Mr. Zero Read Online Free PDF Page A

ditchwater.”
    Algy was going to say that she couldn’t be dull if she tried, but he thought better of it. An ambitious young man who has hopes of a political career cannot be too careful. He had begun to find Gay a trifle unbalancing. He proceeded to steady himself by talking about the career.
    â€œI think Carstairs is getting a bit reconciled to having me about,” he said. “He’s Lushington’s right hand of course, and he’s so appallingly efficient himself that he can’t stand anyone who isn’t a hundred per cent punctual, orderly, accurate, discreet, and all the rest of the official virtues. Brewster, who’s been there ten years, is the model—a frightfully brainy chap, and knows the job from A to Z. Well, when I came in, and when Carstairs knew that I was a sort of umpteenth cousin of Lushington’s, he naturally made up his mind that I was going to be completely useless, and it’s only by keeping the nose on the grindstone in the most unremitting manner that I have managed to allay his foul suspicions. Do you know that I’ve only been late once in eighteen solid months?”
    â€œMarvellous!” said Gay. “How do you do it?”
    â€œWell, the once was quite early on, and Carstairs looked at me with a cold, penetrating eye and said in a voice like a north-east wind, ‘This must not occur again, Somers.’ And, my child, I saw to it that it didn’t occur. Look here, I thought we’d dance—and then what about a spot of supper and a cabaret? They’ve got a marvellous show at the Ducks and Drakes.”
    â€œLovely,” said Gay.
    The Ducks and Drakes had a very good floor. People were telling each other that it was the best floor in London. There was a new sort of cocktail, and a new coloured dancer—“Simply too marvellous, my dear—her boa-constrictor dance—well, no bones at all! The most amazing thing!” This being the case, the floor was, naturally, so crowded that for the most part you did not so much dance as oscillate gently to the strains of the latest swing tune.
    Gay and Algy oscillated with the rest. A saxophone moaned like a wounded siren. The rhythm drummed and thrummed and beat its way through the commonplace melody. The most archaic sense of all awoke to it, thrilled to it, kept time to it. The soloist lifted up a nasal tenor and sang with swooning sweetness, “Heaven’s in your arms, and I’m there.”
    When the music stopped they found two chairs and one of the little red and black striped tables. There were quite a lot of well known people in the room, and Algy was much gratified at being able to do showman.
    â€œThat’s Mrs. Parkington who broke the woman’s altitude record the other day. They say she’s an awfully good sort. And that’s Parkington with her. They’re the most devoted couple, but he never stops being sick in a plane, so she has to leave him behind—she says he unnerves her. And that’s Jessie Lanklater, the new tap-dancer, and the man with her is Lew Levinsky who wrote the music of Up She Goes Again . And the woman with red hair who has just come in is Poppy Wessex-Gardner.”
    Gay pricked up her ears. She saw a very tall, very thin woman with flaming hair and flaming lipstick in a long sheath-like garment which looked as it if was made of sheet cooper. Strands of copper wire were wound about her arms from shoulder to wrist. Her open sandals disclosed orange toe-nails.
    â€œDoes she always dress like that?”
    â€œOr more so,” said Algy. “The little fat, bald man is the husband who provides the cash—masses, and masses, and masses of cash. And the fellow who looks as if he’d just bought us all at a jumble sale is one Danvers. I don’t know anything about him except his name, and I don’t want to.”
    â€œI shouldn’t think you did.”
    â€œI don’t. I say, there’s Cyril