The Little Warrior

The Little Warrior, by P. G.
Wodehouse

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Title: The Little Warrior (U.K. Title: Jill the Reckless)
Author: P. G. Wodehouse

Release Date: November, 2004 [EBook #6837] [Yes, we are more than
one year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on January 29,
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Edition: 10
Language: English
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THE LITTLE WARRIOR
CHAPTER ONE
1.
Freddie Rooke gazed coldly at the breakfast-table. Through a gleaming
eye-glass he inspected the revolting object which Parker, his faithful
man, had placed on a plate before him.
"Parker!" 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 gray, and
the table, set for two, a comfortable arrangement in white and silver.
"Eggs, Parker," 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?"
"No, sir. You were very quiet."
"Ah! A dashed bad sign!"
Freddie moved to the table, and poured himself a cup of coffee.
"The cream-jug is to your right, sir," said the helpful Parker.
"Let it remain there. Cafe noir for me this morning. As noir as it can
jolly well stick!" Freddie retired to the fireplace and sipped delicately.
"As far as I can remember, it was Ronny Devereux' birthday or
something . . ."
"Mr Martyn's, I think you said, sir."
"That's right. Algy Martyn's birthday, and Ronny and I were the guests.
It all comes back to me. I wanted Derek to roll along and join the

festivities--he's never met Ronny--but he gave it a miss. Quite right! A
chap in his position has responsibilities. Member of Parliament and all
that. Besides," said Freddie earnestly, driving home the point with a
wave of his spoon, "he's engaged to be married. You must remember
that, Parker!"
"I will endeavor to, sir."
"Sometimes," said Freddie dreamily, "I wish I were engaged to be
married. Sometimes I wish I had some sweet girl to watch over me
and . . . No, I don't, by Jove! It would give me the utter pip! Is Sir
Derek up yet, Parker?"
"Getting up, sir."
"See that everything is all right, will you? I mean as regards the
foodstuffs and what not. I want him to make a good breakfast. He's got
to meet his mother this morning at Charing Cross. She's legging it back
from the Riviera."
"Indeed, sir?"
Freddie shook his head.
"You wouldn't speak in that light, careless tone if you knew her! Well,
you'll see her tonight. She's coming here to dinner."
"Yes, sir."
"Miss Mariner will be here, too. A foursome. Tell Mrs Parker to pull up
her socks and give us something pretty ripe. Soup, fish, all that sort of
thing. She knows. And let's have a stoup of malvoisie from the oldest
bin. This is a special occasion!"
"Her ladyship will be meeting Miss