Adventures (17 page)

I left both the racetrack and my hundred pounds behind me without a second thought. I had a few shiIlings left in my pocket, and I spent them on a shave and a little hair grease, after which I started walking to the northeast. The steward hadn't been kidding about not being able to miss my destination, because I soon passed, in rapid succession, Perrison's Dry Goods, Perrison's General Store, Perrison's Slaughterhouse and Restaurant, and the
Perrison Daily Press
. When I finally reached the long roadway leading to the Perrison homestead it was twilight, and it was dark by the time I walked up to the huge old wooden farmhouse.

I spent a couple of minutes smoothing down my hair, brushing the dust off my clothes, and making sure the Good Book was prominently displayed, then knocked on the door. It was opened a moment later by a fat young man with a sullen face and piggy little eyes.

“What do you want?” he whined.

“Greetings,” I said pleasantly. “Is Emily Perrison at home?”

“Who wants to know?” he asked, picking on a pimple.

“What do you mean, who wants to know?” I said. “
I
want to know.”

“Who are you?” he asked, rubbing his stubby little nose.

“I am Doctor Lucifer Jones,” I said, forcing a friendly smile.

“My mum don't need a doctor,” he said sullenly.

“I'm not that kind of doctor,” I said. “Why not get your mother and let her decide?”

He grunted, slammed the door in my face, and left me standing out there in the cold. A minute passed, then another, and finally the door opened again and I found myself facing Mrs. Emily Perrison.

She was the pinkest woman I ever did see. She wore her hair up in a bun, and her face and body looked like someone was trying to balance a small balloon atop a bigger one. She had blue eyes, a broad nose, and lots of shiny white teeth, and she looked like she would never walk when she could mince.

She reached out a ruffled arm and took my hand in hers.

“Doctor Jones?”

“The Right Reverend Doctor Lucifer Jones,” I said, stooping over and kissing her fingers. They tasted of bread dough, and it reminded me that I hadn't eaten all day. “I'm back from your mission in Ethiopia to report on all the good work we've been doing with the money you so generously sent to us.”

“But I made no contributions to Ethiopia,” she said, looking puzzled.

“Well, they
told
me I was in Ethiopia, but it could have been Chad.”

“I
do
make donations to a number of missions in Chad,” she said.

“And right appreciative we are,” I said quickly. “It would just melt your heart to see all those little heathen children coming to church and singing hymns of a Sunday morning.”

Her face lit up at that, and she invited me into the living room, which had a flock of overstuffed Victorian chairs and loveseats covered by hundreds of little doilies. There were a batch of paintings on the wall, mostly of flowers and apples and stuff like that, but they didn't hold a candle to the painting of Nellie Willoughby in the altogether that hung over the bar in the New Stanley Hotel.

“By the way, who was that who met me at the door?” I asked.

“That was my son, Horace,” she said apologetically.

“A right charming lad he is,” I said quickly.

“Well, Doctor Jones,” she said with a fluttery little sigh, “I've heard Horace called a good many things, but that's the very first time the word charming has ever been mentioned.”

“All he needs is a little firm guidance from a Godfearing stepfather not unlike myself and he'll be right as rain.”

“I'm glad you agree,” she said.

“Agree with who and about what?” I asked.

“With me, about Horace. I've recently allowed a certain gentleman to come calling, mainly because I too feel that the boy needs a father.”

That wasn't exactly the solution I had in mind, but I just smiled and allowed as to how I'd like to meet such a lucky fellow before going back into the bush for another couple of quick rounds with Satan.

She told me that I was in luck because he was coming over for dinner that very night. Then she got me some tea and started asking about the natives in Chad. I told her whatever sounded likely, embellishing a little bit here and there about their fertility rites and other such rituals, and explaining that it was due to her and her alone that these sinful goings-on had been stopped.

Suddenly she reached out, grabbed my hand, and held it against her bosom, which was considerable when at rest but was throbbing to beat the band right then.

“It must have been terribly difficult for a cultured gentleman like yourself to rub shoulders with such savages!” she said.

“Somebody had to do it,” I said nobly. “And what Christian wouldn't gladly accept a little torture and some tropical diseases if it enabled him to spread the Word?” I shot her my saddest, most tragic smile. “And while I may have missed the companionship of a good Christian white woman during all them painful years, I couldn't have afforded to keep a wife or raise a family anyway, what with donating all my money to various leper colonies.”

“You poor dear!” she breathed. “You're penniless?”

I nodded. “But I ain't complaining, ma'am,” I said quickly. “I've got spiritual riches, and that's something I wouldn't trade with no one.”

“Where did you plan to spend the night?” she asked.

“I saw a real comfortable-looking bench behind the slaughterhouse,” I said. “And I'm sure in a week or two I can get used to the smell.”

“I won't hear of it!” she exclaimed. “You'll stay right here in the house as our guest until you're ready to go out and do the Lord's work again.”

“But ma'am,” I protested. “It just ain't right. Besides, I still get nightmares from the time they strung me up and tried to make me renounce Jesus. You wouldn't want to wake up during all that screaming. I mean, I know you feel deeply obligated because I've undergone all this suffering and privation for your pet charities, but...”

“You're staying, and that's that!” she said firmly.

I explained that it was morally wrong but that I was too weak and exhausted to argue with her anymore, so I'd have to abide by her decision. She was just reaching out to grab my face and press it on her bosom right next to my hand, and I took a deep breath on the assumption that there wasn't a lot of extra room there for air or anything else, when we were interrupted by a brisk knocking at the front door.

She stood up, slightly flushed and looking pinker than ever, and walked to the door. A moment later she returned with a familiar figure who was dressed all in black: shirt, tie, vest, suit, socks, shoes, hat, belt, probably even underwear.

“Doctor Jones,” said Emily, “I'd like to introduce you to my gentleman caller, Major Theodore Dobbins, late of His Majesty's armed forces.”

I'm not sure which of us looked more surprised, but he recovered first and extended his hand.

“My dear Doctor Jones,” he said. “How good it is to see you again!”

“You two know each other?” asked Emily.

“We've done a little missionary work together,” I said. “In fact, I think you could fairly say that the last time we got together we prevented a few hundred poor lost souls from becoming drug addicts.”

“Praise God!” she cried, looking all sort of uplifted.

“It's been a long time, Doctor Jones,” said the Major, seating himself on one of the uglier chairs. “I had never expected to see you again.”

“Isn't it a small world?” said Emily.

“Crowded is more the word for it,” I replied.

“Well, I'll leave you two to discuss old times while I check on dinner,” she said, scurrying out to the kitchen.

“What are
you
doing here?” Major Dobbins hissed as soon as she was out of earshot.

“Just spreading the word of the Lord,” I replied. “And yourself?”

“You will doubtless find this difficult to comprehend,” he said, “but I am here because of an earnest affair of the heart.”

“Difficult ain't exactly the word I'd choose, Brother Dobbins,” I said. “How much is she worth?”

“What makes you think I'd know anything about her financial status?” he said with dignity. “I assure you, my friend, that such a question has never crossed my mind.”

“
That
much?” I said.

“My dear Doctor Jones,” he said, sitting down opposite me, “I think it best that we lay all our cards on the table. After our unfortunate meeting with Erich Von Horst in Dar-es-Salaam, certain business interests caused me to move my base of operations to South Africa in some degree of haste.”

“They issued another warrant for you?” I asked.

“Let us say that my interpretations of the finer points of the law differed in various respects from those of the authorities,” he replied. “Be that as it may, I found that I had insufficient capital to continue dealing in those perishable goods that had formed the staple of my livelihood for the past decade. Indeed, all seemed hopeless until I heard of the good Mrs. Perrison from an associate, and immediately moved my base once again, this time to Durban. I will confess that she does indeed possess a certain amount of wealth, though doubtless far less than you hope or suspect. I have been courting her assiduously for the past two months, and now stand upon the brink of being able to set the time and place for our nuptials.”

“It certainly beats leaving it all to Horace,” I said thoughtfully.

“I knew you would appreciate my position,” he said with a smile.

“I do more than appreciate it, Major,” I replied. “I
envy
it.”

“And so we come to the crux of the situation,” he said. “Exactly how much will it take to assuage your envy?”

“I sure wouldn't want to appear greedy or nothing,” I told him. “But I got a feeling that it would take more than you're willing to spend.”

“Two thousand pounds,” he offered.

“Come on, now, Major,” I said. “I walked by all those stores on the way up here.”

“They all have mortgages,” he replied. “Two thousand is a generous offer, Doctor Jones.”

“I never denied it,” I said. “Of course, it stands to reason that if two thousand is a generous offer, ten thousand is five times as generous.”

“That is simply out of the question,” he said. “Let's split it right down the middle: twenty-five hundred pounds.”

I shook my head. “Well, Major, it looks like we're going to be rivals for that poor lonesome widow lady's hand. May the best man win, so long as he ain't an Englishman with a price on his head.”

Emily rejoined us just then to inform us that dinner was on the table, and we followed her into the dining room, which, like the living room, was furnished with a batch of ugly Victorian items, in this case a china cabinet with a matching table and four dumpy chairs. Horace was sitting on one of the chairs, picking his nose thoughtfully, and the Major and I sat down at the head and foot of the table. Emily joined us a few seconds later.

“I'm sure you gentlemen had lots to talk about,” said Emily.

“More than you could imagine,” I assured her.

“Have you known each other long?” she asked.

“Oh, we go way back, ma'am,” I said. “Of course, Major Dobbins goes a lot farther back than I do, me being a young and vital God-fearing Christian gentleman in the very prime of life.”

“My dear Doctor Jones, you must learn not to feel so self-conscious about your unworldliness and lack of experience,” said the Major. “After all, immaturity is nothing to be ashamed of. You'll undoubtedly outgrow it at about the same time Horace does.”

With that, Horace got up from the table and stalked out of the room.

“Have I said something to offend him?” asked the Major with a certain degree of satisfaction.

“He's a very sensitive boy,” Emily replied.

“I could tell that right off the bat,” I interjected.

“He's still trying to find himself,” she confided.

“Has he tried looking in the kitchen?” I asked. “I mean, if I wanted to find Horace, that's the very first place I'd look for him.”

“You must excuse my friend,” said the Major. “I'm sure he doesn't mean to appear so boorish, but I must also point out that it is this very insensitivity that precludes his ever successfully raising a child.”

“Just because you've been littering Africa with children don't give you no monopoly on fatherly wisdom,” I shot back. “I could raise Horace as well as the next man, especially if the next man was you.”

“I'm afraid I don't follow what all this is about,” said Emily.

“Miss Emily,” I said, “I got to declare myself here and now. I've lost my heart to the radiance of your beauty, and want nothing more than to be a husband to you and a good father to Horace, teaching him the manly art of self-defense and taking him to rugby games of a Sunday afternoon.”

“This is so sudden!” she said, blushing. “But what about the Major?”

“He can go out and preach the Word amongst the heathen like I been doing,” I said. “It might do him a world of good.”

“I'll need time to think about this,” said Emily.

“My dear, I urge you not to listen to him,” said the Major. “If nothing else, think of Horace. Doctor Jones is probably even now wanted in some municipality or another for pederasty.”

“That's a lie!” I shouted. “I ain't never pretended to be a foot doctor in my life! Miss Emily, I put it to you: The only person at this table who has ever been arrested is the Major.”

“Is that true, Theodore?” she asked. .

“It was a very trivial matter, my dear,” he said.

“That's what all them naked ladies said too.”

Emily Perrison gasped and covered her face with her hands.

“By gad, sir, I will not be subjected to any further vilifications!” roared the Major. “Honor demands satisfaction!”

That brought back memories of a lively young girl I used to know back in the States named Honor Weinburger, but before I could share this drollery with them the Major was on his feet, pacing back and forth and thumping his fist into his palm.

“We'll meet at dawn!” he said at last. “Jones, choose your weapon!”

“How about silence at five hundred paces?” I suggested when I saw he was serious. “You could start now.”