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Page 3
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Etext scanned by Jim Tinsley <jtinsley@pobox.com>
SOMETHING NEW
by Pelham Grenville Wodehouse
CHAPTER I
The sunshine of a fair Spring morning fell graciously on London
town. Out in Piccadilly its heartening warmth seemed to infuse
into traffic and pedestrians alike a novel jauntiness, so that
bus drivers jested and even the lips of chauffeurs uncurled into
not unkindly smiles. Policemen whistled at their posts--clerks,
on their way to work; beggars approached the task of trying to
persuade perfect strangers to bear the burden of their
maintenance with that optimistic vim which makes all the
difference. It was one of those happy mornings.
At nine o'clock precisely the door of Number Seven Arundell
Street, Leicester Square, opened and a young man stepped out.
Of all the spots in London which may fairly be described as
backwaters there is none that answers so completely to the
description as Arundell Street, Leicester Square. Passing along
the north sidewalk of the square, just where it joins Piccadilly,
you hardly notice the bottleneck opening of the tiny cul-de-sac.
Day and night the human flood roars past, ignoring it. Arundell
Street is less than forty yards in length; and, though there are
two hotels in it, they are not fashionable hotels. It is just a
backwater.
In shape Arundell Street is exactly like one of those flat stone
jars in which Italian wine of the cheaper sort is stored. The
narrow neck that leads off Leicester Square opens abruptly into a
small court. Hotels occupy two sides of this; the third is at
present given up to rooming houses for the impecunious. These are
always just going to be pulled down in the name of progress to
make room for another hotel, but they never do meet with that
fate; and as they stand now so will they in all probability stand
for generations to come.
They provide single rooms of moderate size, the bed modestly
hidden during the day behind a battered screen. The rooms contain
a table, an easy-chair, a hard chair, a bureau, and a round tin
bath, which, like the bed, goes into hiding after its useful work
is performed. And you may rent one of these rooms, with breakfast
thrown in, for five dollars a week.
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