Young Men in Spats by P. G. Wodehouse

me in for it is one which the verdict of history will undoubtedly rank the dirtiest. I can read you now like a book, Fotheringay-Phipps. Your motive is crystal-clear to me. You knew at what a disadvantage a man appears at a School Treat, and you saw to it that I and not you should be the poor mutt to get smeared with chocolate and sloshed with newspapers before the eyes of Angelica Briscoe. And I believed you when you handed me all that drip about yielding your claim and what not. My gosh!’
    For an instant, as he heard these words, stupefaction rendered Barmy speechless. Then he found his tongue. His generous soul was seething with indignation at the thought of how his altruism, his great sacrifice, had been misinterpreted.
    â€˜What absolute rot!’ he cried. ‘I never heard such bilge in my life. My motives in sending you to that School Treat instead of me were unmixedly chivalrous. I did it simply and solely to enable you to ingratiate yourself with the girl, not reflecting that it was out of the question that she should ever love a pop-eyed, pimply-faced poop like you.’
    Pongo started.
    â€˜Pop-eyed?’
    â€˜Pop-eyed was what I said.’
    â€˜Pimply-faced?’
    â€˜Pimply-faced was the term I employed.’
    â€˜Poop?’
    â€˜Poop was the expression with which I concluded. If you want to know the real obstacle in the way of any wooing you may do now or in the years to come, Twistleton-Twistleton, it is this – that you entirely lack sex-appeal and look like nothing on earth. A girl of the sweet, sensitive nature of Angelica Briscoe does not have to see you smeared with chocolate to recoil from you with loathing. She does it automatically, and she does it on her head.’
    â€˜Is that so?’
    â€˜That is so.’
    â€˜Oh? Well, let me inform you that in spite of what has happened, in spite of the fact that she has seen me at my worst, there is something within me that tells me that Angelica Briscoe loves me and will one day be mine.’
    â€˜Mine, you mean. I can read the message in a girl’s shy, drooping eyes, Twistleton-Twistleton, and I am prepared to give you odds of eleven to four that before the year is out I shall be walking down the aisle with Angelica Fotheringay – Phipps on my arm. I will go further. Thirty-three to eight.’
    â€˜What in?’
    â€˜Tenners.’
    â€˜Done.’
    It was at this moment that the door opened.
    â€˜Excuse me, gentlemen,’ said the barmaid.
    The two rivals glared at the intruder. She was a well-nourished girl with a kind face. She was rubbing her left leg, which appeared to be paining her. The staircases are steep at the Goose and Grasshopper.
    â€˜You’ll excuse me muscling in like this, gentlemen,’ said the barmaid, or words to that effect, ‘but I happened inadvertently to overhear your conversation, and I feel it my duty to put you straight on an important point of fact. Gentlemen, all bets are off. Miss Angelica Briscoe is already engaged to be married.’
    You can readily conceive the effect of this announcement. Pongo biffed down into the only chair, and Barmy staggered against the wash-hand stand.
    â€˜What!’ said Pongo.
    â€˜What!’ said Barmy.
    The barmaid turned to Barmy.
    â€˜Yes, sir. To the gentleman you were talking to in my bar the afternoon you arrived.’
    Her initial observation had made Barmy feel as if he had been punched in the wind by sixteen Mothers, but at this addendum he was able to pull himself together a bit.
    â€˜Don’t be an ass, my dear old barmaid,’ he said. ‘That was Miss Briscoe’s brother.’
    â€˜No, sir.’
    â€˜But his name was Briscoe, and you told me he was at the Vicarage.’
    â€˜Yes, sir. He spends a good deal of his time at the Vicarage, being the young lady’s second cousin, and engaged to her since last Christmas!’
    Barmy eyed her sternly. He was deeply moved.
    â€˜Why