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Wodehouse, P. G. (Pelham Grenville), 1881-1975

"Piccadilly Jim"

No, that was out
of the question.
What remained? The air of New York is bracing and healthy, but a
man cannot live on it. Obviously he must find a job. But what
job?
What could he do?
A gnawing sensation in the region of the waistcoat answered the
question. The solution--which it put forward was, it was true,
but a temporary one, yet it appealed strongly to Jimmy. He had
found it admirable at many crises. He would go and lunch, and it
might be that food would bring inspiration.
He moved from his doorway and crossed to the entrance of the
subway. He caught a timely express, and a few minutes later
emerged into the sunlight again at Grand Central. He made his way
westward along Forty-second Street to the hotel which he thought
would meet his needs. He had scarcely entered it when in a chair
by the door he perceived Ann Chester, and at the sight of her all
his depression vanished and he was himself again.
"Why, how do you do, Mr. Bayliss? Are you lunching here?"
"Unless there is some other place that you would prefer," said
Jimmy. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting."
Ann laughed. She was looking very delightful in something soft
and green.
"I'm not going to lunch with you. I'm waiting for Mr. Ralstone
and his sister. Do you remember him? He crossed over with us. His
chair was next to mine on the promenade deck."
Jimmy was shocked. When he thought how narrowly she had escaped,
poor girl, from lunching with that insufferable pill Teddy--or
was it Edgar?--he felt quite weak.


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