[adapted]

by
P. G. Wodehouse

People who study American stories might know the funny old tale of Clarence MacFadden. Clarence MacFadden, it seems, wanted to dance, but his feet didn’t work that way. So he went to a dance teacher and asked how much he charged, saying he was happy to pay. The teacher (the story says) looked down at Clarence’s feet, saw how big they were, and added five dollars to his usual price for teaching him to dance.

I often think how much Clarence’s story is like that of Henry Wallace Mills. There is only one difference. It looks like Clarence danced because he was proud and wanted attention. But Henry Mills danced because of love. He wanted to make his wife happy. If he had never gone to Ye Bonnie Briar-Bush Farm, a popular holiday place, and met Minnie Hill, he probably would have spent all his free time reading quietly, just as he always did after work at the New York bank where he worked as paying-cashier.

Henry loved to read. His idea of a nice evening was to go home to his small apartment, take off his coat, put on his slippers, light a pipe, and start reading again from where he left off the night before in the BIS–CAL volume of the Encyclopaedia Britannica. He made notes in a thick notebook as he read. He was reading that volume because he had already finished the A–AND, AND–AUS, and AUS–BIS volumes. There was something both great and a little scary about Henry’s way of studying. He chased knowledge the way a weasel chases a rabbit—with cold and steady focus. Most people who buy the Encyclopaedia Britannica get excited and skip ahead to Volume XXVIII (VET–ZYM) to see how it ends. But not Henry. He was not that kind of person. He planned to read the entire thing, and he didn’t want to ruin the fun by looking ahead.

It seems like it’s a rule of nature that a man cannot be good at both brains and dancing. If he is smart and loves to learn, his dancing is likely to look like a drunk man trying to walk. But if he dances well, he is often not so clever. You could see this clearly with Henry Mills and his co-worker Sidney Mercer. In New York banks, paying-cashiers (like zoo animals) are always kept in pairs, and they have to talk to each other when there’s no work. Henry and Sidney had nothing to talk about. Sidney knew nothing about even the basic facts like Abana, Aberration, Abraham, or Acrogenae. Henry, on the other hand, didn’t even know there had been new dance styles since the polka. Henry was actually glad when Sidney quit his job to join a musical theatre show and was replaced by someone else who, even though he wasn’t perfect, at least could talk about the game of Bowls.

That was Henry Wallace Mills. He was in his mid-thirties, didn’t drink much, liked to study, smoked a little, and seemed like he would never fall in love. He looked like the kind of man who would stay single forever. Sometimes the man who replaced Sidney, a young man who liked to talk about love, would ask Henry if he ever wanted to get married. Henry would look at him with a mix of surprise, humour, and disapproval. Then he would say just one word:

“Me!”

It was the way Henry said it that really made people notice.

But Henry had not yet felt the strange feeling of being at a summer holiday place all alone. He had only just reached the level at work where he was allowed to take his summer vacation. Before this, he always had to take time off in winter. He spent his winter vacations sitting in his flat, with a book in his hand and his feet on the warm heater. But the summer after Sidney Mercer left, the bank let him go on holiday in August.

The city was very hot. Henry wanted to be in the countryside. For a whole month before his vacation, he stopped reading the Encyclopaedia Britannica and started reading brochures for summer vacation places. He finally chose Ye Bonnie Briar-Bush Farm because the ads made it sound very nice.

Ye Bonnie Briar-Bush Farm was an old wooden house far from any town. The fun things it offered included a “Lovers’ Leap,” a small cave called a grotto, and a tiny golf course with five holes. There were goats tied up between the holes, so golf was a bit tricky! There was also a shiny lake—but some parts of the lake were full of trash like tin cans and wooden boxes. All of it was new and exciting to Henry. He started to feel a little wild and happy inside. He thought, “Something exciting should happen here.”

That’s when Minnie Hill arrived.

She was a small, thin girl, a little too pale, with big sad-looking eyes. Henry thought she looked sweet and gentle. He started to think about Minnie Hill more and more.

One evening, he met her by the lake. He was standing there, hitting bugs that looked like mosquitoes—but couldn’t be, because the ad said there were no mosquitoes near Ye Bonnie Briar-Bush Farm. Then Minnie came walking slowly toward him. She looked tired. A strange feeling went through Henry—half feeling sorry for her, and half something else. He looked at her. She looked at him.

“Good evening,” he said.

These were the first words he had ever said to her. She never talked at dinner, and he had been too shy to speak to her before.

She said, “Good evening,” too. Now they had said the same thing.

There was a quiet moment.

Henry felt bad for her, so he got brave.

“You’re looking tired,” he said.

“I feel tired.” She stopped. “I overdid it in the city.”

“It?”

“Dancing.”

“Oh, dancing. Did you dance a lot?”

“Yes. A great deal.”

“Ah!”

Henry had started well. But now he didn’t know what to say next. For the first time, he wished he had skipped ahead in the Encyclopaedia Britannica and read about dancing. If he had, maybe he could talk more easily.

Then he remembered—he had read something about ballet not long ago!

“I don’t dance myself,” he said, “but I like reading about it. Did you know the word ballet has three words inside it—‘ballet’, ‘ball’, and ‘ballad’? And long ago, people used to sing while they danced ballet.”

It worked! She was very impressed. She looked at Henry with wide eyes. It was almost like she was amazed.

“I hardly know anything,” she said.

“The first ballet in London,” Henry said softly, “was called The Tavern Bilkers. It was shown at Drury Lane in… seventeen-something.”

“Really?”

“And the first ballet we know about today was for a wedding. A man gave it to celebrate the marriage of the Duke of Milan in 1489.”

Henry remembered that number easily because it was the same as his telephone number!

He said the date loudly and clearly. The girl’s eyes got even bigger.

“You know so much!”

“Oh, not really,” said Henry, feeling shy. “I just read a lot.”

“It must be wonderful to know things,” she said, a little sadly. “I never had time to read. I’ve always wanted to. I think you’re amazing!”

Henry felt wonderful. His heart was opening like a flower in the sun. He felt happy all over, like a cat when you scratch its back just right. No woman had ever admired him like this before. The feeling was so exciting it made him dizzy.

They didn’t talk again right away. They walked back to the farmhouse together. A bell was ringing in the distance to call them for supper. The bell didn’t sound very nice, but because of the magic of the moment, it seemed soft and sweet.

The sun was going down. The lake looked red and shiny. The air was quiet. Bugs that weren’t supposed to be there were still biting, but Henry didn’t care. He didn’t even try to stop them. They could bite as much as they wanted. Something strange was happening inside him. Later that night, lying in bed, Henry finally understood the truth. He was in love.

After that day, Henry and Minnie spent the rest of their time at the farm together. They walked in the woods and sat by the shiny lake. Henry told her everything he knew, and she listened with big eyes, saying softly, “Yes,” or “Gee!”

Soon, Henry went back to New York.

“You were wrong about love, Mills,” said his co-worker at the bank. “You should get married.”

“I am,” said Henry with a smile. “Next week.”

This shocked his co-worker so much that he gave a man $15 for a $10 check by mistake and had to make some worried phone calls after the bank closed.

Henry’s first year of marriage was the happiest time of his life. He had heard people say the first year was the hardest. He expected arguments and problems, but none came. From the start, they lived together easily. It felt as natural as two rivers joining.

Henry didn’t even have to change his habits. Every morning, he had breakfast at eight, smoked a cigarette, and walked to the subway. At five o’clock, he left the bank, and by six he was home. He liked to walk two miles before taking the train. Then came dinner. Then a quiet night—sometimes a movie, but usually he read the encyclopedia out loud while Minnie sewed his socks and listened.

Every day, Henry felt amazed that he could be so happy and calm. Everything felt just right. Minnie looked different now—more healthy, less tired.

Sometimes Henry would stop reading and look at her. At first, he saw just her soft hair. Then she would look up, and he would see her big eyes. That’s when Henry would feel so happy he couldn’t believe it. He would say to himself: “Can you beat it!”

It was Henry and Minnie’s wedding anniversary. They celebrated in style. First, they ate dinner at a busy and fun Italian restaurant near Seventh Avenue. Red wine came with the meal, and lots of lively people sat at small tables, all talking loudly at the same time. After dinner, they went to see a musical show. Then came the biggest event of the night—they had supper at a bright, fancy restaurant near Times Square.

Henry had always dreamed about eating supper in a place like that. Although he usually read serious books, sometimes he enjoyed reading stories where the hero dines in a glamorous crowd. In those stories, the hero sees a rich older man walk in with a beautiful woman, and everyone turns to stare at her. Later, a waiter quietly brings the hero a secret note.

Geisenheimer’s restaurant felt just like one of those stories. After supper, Henry lit a cigar—his second that day—and leaned back in his chair. He looked around the room and felt bold and excited. Even though he was thirty-six years old, he felt like he was only twenty-one.

Then a voice spoke next to him. Henry looked up and saw Sidney Mercer.

A year ago, Sidney had worked with Henry at the bank. Now, Sidney looked amazing. His fancy black suit fit perfectly. His shiny shoes sparkled. His light-colored hair was brushed smooth and neat under the bright lights. His round face smiled over a very clean white collar.