

BY

P. G. WODEHOUSE

 

 

 

HERBERT JENKINS LIMITED

3 DUKE OF YORK STREET

ST. JAMES'S, LONDON, S.W. 1

 

 

 

TO

MY WIFE BLESS HER

 

CHAPTERPAGE
I.The Family Curse9
II.The First Night at the Leicester34
III.Jill and the Unknown Escape45
IV.The Last of the Rookes Takes a Hand51
V.Lady Underhill Receives a Shock68
VI.Uncle Chris Bangs the Table82
VII.Jill Catches the 10.10106
VIII.The Dry-Salters Wing Derek119
IX.Jill in Search of an Uncle131
X.Jill Ignores Authority142
XI.Mr. Pilkington's Love Light151
XII.Uncle Chris Borrows a Flat168
XIII.The Ambassador Arrives180
XIV.Mr. Goble Makes the Big Noise193
XV.Jill Explains218
XVI.Mr. Goble Plays with Fate230
XVII.The Cost of a Row252
XVIII.Jill Receives Notice260
XIX.Mrs. Peagrim Burns Incense278
XX.Derek Loses One Bird and Secures Another287
XXI.Wally Mason Learns a New Exercise308

JILL THE RECKLESS

CHAPTER I

THE FAMILY CURSE

I

Freddie Rooke gazed coldly at the breakfast-table. Through a gleaming eye-glass he inspected the revolting object which Barker, his faithful man, had placed on a plate before him.

"Barker!" His voice had a ring of pain.

"Sir"

"What's this?"

"Poached egg, sir."

Freddie averted his eyes with a silent shudder.

"It looks just like an old aunt of mine," he said. "Remove it!"

He got up, and, wrapping his dressing-gown about his long legs, took up a stand in front of the fireplace. From this position he surveyed the room, his shoulders against the mantelpiece, his calves pressing the club fender. It was a cheerful oasis in a chill and foggy world, a typical London bachelor's breakfast-room. The walls were a restful grey, and the table, set for two, a comfortable arrangement in white and silver.

"Eggs, Barker," said Freddie solemnly, "are the acid test!"

"Yes, sir?"

"If, on the morning after, you can tackle a poached egg, you are all right. If not, not. And don't let anybody tell you otherwise."

"No, sir."

Freddie pressed the palm of his hand to his brow, and sighed.

"It would seem, then, that I must have revelled a trifle whole-heartedly last night. I was possibly a little blotto. Not whiffled, perhaps, but indisputably blotto. Did I make much noise coming in?"