
Owen was stunned by the news that his play had been a failure in London. He felt like he'd been punched in the gut. Mr. Prosser's words were like a cold splash of water on his face, bringing him back to reality. As they drove through the streets, Owen couldn't help but think about how everything had seemed to be going right for him just moments before. He had finally found someone who believed him, and now it was all being taken away from him. Mr. Prosser's words were like a cruel joke. "Sooner ride than walk," he said with a chuckle, as if Owen's disappointment wasn't even worth acknowledging. Owen felt like he was in a daze as they drove to his address. He couldn't believe that all his hopes and dreams had been crushed in one fell swoop. When they arrived at his flat, Mr. Prosser got out of the cab and followed Owen inside. "I'm afraid you're disappointed about the play?" he said with a sympathetic smile. Owen forced a smile back, trying to hide his true feelings. "Oh, no, that's all right," he said, trying to sound nonchalant. "It can't be helped." Mr. Prosser nodded understandingly and handed Owen a card. "Come round and see me tomorrow," he said. "I can tell you the actual figures offhand, but you'll be all right. You'll have pots o' money." Owen took the card, feeling like he was in a dream. He couldn't believe that Mr. Prosser was still trying to reassure him after what had just happened. As they said their goodbyes, Owen felt like he was walking on air again. But this time it wasn't because of his play's success - it was because of the money he would soon be making from it. He watched as Mr. Prosser got back into the cab and drove away, feeling a sense of relief wash over him. He had been so caught up in his disappointment that he hadn't even thought about the financial implications of his play's failure. But now, with Mr. Prosser's words echoing in his mind, Owen felt a sense of excitement building inside him. He would be rich, and he knew exactly how to get there. As he walked back into his flat, Owen couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude towards Mr. Prosser. Without him, Owen might still be stuck in his dead-end job, wondering what could have been. But now, thanks to Mr. Prosser's kindness and generosity, Owen had a chance to start anew. And he was determined to make the most of it.
By P. G. Wodehouse · First published 1922 · Genre: Humor, Comedy of manners, Fiction · 6,799 words
Owen Bentley was feeling embarrassed. He looked at Mr. Sheppherd, and with difficulty restrained himself from standing on one leg and twiddling his fingers. At one period of his career, before the influence of his uncle Henry had placed him in the London and Suburban Bank, Owen had been an actor. On the strength of a batting average of thirty-three point nought seven for Middlesex, he had been engaged by the astute musical-comedy impresario to whom the idea first occurred that, if you have got to have young men to chant "We are merry and gay, tra-la, for this is Bohemia," in the Artists' Ball scene, you might just as well have young men whose names are known to the public. He had not been an actor long, for loss of form had put him out of first-class cricket, and the impresario had given his place in the next piece to a googly bowler who had done well in the last Varsity match; but he had been one long enough to experience that sinking sensation which is known as stage-fright.
Pots O'Money is listed on Textopian as a short story by P. G. Wodehouse, dated 1922 CE.
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comedy · humor · satire · romance · British literature · early 20th century · social class · wealth · friendship · misunderstandings · lighthearted · witty