15

The Custody of the Pumpkin

(1e35)
P. G. Wodehouse

The rnorning sunshine descended like an amber shower-bath on Blandings Castle, liglting
up with a heartening glow its ivied walls, its rolling parks, its gardens, outhouses, and
messuages, and such of its inhabitants as chanced at the moment to be taking the air' It
fell on green lawns and wide terraces, on noble trees and bright flower-beds. It fell on
the baggy trousers-seat of Angus McAllister, head-gardener to the ninth Earl of
Emsworth, as he bent with dour Scottish determination to pluck a slug from its reverie
beneath the leaf of a lettuce, It fell on the white flannels of the Hon. Freddie
Threepwood, lord Emsworth's second son, hurrying across the wat€r-meadows. It also
fell on L,ord Emsworth himself and on Beach, his faittrfirl butler. They were standing on
the turret above the west wing, the former with his eye to a powerful telescope, the
latter holding the hat which he had been sent to fetch.
'Beach,' said l,ord Emsworth.
'M'lord?'
'I've been swindled. This dashed thing doesn't work.'
'Your lordship cannot see clearly?'
'I can't see at all, dash it. It's all black.'
The butler was an observant man.
'Perhaps if I were to remove the cap at the extremity of the instrument, m'lord, more
satisfactory results might be obtained.'
'Eh? Cap? Is there a cap? So there is. Take it off, Beach.'
'Very good, m'lord.'
'Ah! There was satisfaction in Lord Emsworth's voice. He twiddled and adjusted,
and the satisfaction deepened. 'Yes, that's better. That's capital. Beach, I can see a
cow.'
'Indeed, m'lord?
'Down in the water-meadows. Remarkable. Might be two yards away. All right,
Beach. Shan't want you any longer.'
'Your hat m'lord?'
120 Stories of Ourselves

'Put it on my head.'
'Very good, m'lord.'
The butler, this kindly act performed, withdrew. Lord Emsworth continued gazing at
the cow.
The ninth Earl of Emsworth was a fluffy-minded and amiable old gentleman with a
fondness for new toys. Although the main interest of his life was his garden, l1e was
always ready to try a side line, and the latest of these side lines was this telescope of
his. Ordered from London in a burst of enthusiasm consequent upon the reading of an
article on astronomy in a monthly magazine, it had been placed in position pn the
previous evening. What was now in progress was its trial trip.
Presently, the cow's audience-appeal began to wane. It was a fine cow, ils cops go,
but like so many cows, it lacked sustained dramatic interest. Surfeited after a wtile by
the spectacle of it chewing the cud and staring glassily at nothing, Lord Emgworth
decided to swivel the apparatus round in the hope of picking up something a trifl$ more
sensational. And he was just about to do so, when into the range of his visiort there
came the Hon. Freddie. White and shining, he tripped along over the turf like a
Theocritan shepherd hastening to keep an appointment with a nymph, and a sudden
frown marred the serenity of Lord Emsworth's brow. He generally frowned when he
saw Freddie, for with the passage of the years that youth had become more and more
of a problem to an anxious father.
Unlike the male codfish, which, suddenly finding itself the parent of three million five
hundred thousand little codfish, cheerfully resolves to love them all, the Britieh
aristocracy is apt to look with a somewhat jaundiced eye on its younger sonq. And
Freddie Threepwood was one of those younger sons who rather invite the jauidiced
eye. It seemed to the head of the family that therc was no way of coping with tti boy.
If he was allowed to live in London, he piled up debts and got into mischief; and when
you jerked him back into the purer surroundings of Blandings Castle, he just rboned
about the place, moping broodingly. Hamlet's society at Elsinore must have had mrth the
same effect on his stepfather as did that of Freddie Threepwood at Blandings ori Lord
Emsworth. And it is probable that what induced the latter to keep a telescopic oye on
him at this moment was the fact that his demeanour was so mysteriously jaunty, his
bearing so intriguingly free from its customary crushed misery. Some inner voice
whispered to Lord Emsworth that this smiling, prancing youth was up to no god and
would bear watching.
The inner voice was absolutely correct. Within thirty seconds its case ha{ been
proved up to the hilt. Scarcely had his lordship had time to wish, as he inva;iably
wished on seeing his offspring, that Freddie had been something entirely differient in
manners, morals, and appearance, and had been the son of somebody else living a
considerable distance away, when out of a small spinney near the end of the mcadow
there bounded a girl. And Freddie, after a cautious glance over his shoulder, immediately
proceeded to fold this female in a warm embrace.
Lord Emsworth had seen enough. He tottered away from the telescope, a shattered
man. One of his favourite dreams was of some nice, eligible girl, belonging to a good
family, and possessing a bit of rroney of her own, coming along some day and taking
 The Custody of the Pumpkin 121

Freddie off his hands; but that inner voice, more confident now than ever, told him ttrat
this was not she. Freddie would not sneak off in this furtive fashion to meet eligible
girls, nor could he imagine any eligible girl, in her right senses, rushing into Freddie's
arms in that enthusiastic way. No, there was only one explanation. In the cloistral
seclusion of Blandings, far from the Meropolis with all its conveniences for that sort of
thing, Freddie had managed to get himself entangled. Seething with anguish and fury,
Lord Emsworth hurried down the stairs and out on to the terrace. Herc he prowled like
an elderly leopard waiting for feeding-time, until in due season there was a flicker of
white among the trees that flanked the drive and a cheerful whistling announced the
culprit's approach.
It was with a sour and hostile eye that Lord Emsworth watched his son draw near.
He adjusted his pince-nez, and with their assistance was able to perceive that a fatuous
smile of self-satisfaction illumined the young man's face, Sui"g him the appearance of a
beaming sheep. In the young man's bunonhole there shone a nosegay of simple meadow
flowers, which, as he walked, he patted from time to time with a loving hand.
'Frederick! bellowed his lordship.
The villain of the piece halted abruptly. Sunk in a roseate trance, he had not observed
his father. But such was the sunniness of his mood that even this encounter could not
damp him. He gambolled happily up.
'Hullo, guv'nor! he carolled. He searched in his mind for a pleasant topic of
conversation - always a mattgr of some little difficulty on these occasions. 'lovely day,
what?'
His lordship was not to be diverted into a discussion of the weather.
He drew a step nearer, looking like the man who smothered the young princes in
the Tower.
'Frederick,' he demanded, 'who was that girl?'
The Hon, Freddie started convulsively. He appeared to be swallowing with difficulty
something large and jagged.
lGirl?' he quavered. 'Girl? Girl, guv'nor?'
'That girl I saw you kissing ten minutes ago down in the water-meadows.'
'Oh! said the Hon. Freddie. He paused. 'Oh, ah! He paused again.
'Oh, ah, yesll've been meaning to tell you about that, guv'nor.'
'You have, have you?'
'All perfectly correct, you know. Oh, yes, indeedlAll most absolutely correct-o !
Nothing fishy, I mean to say, or anything like that. She's my fianc6.'
A sharp howl escaped Lord Emsworth, as if one of the bees humming in the
lavender-beds had taken time off to sting him in the neck.
'Who is she?' he boomed. 'Who is this woman?'
'Her name's Donaldson.'
'Who is she?'
'Aggie Donaldson. Aggie's short for Niagara. Her people spent their honeymoon at
the Falls, she tells me. She's American and all that. Rummy names they give kids in
America,' proceeded Freddie, with hollow chattiness. 'I mean to say lNiagarall ask
vou!
122 Storics of Ourselves

'Who is she?'
'S'be's most awfully bright, you know. Full of beans. You'll love her.'
'Who is she?'
'And can play the s (ophone.'
'Who,' demanded Lord Emsworth for ttre sixth time, 'is she? And where did you
meet her?'
Freddie coughed. The information, he perceived, could no longer be withheld,land he
was keenly alive to the fact that it scarcely fell into the class of tidings of gre4t joy.
'Well, as a ma$er of fact, guv'nor, she's a sort of cousin of Angus McAlfister's.
She's come over to England for a visit, don't you know, and is staying with the Old boy.
That's how I happened to run across her.'
Lord Emsworth's eyes bulged and he gargled faintly. He had had many unflleasant
visions of his son's future, but they had never included one of him walking d(wn the
aisle with a sort of cousin of his head-gardener.
'Oh! he said. 'Oh, indeed?'
'That's the strength of it, guv'nor.'
Lord Emswoith threw his arms up, as if calling on Heaven to witness a good man's
persecution, and shot off along the terrace at a rapid trot. Having ranged the grounds for
ssms minsfs5, he ran his quarry to earth at the entrance to the yew alley.
The head-gardener turned at the sound of his footsteps, He was a sturdy man of
medium height, wittr eyebrows that would have fitted a bigger forehead. These, added to
a red and wiry beard, gave him a formidable and uncomprornising expression. $onesty
Angus McAllister's face had in full measure, and also intelligence; but it was a $t short
on swectness and light.
'McAllister,' said his lordship, plunging without preamble into the mattei of his
discourse. 'That girl. You must send her away.'
A look of bewilderment clouded such of Mr McAllister's features as w?re not
concealed behind his beard and eyebrows.
'Gumtl?'
'That girl who is staying with you. She must go!
'Gae where?'
Lord Emsworth was not in the mood to be finicky about details.
'Anywhere,' he said. 'I won't have her here a day longer.' l

'Why?' inquired Mr McAllisteq who liked to thresh these things out. :

'Never mind why. You must send her away immediately.'

Mr McAllister mentioned an insuperable objection.
'She's payin' me twa poon' a lreek,' he said simply. 1

Lord Emsworth did not grind his teeth, for he was not given to that form of
displaying emotion; but he leaped some ten inches into tlte air and dropped his pince-nez.
And, though normally a fair-minded and reasonable man, well aware that modem earls
must think twice before pulling the feudal stuff on their employees, he took on the
forthright truculence of a large landowner of the early Norman period ticking off a serf.
'Listen, McAllisterllisten to melEither you send that girl away today or you can go
yourself. I mean it!
 The CustodY of tlre PumPkin 123

A curious -
expression came into Angus McAllister's face always excePting the
occupied territories. It was the look of a man who has not forgotten Bannockburn, a
man conscious of belonging to the country of William Wallace and Robert the Bruce. He
made Scotch noises at the back of his throat.
'Y'r lomrdsheep will accept ma notis,' he sai4 with formal dignity.
'I'll pay you a month's wages in lieu of notice and you will leave this afternoon,'
retorted Lord Emsworth with spirit.
'Mphm! said Mr McAllister.
lord Emsworrh left the battlefield with a feeling of pure exhilaration, sdll in tlrc gnp
of the animal fury of conflict. No twinge of remorse did he feel at the thought that
Angus McAllister had served him faithfirlly for ten years. Nor did it cross his mind that
he might miss McAllister.
But that night, as he sat smoking his after-dinner cigarette, Reason, so violently
expelled, came stealing timidly back to her throne, and a cold hand seemed suddenly
placed upon his heart.
With Angus McAllister gone, how would the pumpkin fare?

The importance of this pumpkin in the Earl of Ernsworth's life requires, perhaps;.a.word
of explanation. Every ancient family in England has some little gap in its scroll of
honour, and that of Lord Bmsworth was no exception. For gqnerations; ba,ck his
ancestors had been doing notable deeds; they had sent out from Blandings Castle
statesmen and warriors, governors and leaders of the people: but they had not - in the
opinion of the present holder of the title - achieved a full hand. However splendid the
family rccord might appear at first sigh! the fact remained that no Earl of Emsworth had
ever won a first prize for pumpkins at the Shrewsbury Show For roses, yes. For urlips,
tue. For spring onions, granted. But not for pumpkins; and Lord Emswortl felt it deeply.
For many a summer past he had been striving indefatigably to remove this blot on
the family escutcheon, only to see his hopes go tumbling down. But this year at last
victory had seemed in sight, for there had been vouchsafed to Blandings a competitor of
such amazing parts that his lordship, who had watched it grow practically from a pip,
could not envisage failure. Surely, he told himself as he gazed on its golden roundness,
even Sir Gregory Parsloe-Parsloe, of Marchinghan Hall, winner for three successive
years, would never be able to produce anything to challenge this superb vegetable.
And it was this supreme pumpkin whose welfare he feared he had jeopardised by
dismissing Angus McAllister. For Angus was its official fiainer. He understood the
pumpkin. Indeed, in his reserved Sconish way, he even seemed to love it. With Angus
gone, what would the harvest be?
Such were the meditations of Lord Bmsworth as he reviewed ttre position of affairs.
And though, as the days went by,, he tried to tell himself ttut Angus McAllister was not
the odly man in the world who understoo<l pumpkins, and that he.had every corfidence,
the most complete and unswerving confidence, in Robert Barker, .recently Angus's
second-in-command, now promoted to the post of head-gardener ard' .custodiatr of the
Blandings Hope, he knew that this was but shallow bravado. When you are a pumpkin
owner with a big winner in your stable, you judge men by hard standards, and every
124 Stories of Ourselves

day it became plainer that Robert Barker was only a makeshift. Within a week Lord
Emsworth was pining for Angus McAllister.
11 might be purely imagination, but to his excited fancy the pumpkin seemed to be
pining for Angus too. It appeared to be drooping and losing weight. Lord Emsworth
could not rid himself of the honible idea that it was shrinking. And on the tenth night
after McAllister's departure he dreamed a strange dream. He had gone wit[ King
George to show his Gracious Majesty the pumpkin, promising him the treat of a ffetime;
and, when they arrived, there in the comer of the frame was a shrivelled thing fie size
of a pea. He woke, sweating, with his Sovereign's disappointed screams ringing in his
ears; and Pride gave its last quiver and collapsed. To reinstate Angus would be a
surrender, but it must be done.
'Beach,' he said that morning at breakfast, 'do you happen to - er - to have
McAllister's address?'
'Yes, your lordship,' replied the butler. 'He is in London, residing at number televen
Buxton Crescent.'
'Buxton Crescent? Never heard of it.'
'It is, I fancy, your lordship, a boarding-house or some such establishment off the
Cromwell Road. McAllister was accustomed to make it his headquarters whenever he
visited the Metropolis on account of its handiness for Kensington Gardens. He liked,'
said Beach with respecfrrl reproach, for Angus had been a friend of his for nine years,
'to be near the flowers, your lordship.'
Tlvo telegrams, passing tlrough it in the course of the next twelve hours, caused
some gossip at the post office of the little town of Market Blandings.
The first ran:
MCALLISTER,
11 BTIXTON CRF.SCENT
CROMWELL ROAD
IONDON

RETURN N'MEDIATELY - EMS\PORTH

The second:
LOR.D EMSWORTH
BI.ANDINGS CASTLE
SHROPSHIRS

I WILL NOT - MCALIISTER

Lord Emsworth had one of those minds capable of accommodating but one $ought
at a time - if that; and the possibility that Angus McAllister might decline to retqn had
not occurred to him. It was difficult to adjust himself to this new problem, but he
managed it at last. Before nighdall he had made up his mind. Robert Barkef that broken
reed, could rcmain in charge for another day or so, and meanwhile he would go up to
London and engage a real head-gardener, the finest head-gardener that money could
buy.
{.
 The Custody of the Pumpkin 125

It was the opinion of Dr Johnson that there is in London all that life can afford. A man,
he held, who is tired of london is tired of life itself. l,ord Emsworth, had he been aware
of this statement, would have contested it warmly. He hated London. He loathed its
crowds, its smells, its noises; its omnibuses, its taxis, and its hard pavements. And, in
addition !o all its other defects, the miserable town did not seem able to produce a single
decent head-gardener. He went from agency to agency, interviewing candidates, and not
one of them came within a mils sf meeting his requirements. He disliked their faces, he
distrusted their references. It was a harsh thing to say of any man, but he was dashed
if the best of them was even as good as Robert Barker.
It was, therefore, in a black and soured mood that his lordship, having lunched
frugally at the Senior Conservative Club on dre third day of his visit, stood on the steps
in the sunshine, wondering how on earth he was to get through the afternoon. He had
spent the morning rejecting head-gardeners, and the next batch was not due until the
-
morrow. And what besides rejecting head-gardeners was there for a man of
-
reasonable tastes to do with his time in this hopeless town?
And then there came into his mind a remark which Beach the butler had made at the
breakfast-table about flowers in Kensington Gardens. He could go to Kensington
Gardens and look at the flowers.
He was about to hail a taxicab from the rank down the street when there suddenly
emerged from the Hotel Magnificent over the way a young man. This young man
proceeded to cross the road, and, as he drew near, it seemed to Lord Emswonh thar
there was about his appearance something oddly familiar. He stared for a long instant
beforc he could believe his eyes, then with a wordless cry bounded down the steps just
as the other started to mount them.
'Oh, hullo, guv'nor! ejaculated the Hon. Freddie, plainly startled.
'What - what are you doing here?' demanded Lord Emsworth.
He spoke with heat, and justly so. London, as the result of several spirited escapades
which still rankled in the mind of a father who had had to foot the bills. was forbidden
ground to Freddie.
The young man was plainly not at his ease. He had the air of one who is being
pushed towards dangerous machinery in which he is loath to become entangled. He
shuffled his feet for a moment, then raised his left shoe and rubbed the back of his
right calf with it.
'The fact is, guv'nor.l-
'You know you are forbidden to come to London.'
'Absolutely, guv'nor, but the fact is.:-
'And why anybody but an imbecile should want to come to London when he could
be at B landings.:-
'I know guv'nor, but the fact is -' Here Freddie, having replaced his wandering foot
on the pavement, raised the other, and rubbed the back of his left calf. 'I wanted to see
you,' he said. 'Yes. Particularly wanted to see you.'
This was not strictly accurate. The last thing in the world which the Hon. Freddie
wanted was to see his parent. He had come to the Senior Conservative Club to leave
126 Sories of Ourselves

a carefully written note. Having delivered which, it had been his intention to bolt like a
rabbit. This unforcseen meeting had upset his plans.
'To see me?' said Lord Emsworth. 'Why?'
-
'Got - er something to teU you. Bit of news.'
'I frust it is of sufficient importance to justify your coming to London against my
express wishes.'
'Oh, yes. Oh, yes, yes-yes. Oh, rather. It's dashed important. Yes - not to put too
fine a point upon it - most dashed important. I say, guv'nor, are you in fair$ good
form to stand a bit of a shock?'
A ghastly thought rushed into Lord Emsworth's mind. Freddie's mysterious afrival -
his strange manner - his odd hesitation and uneasiness - could it mean" -? He dutched
the young man's arm feverishly.
'FredericklSpeaklTell melHave the cats got at it?'
It was a fixed idea of Lord Emsworth, which no argument would have indufd him
to abandon, that cats had the power to work some dreadful mischief on his pumptin and
were corrt'nually lytpg in wait for the oppornrnity of doing so; and his behaviour on the
occasion when one of the fast sporting set from the stables, wandering into the kitchen
garden and finding him gazng at the Blandings Hope, had rubbed itself sociably against
his leg, lingered long in that animal's memory.
Freddie stared.
'Cats? Why? Where? Which? What cats?'
'Fredqicklls anything wrong with the pumpkin?'
In a crass and. materialistic world there must inevitably be a scattered few hqre and
there in whom pumpkins touch no chord. The Hon. Freddie Threepwood was pne of
these. He was accustomed to speak in mockery of all pirmpkins, and had even lpne so
far as to allude to the Hope of Blandings as 'Percy'. His father's anxiety, the;efore,
merely caused him to giggle.
'Not that I know of,' he said.
'Then what do you mean?' thundered Lord Emswonh, shrng by the giggle. 'What do
you mean, sir, by coming here and alarming me - scaring me out of my wits, by Gad!
- with your nonsense about giving me shocks?'
The Hon. Freddie looked carefully at his fermenting parent His fingers, sliding into his
pocket, closed on the note which nestled there. He drew it forth.
'look here, guv'nor,' he said nervously. 'I think the best thing would be for you to
read this. Meant to leave it for you with the hall-porter. It's - well, you just caft your
eye over it. Goodbye, guv'nor. Got to see a man.'
And, thrusting the note into his father's hand, the Hon. Freddie nrned and wa{ gone.
Lord Emsworttr, perplexed and annoyed, watched him skim up the road and leapi into a
cab. He seethed impotently. Practically any behaviour on the part of his son Frederick
had the power to irritate him, but it was when he was vague and mysterious and
incoherent that the young man irritated him most.
He looked at the letter in his hand, tumed it over, felt it. Then - for it had suddenly
occuned to him that if he wished to ascertain its contents he had better read it - he tore
open the envelope.
 The Custodv of the Pumpkin 127

The note was brief, but full of good reading matter.

onel cw'Non,
Awfully sorry and all that, but couldn't hold out any longer, I've popped up to
London in the two-seater and Agge and I were spliced this morning. There looked
like being a bit of a hitch at one time, but Aggie's guv'nor, who has come over
from America, managed to wangle it aU right by gening a special licence or
something of that order. A most capable lohnny, He's coming to see you. He
wants to have a good long talk with you about the whole binge. Lush him up
hospitably and all that, would you mind, because he's a really sound egg and you'll
like him.
Well, cheerio: Your affectionate son.
FREDDIE
P.S. - You won't mind if I freeze on to the two-seater for the nonce. what?
It may come in useful for the honeymoon.

The Senior Conservative Club is a solid and massive building, bul as lprd Emsworth
raised his eyes dumbly from the perusal of this letter, it seemed to him that it was
performing a kind of whirling dance. The whole of the immediate neighbourhood, inde.ed
appeared to be shimmying in the middle of a thick mist. He was profoundly stirred. It is
not too much to say that he ivas shaken to the core of his being. No father enjoys
being flouted and defied by his own son; nor is it reasonable to expect a man to take a
cheery view of life who is faced with the prospect of supporting for the remainder of
his years a younger son, a younger son's wife, and possibly younger grandchildrc:r.
For an appreciable space of time he stood in the middle of the pavement, rooted to
the spot. Passers-by bumped inlo him oi grumblingly made detours to avoid i collision.
Dogs sniffed at his ankles. SeedyJooking individuals ried to arrest his att€ntion in order
to speak of their financial affairs. Lord Emsworth heeded none of th€m. He remained
where he was, gaping like a fish, until suddenly his faculties seemed to retum to him.
An imperative need for flowers and green trees swept upon lord Emsworth. The
noise of the traffic and the heat of the sun on the stone pavement were afflicting him
like a nighunare. He signalled energetically to a passing cab.
'Kensington Gardens,' he said, and sank back on the cushioned seat.

Something dimly resembling peace crept into his lordship's soul as he paid off his cab
and entered the cool shade of the gardens. Even from the road he had caught a glimpse
of stimulating reds and yellows; and as he ambled up the asphalt path and plunged
round the comer the flower-beds burst upon his sight in all their consoling glory.
'Ah! breathed Lord Emsworth rapturously, and came to a halt before a glowing
carpet of nrlips. A man of official aspect, wearing a peaked cap and a uniform, stopped
as he heard the exclamation and looked at him with approval and even affection.
'Nice weather we're 'avin',' he observed.
Lord Emsworth did not reply. He had not heard. There is that about a well-spt-out
bed of flowers which acts on men who love their gardens like a drug, and he was in a
 i

128 Stories of Ourselves

sort of trance. Already he had completely forgotten where he was, and seemed to
himself to be back in his paradise of Blandings. He drew a step nearer to the flower-
bed, pointing like a setter.
The official-looking man's approval deepened. This man with the peaked cap was the
park-keeper, who held the rights of the high, the low, and the rniddle justice over that
section of the gardens. He, too, loved these flower-beds, and he seemed to see in Lord
Emsworth a kindred soul. The general public was too apt to pass bn engrossefl in its
own affain, and this often wounded the park-keeper. In Lord Emsworth he thought that
he recognised one of the right sort.
'Nice:-he began.
He broke off with a sharp cry. If he had not seen it with his own eyes, he, would
not have believed it. But, alas, there was no possibility of a mistake. With a ghastly
shock he realised that he had been deceived in this attractive stranger. Deceptly, if
untidily, dressed; clean; respectable to the outward eye; the stranger was in rgality a
dangerous criminal- the blackest type of evil-doer on the park-keeper's index. Hd was a
Kensington Gardens flower-picker.
For, even as he uttered the word 'Nice', the man had stepped lightly over the low
railing, had shambled across the strip of turf, and before you could say 'weather' was
busy on his dark work. In the brief instant in which the park-keeper's vocal cords
refused to obey him, he was two hrlips ahead of the game and reaching out to scoop in
a third.
'Hi! roared the park-keeper, suddenly finding speech. "I there!
Lord Emsworth turned with a start.
'Bless my soul! he murmured reproachfirlly.
He was in full possession of his senses now, such as they were, and understqod the
enormity of his conduct. He shuffled back on to the asphalt, contrite.
'My dear fellow:*re began remorsefully.
The park-keeper began to speak rapidly and at length. From time to tim? Lord
Emsworth moved his lips and made deprecating gestures, but he could not stim the
flood. Louder and more rhetorical grew the park-keeper and denser and more interested
the rapidly assembling crowd of spectators. And then through the stream of words
another voice spoke.
'Wot's all this?'
The Force had materialised in the shape of a large, solid constable.
The park-keeper seemed to understand that he had been superseded. He still ppoke,
but no longer like a father rcbuking an erring son. IIis attitude now was more thaf of an
elder brother appealing for justice against a delinquent junior. In a moving pass|ge he
stated his case.
"E Says,' obsewed the constable judicially, speaking slowly and in capitals, as if
addressing an untutored foreigner, "E Says You Was Pickin' The Flowers.'
'I saw 'im. I was standin' as close as I am to you.'
"E Saw You,' interpreted the constable. "E Was Standing At Your Side.'
Lord Emsworth was feeling weak and bewildered. Without a thought of annoying or
doing harrn to anybody, he seemed to have unchained the fearful passions of a French
 The Custody of fte Pumpkin 129

Revolution; and there came over him a sense of how unjust it was that this son of thing
-
should be happening to him, of all people a man already staggering beneath the
troubles of a Job.
'I'll 'ave to ask you for your name and address,' said the constable, more briskly. A
stubby pencil popped for an instant into his stern mouth and hovered, well and truly
moistened, over the virgin page of his notebook - that dreadful notebook before which
taxi-driven shrink and hardened bus-conductors quail.
'I - I why, my dear fellow - I mean, officer - I am the Earl of Emsworth.,
-
Much has been written of the psychology of crowds, designed to show how
extraordinary and inexplicable it is, but most of such writing is exaggeration. A crowd
generally behaves in a perfectly natural and intelligible fashion. When, for instance, it
se€s a nun in a badly fining tweed suit and a hat he ought to be ashamed of getting put
through it for pinching flowen in the Park, and the man says he is an earl, it laughs.
This crowd laughed.
'Ho?' The constable did not stoop to join in the rnerriment of the rabble, but his lip
twitched sardonically. 'Have you a card, your lordship?'
Nobody intimate with lnrd Fmsworth would have asked such a foolish question, His
card-case was the thing he always lost second when visiting london immediately after
-
losing his umbrella.
'I - er - I'm afraid:-
'R! said the constable. And the crowd uttered another happy, hyena-like laugh, so
intensely galling that his lordship raised his bowed head and found enough spirit io cast
an indignant glance. And, as he did so, the hunted look faded from his eyes.
'McAllister! he cried.
Two new arrivals had just joined the throng, and, being of rugged and knobbiy
physique, had already shoved themselves through to the ringside seats. one was a tall,
handsome, smooth-faced gentleman of authoritative appearance, who, if he had not wom
rimless glasses, would have looked like a Roman emperor. The other was a shorter,
sturdier man with a bristly red beard.
'McAllister! moaned his lordship piteously. 'McAllister, my dear fellow, do please tell
this man who I am.'
After what had passed between himself and his late employer, a lesser man than
Angus McAllister might have seen in Lord Emsworth's predicament merely a
judgement. A man of little magnanimity would have felt that here was where he got
a
bit of his own back.
Not so this splendid Glaswegian.
'Aye,' he said. 'Yon's Lomrd Emswomrth.'
'Who are you?' inquired the constable searchingly.
'I used to be head-gardener at t}|e cassel.'
'Exactly,' bleated Lord Emsworth. .Precisely. My head-gardener.'
The constable was shaken. lord Emsworth might not look fke an earl, but there was
no getting away from the fact that Angus McAllister was supremely hea<t-
gardeneresque. A staunch admirer of the aristocracy, the constable perceived that zeal
had caused him to make a bit of a bloomer.
130 Sories of Ourselves

In this crisis, however, he comported himself with masterly tact' He scowled blackly
upon the interested throng.
'Pass along there, please. Pass along,' he commanded austerely. Ought to know
better than block up a public thoroughfare like this. Pass along!
He moved off, shepherding the crowd before him. The Roman emperor with the
rimless glasses advanced upon Lord Emsworth, extending a large hand.
'Pleased to meet you at last,' he said. 'My name is Donaldson, Lord Emswqth.'
For a moment the name conveyed nothing to his lordship. Then its significa{ce hit
him, and he drew himself up with hauGur'
'You'll excuse us, Angus,' said Mr Donaldson. 'High time you and I had a littlf chat'
Lord Emsworth.'
Lord Emsworth was about to speak, when he caught the other's eye; It twas a
strong, keen, level grey eye, with a curious forcefulness about it that made hitl feel
strangely inferior. There is every reason to suppose that Mr Donaldson had sub$ribed
for years to those personality courses advertised in the magazines which guarantee to
impart to the pupil who takes ten correspondence lessons the ability to look the boss in
tfre eye and make him wilt. Mr Donaldson Iooked Lord Emsworth in the eye, and Lord
Emsworft wilted.
'How do you do?' he said weaklY.
'Now listen, Lord Emsworth,' proceeded Mr Donaldson. 'No sense in having hard
feelings tietween members of a family. I take it you've heard by this that your bgy and
my gul have gone ahead and fixed it up? Personally, I'm delighted' That boy isia fine
young fellow.'
Lord. Emsworth blinked.
'You are speaking of my son Frederick?' he said incredulously. .

'Of your son Frederick. Now, at the moment, no doubt, you are feeling a riflf sore'
I don't blame you. You have every right to be sorer than a gumboil. But yo{- must
remember young blood, eh? It will, I am convinced, be a lasting grief to that sflendid
young man:-
'You are still speaking of ny son Frederick?'
.of Frederich, yes. It will, I say, be a lasting grief to him if he feels he has irpurred
your rcsenment. You must forgive him, Lord Emsworth. He must have your suPport.'
'I suppose he'll have to have it, dash it! said his lordship unhapptly. 'Can't lPt the
boy starve.t
Mr Donaldson's hand swept round in a wiile, grand gesture. i

'Don't you worry about that, I'll look after that end of it. I am not a rich mffl-
.Ah! said Lord Emsworth rather bleakly. There had been something abo$t the
largeness of the other's manner which had led him to entertain hopes'
-'I
doubt,' continued Mr Donaldson frankly, for he was a man who believed in
frankness in these matters, 'if, all told, I have as much as ten million dollars in the
world.'
Lord Emsworth swayed like a sapling in the breeze.
'Ten million? Ten million? Did you say you had ten million dollars?'
 The Custody of the Pumpkin l3l
'Between nine and ten, I suppose. Not more. You must remember,' said Mr
Donaldson, with a touch of apology, 'that conditions have changed very much in
America of late. We have been through a tough time, a mighty tough time. Many of my
friends have been harder hit than I have. But things are coming back. Yes, sir, they're
coming right back. I arn a firm believer in President Roosevelt and the New Deal.
Under the New Deal, the American dog is beginning to eat mor€ biscuits. That, I strould
have mentioned, is my line. I am Donaldson's Dog-Biscuits.'
'Donaldson's Dog-Biscuits? Indeed? Really ! Fancy that!
'You have heard of Donaldson's Dog-Biscuits?' asked their proprietor eagerly.
'Never,' said Iord Emsworth cordially.
'OhlWell, that's who I am. And, as I say, the business is beginning to pick up
nicely after the slump. All over the country our salesmen are reporting that the
American dog is once more becoming biscuit-conscious. And so I arn in a position, with
your approval, to offer Frederick a steady and possibly a lucrative job. I propose, always
with your consent, of course, to send him over to Long Island city to start leaming the
business. I have no doubt that he will in ri-e prove a lost valuable asset to the firm.'
Lord Emsworth could conceive of no way in which Freddie could be of value to a
dog-biscuit firm, except possibly as a taster; but he refrained from darnping the other's
enthusiasm by saying so. In any case, the thought of the young man actua[y eaming his
living, and doing so three thousand miles from Blandings castle, would probably Lve
held him dumb.
'He seems full of keenness. But, in my opinion, to be able to give of his best and
push the Donaldson biscuit as it should be pushed, he must feel that he has your moral
support, Lord Emsworth - his father's moral support.'
'Yes, yes, yes,' said Lord Emsworth heart y. A feeling of positive adoration for Mr
Donaldson was thrilling him. The getting rid of Freddie, which he himself had been
unable to achieve in twenty-six years, this godlike dog-biscuit manufacturer had
accomplished in less than a week. what a rnanlfelt Lord Emsworth. .oh, yes, yes,
yes! he said. 'Yes, indeed. Most decidedly.'
'They sail on Wednesday.'
'Capital!
'Early in the morning.'
'Splendid!
'I may give them a friendly message from you? A forgiving, fatherly message?,
'certainly, certainly, certainly. Inform Frederick that he has mv best wishes.'-
'I will.'
'Mention that I shall warch his future progress with considerable interest.,
'Exactly.'
'Say that I hope he will work hard and make a name for himself.'
'Just so.'
'And,' concluded Lord Emsworth, speaking with a paternal earnestness well in
keeping with this solemn moment, .tell him er _ not to hurry home.,
-
He pressed Mr Donaldson's hand with feelings too deep foi further speech. Then
he
galloped swiftly to where Angus McAllister stood brooding over the tulip
bed.
132 Stories of Ourselves

'McAllister!
The head-gardener's beard waggled grimly. He looked at his late employer with cold
eyes. It is never difficult to distinguish between a scotsman with a grievance and a ray
of sunshine, and Lord Emsworth, gazing upon the dour man' was able to see at a
glance into which category Angus McAllister fell. His tongue seemed to cleave to his
palate, but he forced himself to speak.
'McAllister. . . I wish. . . I wonder. .
'Weel?' "
'I wonder . . . I wish . . . What I want to say,' faltered Lord Emsworth humbfy''is'
have you accepted another situation yet?'
'I am conseederin' twa.'
,come back to mel pleaded his lordship, his voice breaking. 'Robert Barker is
Jvorse
than useless. Come back to me!
Angus McAllister gazed woodenly at the tulips.
'A weel-he said at length.
'You will?' cried Lord Emsworth joyfully.'SplendidlCapitallExcellentl
'A didna say I wud.'
'I thought you said I willl' said his lordship, dashed.
lt
'I didna say weell'I said A wee[' said Mr McAllister stiffly. 'Meanin'mebbe
I rnight, mebbe not.'
l,ord Emsworth laid a trembling hand upon his shoulder.
'McAllister, I will raise your salary.'
The beard twitched.
'Dash it, I'll double it.'
The eyebrows flickered. j

'McAllister . . . Angus . . .' said Lord Emsworth in a low voice' 'Come bactlThe
pumpkin needs you.'

ln an age of rush and hurry like that of today, an age in which there are innumprable
'it
calls on the time of everyone, is possible that here and there throughout the radcs of
those who have read this chronicle there may be one or two who for various reasons
found themselves unable to attend the last Agricultural Show at Shrewsbury. For these
a few words must be added.
Sir Gregory Parsloe-Parsloe, of Marchingham Hall, was there, of course, but it would
not have .r"ui"a the notice of a close observer that his mien lacked something pf 9e
haughty adogance which had characterised it in other years. From time to time,r as he
pu".O A" tent devoted to the exhibition of vegetables, he might have been seen to bite
iris lip, and his eye had something of that brooding look which Napoleon's must have
worn at waterloo.
But there was the right stuff in Sir Gregory. He was a gentleman and a sportsman.
In the Parsloe tradition there was nothing small or mean. Halfway down the tent he
stopped, and with a quick, mar y gesture thrust out his hand'
'Congratulate you, Emsworth,' he said huskily'
Lord-Emsworth looked up with a start. He had been deep in his thoughts'
 The Custody of the pumpkin 133

'Eh? Oh, thanks. Thanks, my dear fellow, thanks, thanks. Thank you very much.'
He
hesitated. 'Er - can't both win, eh?'
Sir Gregory puzzled it out and saw that he was rieht.
'No,' he said. 'No. see what you mean. can't bo-th win. No getting round that.,
He nodded and walked on, with who knows what vultures gnu*iog at his
broad
bosom' And Lord Emsworth with Angus McAllister, who had been
- a= silent, beard-
waggling witness of the scene, at his side turned once more to stare
-
which lay on the strawy bottom of one of the largest packing_cases
reverently at that
ever seen in
Shrewsbury town.
A card had been attached to the exterior of the packing-case. It bore the
simple
legend:
PUMPKINS. FIRST PRIZE
 L6

An Englishman's Home
(1e38)
Evelyn Watgh

I
MrBeverleyMetcalfetappedthebarometerinthebackhallandnotedwithsatisfaction
that it had ialen several poios a*iog ttre night' He was by
natue a sun-lgytng man',but
eternally in need of
fr" U"fi"u"a it was one of the marks of a true countryman to be
countrymen' Had he teen of
rain. He had made a stuOy and noted the points of true
have formed.a little
i["*ry tt"t- and of an earlier generation, his observations might on Sundays unlike the
book of aphorisms. The true Ioootry(nun wore. a dark suit
fil"ld ilpp", from the cities; he loved a bargain and would go to 1ty e-xpen:f to 90
hismarketingbyprivatetreatyinsteadofthroughthenormalchannelsofretailtrade;
fascinated by mechanical
while ostensibly sceptical ani conservative he was readily
across a fence with
g"G"t ft" was genial but inhospitable: *tlilg !o Coss:P for hounhis house . . . These
friends into
;;;G;g stranier, uut ,"tu"taot ro allow his closestnoted for emulation'
*i fr*attO other characteristics Mr Metcalfehimself' and opening the garden door
"
'That's what we need --rain,' he said to
steppedintothebalmy-o-iog"i'.Therewasnothreatinthecloudlessheavens.His
grtdeoet passed, pushing the water-barrow'
.Good rnorning, Boggett. The glass has dropped, I'm glad to say"
'Ur"
'Means rain.'
'Noa.'
'Down quite low.'
'Ah.'
'Pity to spend a lot of time watering''
'Them'll bum uP else.'
'Not if it rains.'
you can see clear down-
'em't agoio to rain. Don't never rain around heres except
ovet'
'See clear down-over?'