Yes, sir.

I mean to say, home again.

Precisely, sir.

Seems ages since I went away.

Yes, sir.

Anybody been phoning or calling or anything during my absence?

Mr. Fink-Nottle, sir, has been a frequent caller.

Mr. Fink-Nottle?

Yes, sir.

You don’t mean Mr. Fink-Nottle?

Yes, sir.

But Mr. Fink-Nottle’s not in London?

Yes, sir.

Are you sure?

Yes, sir.

You got the name correctly? Fink-Nottle?

Yes, sir.

It must be five years since he was in London. He makes no secret of the fact that the he hates the place. Until now, he has always stayed glued to the country, completely surrounded by newts.

Sir?

Newts, Jeeves. Mr. Fink-Nottle has a strong newt complex. You must have heard of newts. Those little sort of lizard things that charge about in ponds.

Oh, yes, sir. The aquatic members of the family Salamandridae which constitute the genus Molge.

That’s right. Well, Gussie has always been a slave to them. He used to keep them at school.

I believe young gentlemen frequently do, sir.

We scarcely gave this kink in Gussie’s character a thought. Then the trouble spread."

Indeed, sir?

The craving grew. The newts got him. Once of age, he retired to the depths of the country and gave his life up to these dumb chums. I suppose he used to tell himself that he could take them or leave them alone, and then found — too late — that he couldn’t.

It is often the way, sir.

Too true, Jeeves. At any rate, for the last five years he has been living at this place of his down in Lincolnshire, as confirmed a species-shunning hermit as ever put fresh water in the tank. That’s why I was so amazed when you told me he had risen to the surface. I still can’t believe it.

The gentleman who came to the flat wore horn-rimmed spectacles, sir.

And looked like something on a slab?

Possibly there was a certain suggestion of the piscine, sir.

Then it must be Gussie. But what on earth can have brought him up to London?

I am in a position to explain that, sir. Mr. Fink-Nottle confided to me his motive in visiting the metropolis. He came because the young lady is here.

You don’t mean he’s in love?

Yes, sir.

Well, I’m dashed. I'm positively am dashed, Jeeves. No doubt the occasion is one of those when a fellow needs a friend. It must have been a nasty jar for the poor perisher when he found I wasn’t here.

Mr. Fink-Nottle did not call to see you, sir.

Pull yourself together, Jeeves. You just told me that is what he's been doing.

It was I with whom he was desirous of establishing communication, sir.

I didn’t know you had met him.

I had not had that pleasure until he called here, sir. A past client of mine had recommended he place his affairs in my hands.

Yes, sir.

And what is Gussie’s trouble?

Each time he endeavors to formulate a proposal of marriage, his courage fails him.

And yet, if he wants this female to be his wife, he’s got to say so, what? I mean, only civil to mention it.

Precisely, sir.

Well, I suppose this was inevitable, Jeeves. I wouldn’t have thought that this Fink-Nottle would ever have fallen to Cupid's arrow, but, if he has, no wonder he finds the going sticky.

Yes, sir.

What a lesson this is to us, Jeeves, not to shut ourselves up in country houses and stare into glass tanks. You can’t be the dominant male if you do that sort of thing.

No, sir.

Tell me, Jeeves, what sort of a girl Gussie after?

I have not met the young lady, sir, though Mr. Fink-Nottle speaks highly of her attractions, one Miss Madeline Bassett.

Egad, Jeeves! It’s a small world, what?

The young lady is an acquaintance of yours, sir?

Your news has relieved my mind, Jeeves.

I confess that until you supplied this information I was feeling profoundly dubious about poor old Gussie’s chances of inducing any spinster of any parish to join him in the saunter down the aisle. You will agree with me that he is not everybody’s money.

There may be something in what you say, sir.

But when you tell me that the object of his affections is Miss Bassett, why, then, Jeeves, hope begins to dawn. She happens to be a friend of my cousin, you see, and I just saw quite a bit of her at the family outing at Cannes. Indeed, in my moodier moments, it seemed I couldn't move a step without stubbing my toe on the woman. And what made it all so painful was that the more we met, the less I seemed able to say to her. You know how it is with some girls. They seem to take the stuffing right out of you, something about their personalities that paralyses the vocal cords and reduces the contents of the brain to cauliflower.

 

It was not her beauty, mark you, that numbed me. She's a pretty enough girl in a droopy, saucer-eyed way, but what caused this disintegration in a usually fluent prattler with the opposite sex was her whole mental attitude, all loaded down with ideals and sentiment. But with Gussie, the position is entirely different. She's just the type of girl for him.

I am most gratified to hear it, sir.

And he’s just the type for her. In fine, a good thing and one to be pushed along with the utmost energy. Strain every nerve, Jeeves.

Very good, sir. I will attend to the matter at once.

Something on your mind, Jeeves?

I fear that you inadvertently came home in the possession of a coat belonging to some other gentleman, sir.

You wore it, sir?

Every night.

But surely you are not proposing to wear it in England, sir?

Yes, Jeeves.

It is quite unsuitable, sir.

It is my intention to spring it on the public tomorrow at Pongo Twistleton’s birthday party, where I confidently expect it to be one long scream from start to finish. No argument, Jeeves. No discussion. Whatever fantastic objection you may have taken to it, I wear this jacket.

Very good, sir.

Right ho, Jeeves. Why don't you take the evening off and go see a picture show or something?

Oh, hullo, Bertie.

Gussie. What-ho. Long time since I saw you. Have a seat?

No, thanks. I'm on my way to a fancy-dress ball. I just came round to ask Jeeves how he thought I looked.

Bertie?

I ... hear you’re in London.

Oh, yes.

Must be years since you came up. And now you’re off for an evening’s pleasure?

Pleasure!

Aren’t you looking forward to the revel?

Whether I am or not, I ought to be off. The dance starts soon, and the cab is waiting.

Very good, sir.

Well, Gussie, old leper, I’ve hard all about this little trouble of yours.

I wish Jeeves wouldn’t go gassing all over the place.

Dishing up the dirt to the young master can scarcely be described as gassing all over the place. Anyway, there it is. I know all. And I should like to begin by saying that Madeline Bassett is a charming girl and just the sort for you.

You know her?

Certainly I know her. What beats me is how you ever got in touch. Where did you meet?

I didn’t know you called on your neighbors.

I don’t. I happened to see her when she was walking her dog, which got a thorn in its foot, and when she tried to take it out, it snapped at her. So, of course, I came to the rescue.

You extracted the thorn and fell in love at first sight.

Yes.

Well, dash it, with a thing like that to give you a send-off, why didn’t you cash in immediately?

I hadn’t the nerve.

What happened?

We talked for a bit.

What about?

Oh, birds.

Birds? What birds?

The birds that happened to be hanging round, and the scenery, and all that sort of thing. And she said she was going to London, and asked me to look her up if I was ever there.

And even after that you didn’t so much as touch her hand?

Of course not.

At any rate, you will be glad to learn that Bertram Wooster is behind you in this enterprise.

And what is he doing about it?

It’s on his advice that I’m going to this dance.

Why?

Madeline is going to be there. In fact, it was she who sent me the ticket of invitation.

Gussie, old pal, I don't mean to offend, but you look ... well, devilish. Why not go as a Pierrot, the sad clown, as everyone else will be dressed? Why this break with a grand old tradition?

Jeeves particularly wanted me to go as the Germanic devil, Mephistopheles.

Ha! And to think he was making heavy weather about me wearing a perfectly ordinary white mess jacket.

Eh?

What has he got against Pierrots?

I don’t think he objects to Pierrots as Pierrots. But in my case, he said that the costume of Pierrot, while pleasing to the eye, lacked the authority of the Mephistopheles costume. It’s a matter of psychology.

Ppsychology?

He thinks I might be emboldened in a striking costume like this. A Pirate Chief was his first suggestion, but I objected to the boots.

There is enough sadness in life without having fellows going about in sea boots. And are you emboldened?

Well, to be honest, Bertie, old man, no.

Gussie, you and I once threw inked darts at each other. Take an old friend’s advice, and don’t go within a mile of this dance.

But it’s my last chance of seeing her. She’s off tomorrow to stay with some people in the country. Besides, you don’t know that this idea of Jeeves’s won’t work. Look at newts. During the courting season the male newt is brilliantly colored.

But you aren’t a male newt. If you were, Madeline Bassett wouldn’t look at you.

She would, if she were a female newt.

But she isn’t a female newt.

No, but suppose she was.

Well, if she was, you wouldn’t be in love with her.

Yes, I would, if I were a male newt.

The cab drive is wondering if his services are still required.

Oh, right. Thanks, Jeeves. Well, so long, Bertie.

Jeeves, may I speak frankly?

Certainly, sir.

What I have to say may wound you.

Mr. Fink-Nottle has been telling me about this Mephistopheles scheme of yours.

Yes, sir?

If I follow your reasoning correctly, you think that, stimulated by scarlet tights, Mr. Fink-Nottle, on encountering the adored object, will let himself go with a whoop.

I am of the opinion that he will lose much of his normal diffidence, sir.

Of all the dashed silly, driveling ideas I ever heard, this is the most blithering and futile. It won’t work. Not a chance. All you have done is to subject Mr. Fink-Nottle to the nameless horrors of a fancy-dress ball for nothing. And this is not the first time this sort of thing has happened. To be quite candid, Jeeves, I have frequently noticed a tendency on your part to become — what’s the word?

I could not say, sir.

Eloquent? Elusive? Begins with an ‘e’ and means being a jolly sight too clever.

Elaborate, sir?

That is the exact word I was after. Too elaborate, Jeeves. You cloud the issue with a lot of fancy stuff that is not of the essence. All that Gussie needs is the elder-brotherly advice of a seasoned man of the world. So I suggest you leave this case to me.

Very good, sir.

You lay off and devote yourself to your duties about the home.

Very good, sir.

I shall no doubt think of something quite simple and straightforward yet perfectly effective. I will make a point of seeing Gussie tomorrow.

Very good, sir.

Right ho, Jeeves.

Jeeves, please send my reply: Perplexed. Explain. Bertie.

When you say come do you mean come to your home, Brinkley Court in Worcestershire? And when you say at once do you mean at once? Fogged. At a loss. All the best. Bertie.

Jeeves, what do you make of this?

I think Mrs. Travers wishes you to come at once, sir.

You gather that too, do you?

Yes, sir.

But why, Jeeves? She’s just had nearly two months of me.

Yes, sir.

And many people consider the medium dose for my society two days.

I appreciate the point you raise. Nevertheless, Mrs. Travers appears very insistent. I think it would be well to acquiesce in her wishes.

Pop down, you mean?

Yes, sir.

Well, I certainly can’t go at once. As I said, I must attend Pongo Twistelton's birthday party.

Yes, sir.

You’re all wrong about the mess jacket, Jeeves.

When I wore it at the Casino at Cannes, beautiful women nudged one another and whispered: ‘Who is he?’

The code at Continental casinos is notoriously lax, sir.

I am convinced that you will eventually learn to love this mess-jacket, Jeeves.

I fear not, sir.

Get back here, Bertie, you old ass! And don’t blink at me in that obscene way.

Aunt Dahlia. What is this barging in all about?

I’ve barged in, as you call it, because my telegrams seemed to produce no effect. You’re coming back with me now. I’ve got a job for you.

But I don’t want a job.

What you want, my lad, and what you’re going to get are two very different things. There is man’s work for you to do at Brinkley Court.

Dash it, what is all this?

Have you ever heard of Market Snodsbury Grammar School?

Never.

I’m one of the governors.

I don’t mean one of the governesses. Listen, ass. The board left the arrangements for the summer prize-giving to me. This prize-giving takes place on the last — or thirty-first — day of this month. Have you got that clear?

Market ... Snodsbury ... Grammar School ... Board of governors ... Prize-giving. Quite. But what’s it got to do with me?

You’re going to give away the prizes.

Me?

You.

You don’t mean me?

The vicar was to have officiated, but his horse took ill. Though I telephoned all over the place, no one would take it on. And then I thought of you.

You think I’m going to make a speech and strew prizes at this school of yours?

I do.

Well, I’m glad to see you taking it in this merry spirit.

I won’t do it. That’s final.

You will do it, young Bertie, or never darken my doors again. And you know what that means. No more of Chef Anatole’s dinners for you.

No, I say, dash it!

I thought that would rattle you, greedy pig.

One is not a greedy pig because one appreciates the cooking of a genius. But why do you want me? I mean, what am I? Ask yourself that.

I often have.

I seem to remember, when I was at school, it was generally a prime minister or someone terrific who gave away the prizes.

At Market Snodsbury, anybody in spats impresses us.

Why don’t you get Uncle Tom?

Uncle Tom!

Well, why not? He’s got spats.

You remember when I lost all that money at the casino in Cannes? Well, soon I shall have to break the news to Tom. If, after that, I ask him to put on lavender gloves and a top hat and distribute the prizes, there will be a divorce in the family.

Listen to reason. I’m hopeless at this sort of thing. Ask Jeeves about the time I got lugged in to addressing a girls’ school. I made the most colossal ass of myself.

The way I look at it is that, as the thing is bound to be a bore, anyway, one may as well get a hearty laugh out of it. I shall enjoy seeing you distribute those prizes, Bertie, and I shall expect you in a day or two.

How did he make out at the fancy-dress ball?

He did not arrive at the fancy-dress ball, sir. As I gather from Mr. Fink-Nottle, he entered the cab convinced in his mind that the entertainment to which he had been invited was to be held at No. 17, Suffolk Square, whereas the actual rendezvous was No. 71, Norfolk Terrace. These aberrations of memory are not uncommon with those who, like Mr. Fink-Nottle, belong essentially to what one might call the dreamer-type.

One might also call it the fatheaded type.

Yes, sir.

Well?

On reaching No. 17, Suffolk Square, Mr. Fink-Nottle endeavored to produce money to pay the fare.

What stopped him?

The fact that he had no money, sir. He discovered that he had left it, together with his ticket of invitation, on the mantelpiece of his bedchamber in the house of his uncle, where he was residing. Bidding the cabman to wait, accordingly, he rang the door-bell, and when the butler appeared, requested him to pay the cab, adding that it was all right, as he was one of the guests invited to the dance. The butler then disclaimed all knowledge of a dance on the premises.

And declined to pay?

Yes, sir.

Upon which ...

Mr. Fink-Nottle directed the cabman to drive him back to his uncle’s residence.

Well, why wasn’t that the happy ending?

I should have mentioned, sir, that Mr. Fink-Nottle had also left the key to the house on the mantelpiece of his bedchamber.

He could have rung the bell.

He did ring the bell, sir, for some fifteen minutes. At the expiration of that period he recalled that he had given permission to the caretaker and all the staff to go on holiday. The house was officially closed.

Golly, Jeeves! These dreamer types do live, don’t they?

Yes, sir. Mr. Fink-Nottle realized at this point that his position as regards the cabman had become uncertain. The figures on the clock had already reached a substantial sum, and he was not in a position to meet his obligations.

He could have explained.

You cannot explain to cabmen, sir. On endeavoring to do so, he found the fellow skeptical.

I would have run.

That is precisely the policy which commended itself to Mr. Fink-Nottle. He darted rapidly away, and the cabman, endeavoring to detain him, snatched at his overcoat. Mr. Fink-Nottle contrived to extricate himself from the coat, and it would seem that his appearance in the masquerade costume beneath it came as something of a shock to the cabman. Mr. Fink-Nottle informs me that the man crouched and began to pray. No doubt a superstitious fellow, sir. Possibly a drinker.

Well, if he hadn’t been one before, I’ll bet he started being one afterwards. What on earth did Gussie do after that? London, late at night, is no place for a man in scarlet tights.

It invites comment.

Yes, sir.

I can see the poor old bird ducking down side-streets, skulking in alley-ways, diving into dust-bins.

Eventually, after a trying night, he found his way to a friend's residence, where he was able to secure lodging and a change of costume.

I suppose you realize, Jeeves — though one dislikes to rub it in — that all this was your fault?

Sir?

If you had not insisted on his going to that dance — this would not have happened.

Yes, sir, but I confess I did not anticipate —

Always anticipate everything, Jeeves. If you had allowed Gussie to wear a Pierrot costume, things would not have panned out as they did.

Well, Gussie, I hear you’ve been through a bit. Thanks to Jeeves.

It wasn’t Jeeves’s fault.

Entirely Jeeves’s fault.

I forgot my money and key —

You will be interested to hear, Gussie, that Jeeves is no longer handling your little problem.

What!

Surely your terrible experiences of that awful night have told you that Jeeves needs a rest. I have seen it coming on for some time. The man has lost his form.

But Madeline Bassett has gone to stay with these people in the country, and I need to know what he thinks I should do.

Jeeves is off the case. I am now in sole charge.

But what on earth can you do?

You say this girl has gone to visit friends in the country. It would appear obvious that you must go there too and flock round her. Elementary.

But I can’t plant myself on a lot of perfect strangers.

You don't know these people?

All that I know is that their name is Travers, and it’s a place called Brinkley Court down in Worcestershire.

Gussie, it was a lucky day for you when Bertram Wooster interested himself in your affairs. As I foresaw from the start, I can fix everything. This afternoon you shall go to Brinkley Court, an honored guest.

You don’t mean you know these people?

It's my Aunt Dahlia's home.

My gosh!

Could Jeeves have got you into Brinkley Court? Not a chance. Aunt Dahlia isn’t his aunt. I merely mention these things.

By Jove, Bertie, I don’t know how to thank you. But, I say. What do I do when I get there?

If you knew Brinkley Court, you would not ask that question. The place is simply ill with atmosphere. You will stroll with the girl in the shady walks. You will row on the lake with her. I myself have gotten engaged three times at Brinkley, and I hadn’t the slightest intention of proposing to anybody. Yet no sooner had I entered those romantic grounds than I found myself reaching out for the nearest girl and slapping my soul down in front of her. It’s something in the air. No business resulted, but the fact remains.

That’s just what I want to be able to do — work up to it. I London — curse the place — everything’s in such a rush that you don’t get a chance.

Quite.

That would be the next step, now that the problem is solved. It's simple, you observe, Jeeves. Nothing elaborate. No scarlet tights. Just Nature’s remedy.

Yes, sir.

Sir?

Here’s an instance of how you have to think of everything. Gussie's got to show this girl that he's pining away for love of her. This cannot be done while wolfing sausages.

No, sir.

Write the following telegram for Gussie as soon as he arrives: To Mr. Fink-Nottle at Brinkley Court, Market Snodsbury, Worcestershire: Lay off the sausages. Avoid the ham. Bertie. Send that off, Jeeves, along with the note for my aunt.

Very good, sir.

And even now you aren’t on to the full depths of the extraordinary sagacity I’ve shown. Gussie's going to deliver the prizes at that beastly school.

Sir?

In you telegram to Aunt Dahlia, say that I'm terribly sorry, but I can’t get down in time. Thus I have sent my esteemed colleague Gussie to take on the honorable task.

But if Mr. Fink-Nottle should decline, sir?

Just conjure up the picture in your mind, Jeeves. The drawing-room at Brinkley; Gussie wedged into a corner, with Aunt Dahlia standing over him making hunting noises.

Mrs. Travers is a forceful personality, sir.

Gussie will have to toe the line, and I shall be saved from a job at which I confess the soul shuddered.

You know my cousin Angela and her fiancé, Tuppy Glossop?

Yes, sir.

They’ve broken off their engagement.

I am sorry to hear that, sir.

I wonder what caused it.

I could not say, sir.

Of course you couldn’t. Don’t be an ass, Jeeves.

No, sir.

Well, this means that we shall have to go down to Brinkley after all. Aunt Dahlia is obviously all of a twitter, and my place is by her side. You had better pack.

Very good, sir.

Yes, sir.

Decent of you to rally round, Bertie.

My place was by your side, Aunt Dahlia. I’m afraid you’ve been having a sticky time.

I've been meaning to speak freely to you about your behavior in the prize-giving matter, Bertie, but as you’ve rallied round like this, I suppose I shall have to let you off. Anyway, I have more to worry about, what with poor Angela and Tuppy and Uncle Tom.

Uncle Tom?

I shall have to tell him soon about losing all that money gambling, and, when I do, he will go up like a rocket.

No doubt time, the great healer —

Time, the great healer, be blowed. I’ve got to get a cheque for five hundred pounds out of him for the newspaper I run, Milady’s Boudoir.

Is the Milady’s Boudoir in trouble?

It will be if Tom doesn’t cough up. It's hard work running a business.

And you don't think Uncle Tom will be eager to help?

I’ll tell you, Bertie.

Good old Anatole.

Amen.

I was frightfully sorry to hear about Angela and Tuppy. What was the disagreement about?

Sharks.

Eh?

You remember Angela’s shark?

Certainly I remember Angela’s shark. A man of sensibility does not forget about water skiing turned to nightmare, a cousin nearly being chewed by a monster of the deep.

She was telling him the story last night, her eyes shining. And what do you think this blasted Tuppy Glossop did? He took his cigarette of his mouth and said, ‘I expect it was only a floating log’!

He didn’t!

When Angela described how the thing had snapped at her, he said, ‘Ah! Probably a flatfish. Quite harmless. Well, what would you have done if you were Angela? She told him he was an ass and didn’t know what he was talking about.

And the chump didn’t back down?

 

I felt you needed me.

Yes.

Quite.

Or, rather, not you, of course, but Jeeves. The minute all this happened, I thought the situation cried out for Jeeves. If ever there was a moment when that lofty brain was required, this is it.

Jeeves!

Bless you.

I was not sneezing. I was saying ‘Jeeves!’

And well you may. What a man! I’m going to put the whole thing up to him.

I venture to take issue with you, Aunt Dahlia. Jeeves is hopeless.

What?

He has lost his grip completely. Just recently I was compelled to take him off a case because his handling of it was so footling. Anyway, I resent this assumption that Jeeves is the only fellow with brain.

Have you and Jeeves had a fight?

Nothing of the kind. Though the hound did conveniently forget to pack my white mess-jacket.

You would be far better advised to forget Jeeves and let me see what I can accomplish, Aunt Dahlia.

For heaven’s sake, don’t you start butting in. You’ll only make matters worse.

Dear Lord! Bertie, for pity’s sake, lay off. I suppose you want to shove Angela into the lake and push young Glossop in after her to save her life, or something like that.

Nothing of the kind.

It’s the sort of thing you would do.

My scheme is far more subtle. Let me outline it for you.

No, thanks.

If you don’t want to be in on the ground floor, that is your affair. But you are missing an intellectual treat. I am extremely fond of Angela, and I shall spare no effort to bring the sunshine back into her heart.

It's time for me to speak to Uncle Tom. Bertie, you abysmal chump, I appeal to you once more. Will you please lay off? You’ll only make things ten times as bad as they are already.

Well, Tuppy, old man, how are you?

Bertie, my friend. You’ve heard of this business of mine, I suppose? Me and Angela?

You must remember that Angela’s shark is very dear to her.

And what about my side of the thing? Angela, the little squirt, had just been most offensive, and I seized the opportunity to get some dignity back.

Offensive?

It all began when I said as a casual remark, 'I wonder what Anatole was making for dinner,' and she said I was too material and ought not to always be thinking of food. Material, my elbow! As a matter of fact, I’m particularly spiritual.

Quite.

I don’t see any harm in wondering what Anatole was going to give us for dinner. Do you?

A mere tribute of respect to a great artist.

Exactly.

All the same, it seems a pity that the frail craft of love should come a stinker like this when a few manly words of apology —

I wouldn’t dream of climbing down.

But, Tuppy, you love her, don’t you?

I love her passionately. But what she needs most in this world is a swift kick in the pants.

Where is the fine, old, chivalrous spirit of the Glossops?

Where is the sweet, womanly spirit of the Angelas? Telling a fellow he was getting a double chin!

Girls will be girls. Forget it, Tuppy. Go to her and make it up.

It is too late. Remarks have been passed about my tummy which are impossible to overlook.

She’s broken-hearted.

How do you know? Have you seen her?

No, but I’ll bet she is. If you were to go to her —

You know girls. Grovel, and the best of them get uppish. The only way to work the thing would be by tipping her off in some indirect way that I am prepared to open negotiations.

I’ve got it, Tuppy. Don’t eat any dinner tonight. You can see how impressive that would be. She knows how devoted you are to food.

I am not devoted to food!

Quite.

I am young and healthy and have a good appetite, but that’s not the same as —

All I meant was that if she sees you push away your dinner untasted, she will realize that your heart is aching and will probably be the first to suggest letting bygones be bygones.

Push my dinner away, eh?

Yes.

Push away a dinner cooked by Anatole?

Yes.

Push it away untasted?

Yes.

Let us get this straight. Tonight, at dinner, when the butler offers me a ris de veau à la financiere, or whatever it may be, hot from Anatole’s hands, you wish me to push it away untasted?

Yes.

All right. Though it will be agony, I'll do it.

You could slip down tonight, after everyone is in bed, and raid the pantry.

I could, couldn’t I?

And at dinner you will endure like one of the martyrs of old?

It’s an excellent idea. One of Jeeves’s best.

You aren’t suggesting that you think this scheme is Jeeves’s?

It’s no good trying to kid me, Bertie. You wouldn’t have thought of a wheeze like that in a million years.

Come, Glossop, we had better be going. It is time we were dressing for dinner.

Well, Jeeves, the rift between Tuppy Glossop and my cousin Angela would appear to be serious.

Yes, sir.

And the thought that springs to your mind, no doubt, is that I shall have my work cut out to fix things up?

Yes, sir.

You are wrong, Jeeves. I have the thing well in hand.

You surprise me, sir.

I have just been in conference with Mr. Glossop, and everything is taped out.

Indeed, sir? Might I inquire —

You know my methods, Jeeves. Have you been gnawing on the thing at all?

Oh, yes, sir. I have always been much attached to Miss Angela, and I felt that it would afford me great pleasure were I to be able to be of service to her.

But I suppose you drew a blank?

No, sir. It occurred to me that a reconciliation might be effected between Mr. Glossop and Miss Angela by appealing to that instinct which prompts gentlemen in times of peril to hasten to the rescue.

Don’t tell me you were contemplating descending to that old he-saved-her-from-drowning gag? I am surprised, Jeeves. Surprised and pained.

No, sir.

Rotten, Jeeves.

Well, sir —

No good.

I fancy, sir —

It's too elaborate.

Possibly the plan I suggested might be considered open to that criticism, sir, but for want of anything better —

Didn’t I tell you I had everything taped out?

Yes, sir, but —

What do you mean — but?

Well, sir —

Push on, Jeeves. I am ready, even anxious, to hear your views.

Well, sir, if I may take the liberty of reminding you of it, your plans in the past have not always been uniformly successful.

It is true, Jeeves, that once or twice in the past I may have missed the bus. This, however, I attribute purely to bad luck.

Indeed, sir?

Indeed, sir?

Tonight at dinner, I have recommended Tuppy to lay off the food.

Sir?

Have you forgotten that telegram I sent to Gussie Fink-Nottle, steering him away from the sausages and ham? This is the same thing. Pushing food away untasted is a universally recognized sign of love. It cannot fail to bring home the gravy. You must see that?

Well, sir, I fear Miss Angela will merely attribute Mr. Glossop’s abstinence to indigestion, sir.

You do, do you? Well, be that as it may, it doesn’t alter the fact that you’ve put out the wrong coat. Be so good, Jeeves, as to shove that bally black thing in the cupboard and bring out my white mess-jacket with the brass buttons.

I regret to say, sir, that I inadvertently omitted to pack the garment to which you refer.

I know you did, Jeeves, but I didn’t. You will find it on a chair in the hall in a brown-paper parcel.

Very good, sir.

Right ho, Jeeves.

Hullo, eyesore. What do you think you’re made up as?

The jacket, you mean?

You look like a clown. But what does it matter? What does anything matter now?

Tails up, Aunt Dahlia.

Tails up be dashed. I’ve just been talking to Tom.

Telling him about the money you lost?

I haven’t had the nerve to tell him yet.

Is he still upset about that income-tax?

He says civilization is in the melting-pot.

I don’t see why you need mention that money at all.

Do you suggest I let Milady’s Boudoir join the melting-pot as well? Because that if I don't get that cheque by next week. The printers are breathing down my neck.

Tut!

What did you say?

I said ‘Tut!’

Say it once again, and I’ll biff you where you stand. I’ve enough to endure without being tutted at.

I tutted because I know the solution. There is only one course to pursue. Eat less meat.

Won’t you stop driveling, just this once, to please Aunt Dahlia?

When I said ‘Eat less meat’, what I meant was that you must refuse your dinner tonight. Just sit there, looking blistered, and wave away each course as it comes with a weary gesture of resignation. You see what will happen. Uncle Tom will notice your loss of appetite, and I am prepared to bet that at the conclusion of the meal, he will come to you and say ‘Dahlia, darling, I noticed at dinner tonight that you were a bit off your feed. Is anything the matter?' To which your reply will be, 'There jolly well is. Please reach for the cheque-book.'

But, Bertie, this is positively ... bright. I believe it might work.

It’s bound to work. I’ve recommended it to Tuppy in order to soften Angela and to Gussie, who wants to make a hit with the Bassett.

A truly wonderful idea. Send Jeeves my gratitude.

I like your nerve, bounding about the place, saying ‘Well, Gussie.’ And it’s no good looking like that. That damned prize-giving! It was a dastardly act to crawl out as you did and shove it off on to me.

My dear chap, there is nothing I would find a greater treat than distributing those prizes, but I saw that the generous thing to do was to step aside and let you take it on. Can’t you see what this is going to do for you? There you will be, up on that platform, a romantic, impressive figure, the star of the whole proceedings. Madeline Bassett will see you in a totally new light.

Augustus Fink-Nottle, the newts’ friend, she knows. But Augustus Fink-Nottle, the orator — that’ll knock her sideways, or I know nothing of the female heart.

Have you ever made a speech, Bertie?

Nothing to it. Why, I once addressed a girls’ school.

You weren’t nervous?

Not a bit. I held them in the hollow of my hand.

They didn’t throw eggs, or anything?

Not a thing.

Well, I may be wrong in supposing it the fate worse than death. But I’ll tell you this much: I haven’t been able to sleep or think or eat ... That reminds me. You never explained that cipher telegram about the sausages and ham.

It wasn’t a cipher telegram. I wanted you to go light on the food, so that she would realize you were in love.

I see. Well, I’ve been doing that, all right, but it’s not going to get me anywhere. I shall never find the nerve to ask her to marry me.

All you lack is the assistance of wingman. And tonight's the night. I shall now return to the house and lug this Bassett out for a stroll. I'll talk to her of hearts that yearn, intimating that there is one on the premises. You, meanwhile, will lurk on the outskirts, and in about a quarter of an hour you will come along and carry on from there.

You will sort of pave the way, as it were.

That’s right. Spadework.

It’s a terrific idea, Bertie. It will make all the difference.

Quite. But after that it will be up to you. You will have to haul up your slacks, or my efforts will have been in vain.

What the dickens shall I say?

There are hundreds of things you can say. Talk about the sunset.

The sunset?

Half the married men you meet began by talking about the sunset.

But what can I say about the sunset?

Say the landscape is glimmering.

Glimmering. G for ‘gastritis,’ l for ‘lizard’ —

Glimmering landscape ...

Then say that you have often thought that the stars are God’s daisy chain.

But I haven’t.

But she has. Hand her that one, and she'll know you’re a twin soul.

God’s daisy chain?

And then you go on about how twilight always makes you sad. I know you’re going to say it doesn’t, but on this occasion it has jolly well got to.

Why?

That’s just what she will ask, and you will then have got her going. You will reply that it is because yours is such a lonely life. You'll give a description of your evenings at your Lincolnshire, how you pace the meadows with a heavy tread.

I sit indoors and listen to the wireless.

You pace the meadows with a heavy tread, wishing that you had someone to love you. And then you speak of the day when she came into your life.

Like a fairy princess.

Yes, like a fairy princess. Nice work, Gussie.

And then?

And then you pop the question. I don’t see how it can fail. Especially if you down a couple of quick ones first.

You mean drinks? I’ve never had a drop in my life.

You've got to be joking. Well, you’ll have to make out as best you can on ginger pop, I suppose.

I always drink orange juice.

Do you really like that muck?

Lovely evening.

Isn't it? Oh, look at that sweet little star up there all by itself. A fairy must have been crying.

Eh?

‘Every time a fairy sheds a tear, a wee, little star is born in the Milky Way.’

Speaking of shedding tears —

Speaking of shedding tears —

Don’t you love this time of the evening, Mr. Wooster, when the sun has gone to bed and all the bunnies come out to have their suppers? When I was a child, I used to think that rabbits were gnomes, and that if I held my breath and stayed quite still, I should see the fairy queen.

Speaking of shedding tears, it may interest you to know that there is an aching heart in Brinkley Court.

Life is very sad, isn’t it?

It is for some. This aching heart, for instance.

Those wistful eyes of hers! And they used to dance like elves of delight. And all through a foolish misunderstanding about a shark.

I’m not talking about Angela.

Mr. Glossop’s, you mean?

This heart is aching for a different reason altogether. I mean to say — dash it, you know why hearts ache!

You mean — for love?

Right on the bull’s-eye.

Oh, Mr. Wooster!

Do you believe in love at first sight?

I do, indeed.

Well, that’s what happened to this aching heart. It fell in love at first sight, and ever since, it’s been eating itself out.

Oh, Mr. Wooster!

For you, I mean to say. It’s having the dickens of a time. Can’t eat, can’t sleep — all for love of you. And what makes it all so particularly rotten is that every time it catches sight of you, words fail it.

Lend you a handkerchief?

No, thank you. I’m quite all right. I suspected this at Cannes, when you used to stand and stare at me without speaking a word, but with volumes in your eyes.

All through those days, I could see what you were trying to say. A girl always knows. And then you followed me down here, and there was that same dumb, yearning look in your eyes when we met this evening. No, this does not come as a surprise. But I am sorry. I am afraid it is impossible. Impossible.

Oh, right ho.

I’m sorry.

Quite all right.

Sorrier than I can say.

Don’t give it another thought.

I wish I could feel towards you as you would like me to feel.

Oh, ah.

Because I am fond of you, Mr. — no, I think I must call you Bertie. May I?

Oh, rather.

And if things were different — I wonder —

Eh?

You have a right to know. Life is such a muddle, isn’t it?

You’re in love with some other bloke?

Engaged, what?

I’m afraid he doesn’t care for me in that way. At least, he hasn't said so. You understand that I am only telling you this because —

Oh, rather.

It’s odd that you should have asked me if I believed in love at first sight. I was staying with some friends in Lincolnshire, and I had gone for a walk with my dog, and the poor thing got a thorn in its foot, and I didn’t know what to do. And then suddenly this man came along —

Wow!

I beg your pardon?

Nothing. I just remembered there’s a letter I have to write tonight. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll be going in. Here comes Gussie Fink-Nottle. He will look after you.

Oh, hullo, Tuppy. Go on. Make your report.

What report?

Have you nothing to tell me about Angela?

Only that she’s a blister.

Hasn’t she come clustering round you yet?

She has not.

Very odd. She must have noticed your supreme sacrifice. She’s probably looking for you now.

I don’t suppose she noticed it at all, the little fathead.

She must at least have spotted that you refused those nonnettes de poulet Agnès Sorel and the cèpes à la Rossini —

Don’t remind me of those nonnettes.

Be brave, Tuppy. Fix your thoughts on that cold steak-and-kidney pie in the pantry. As the Good Book says, it cometh in the morning.

You would bring that pie up, wouldn’t you? Shall I tell you something?

Certainly, old bird.

This business of Angela and me.

Yes?

I’ve been putting in a lot of solid thinking about this business of Angela and me, and one thing stands out as clear. She's fallen in love with somebody else.

It sticks out a mile. She goes to Cannes all for me, she comes back all off me. Obviously during those two months, she must have transferred her affections to some foul blister she met out there.

No, no.

I’ll tell you one thing. If ever I find this slimy, slithery snake in the grass, I'm going to take him by his beastly neck, shake him till he froths, pull him inside out, and make him swallow himself.

Have you seen Angela?

Gone to bed with a headache. What did you want her for?

I thought she might like to take a stroll.

If you're going for a stroll, I wonder if you would mind doing something for me.

Give it a name.

You know that path that runs through the garden? If you go along it, you come to a pond.

That’s right.

I need you to get a good, stout rope and tie it to a nice, heavy stone.

All right. And then?

Then I want you, like a good boy, to fasten the rope to the stone, tie it around your damned neck, and jump into the pond. In a few days I will have you fished up and buried so I can dance on your grave.

You seem pipped with Bertram.

Who was the ass, who was the chump, who was the dithering idiot who talked me, against my better judgment, into going without my dinner? I might have guessed —

I know just how you’re feeling. A bit on the hollow side, what? But the agony will pass. If I were you, I’d sneak down and raid the pantry after the household have gone to bed. Pretty soon Uncle Tom will be along, full of sympathy and anxious inquiries.

Any chance I ever had of getting that money out of Uncle Tom has gone. Right now he's in the study with his face buried in his hands, muttering about civilization and melting pots, because it has just been my painful duty to inform him that Anatole has given notice.

What?

What did you expect a sensitive, temperamental cook to do, if you went about urging everybody to refuse all food? I hear that when the first two courses came back to the kitchen practically untouched, his feelings were so hurt that he cried like a child. And when the rest of the dinner followed, he came to the conclusion that the whole thing was a studied and calculated insult.

Golly!

Anatole, God’s gift to the gastric juices, gone like the dew off the petal of a rose, all through your idiocy. I might have known that some hideous disaster would strike this house like a thunderbolt once you wriggled your way into it and started trying to be clever.

I am sorry. But have no fear. I will fix everything.

If you dare to try any more of your lunatic schemes —

Good evening, sir. Mr. Fink-Nottle is not feeling well.

Goodbye, Bertie.

You mean ‘Hullo’.

I mean goodbye. I’m off.

Off where?

To the pond, to drown myself.

There's been far too much talk of that sort of thing lately.

The act may be a little injudicious, sir.

You think, on the whole, not to drown myself?

I should not advocate it, sir.

Very well, Jeeves. After all, it would be unpleasant for Mrs. Travers to find a swollen body floating in her pond.

Yes, sir.

I’ll go for a walk instead.

Jeeves, what the dickens is all this?

Mr. Fink-Noddle informed me of your plan, sir, but I regret to say there was a slight hitch.

But how could anything go wrong? I coached him through every step, and she loves him, Jeeves. Didn't he propose?

No, sir.

Then what the dickens did he talk about?

Newts, sir.

Newts?

Yes, sir. As I gather from Mr. Fink-Nottle, nothing could have been more alien to his plans. However, upon finding himself alone with the young lady, he admits to having lost his morale. In such circumstances, gentlemen frequently say the first thing that chances to enter their heads. For some not inconsiderable time, he supplied Miss Bassett with very full and complete information not only with respect to the common newt, but also the crested and palmated varieties. He described to her how newts, during the breeding season, live in the water, subsisting upon tadpoles, insect larvae, and crustaceans; how, later, they make their way to the land and eat slugs and worms; and how the newly born newt has three pairs of long, plumlike, external gills. And he was just observing that newts differ from salamanders in the shape of the tail, which is compressed, and that a marked sexual dimorphism prevails in most species, when the young lady rose and said that she thought she would go back to the house.

And then —

She went, sir.

Bad, Jeeves.

Tuppy, old corpse, you’re looking pretty blue round the rims.

I’ve been through hell, Bertie.

Through where?

Hell.

Oh, hell. Worrying about Angela, I suppose? Well, have no fear. I have another well-laid plan. She will be weeping on your neck before yonder sun has set.

A fat chance!

I was just going to describe this plan of mine to Jeeves when you came in. Care to hear it?

I don’t want to hear any of your beastly plans. She’s gone and fallen in love with this other bloke, and now hates my gizzard.

Rot.

It isn’t rot. You know my views about that steak-and-kidney pie.

Well, round about one a.m., I thought the time was ripe. I stole from my room and went downstairs. The pie seemed to beckon me.

I was about to dig in when I heard a sound behind me, and there was your aunt at the door. In a blue-and-yellow dressing gown.

Embarrassing. I suppose you didn’t know where to look.

I looked at Angela.

She came in with my aunt?

No. With your uncle, a moment later. He was wearing mauve pajamas and carried a pistol.

Tell me about Angela. Was there any softening in her gaze as she fixed it on you?

She didn’t fix it on me. She fixed it on the pie. Meanwhile your uncle said, ‘Dahlia, what are you doing here?’ To which she replied, ‘Well, if it comes to that, what are you?’ Your uncle then said he thought there must be burglars in the house, as he had heard noises. Whereupon Angela — with a nasty tinkle in her voice, the little buzzard — observed, ‘I expect it was Mr. Glossop eating. I ought to have told you, father, that Mr. Glossop always likes to have a good meal three or four times during the night. It helps to keep him going till breakfast. He has the most amazing appetite. See, he has practically finished a large steak-and-kidney pie already’. That was what hurt, Bertie. I hadn’t so much as started on that pie.

 

Then your aunt said my eating habits reminded her of a boa constrictor. Angela said, didn’t she mean a python? And then they argued as to which of the two it was. Your uncle, meanwhile, poking about with that damned pistol of his till human life wasn’t safe in the vicinity. And all the while the pie lying there on the table and me unable to touch it.

Can’t have been at all pleasant.

Before we all pushed back to bed, your aunt and Angela agreed that it was a python that I reminded them of. And you tell me she loves me still!

Girlish banter, what?

She became infatuated with this chap at Cannes, whoever he was, and now she can’t stand the sight of me.

My dear Tuppy, I’ll tell you why I’m so certain there was no chap at Cannes. During those two months, it so happens that Angela and I were practically inseparable. If there had been somebody nosing round her, I should have spotted it in a second.

Oh, she was with you all the time, was she?

I don’t suppose she said two words to anybody else.

You mean that anything in the shape of mixed swimming and moonlight strolls she conducted solely in your company?

That’s right.

You must have enjoyed that.

Oh, rather. I’ve always been devoted to Angela. When we were kids, she used to call herself my little sweetheart.

I see.

What do you think, Jeeves?

Sir?

Some might say that things had gone so far between these two, nothing could bridge the chasm. Wouldn’t people say that, Jeeves?

Undeniably, sir.

They would be wrong.

You think so, sir?

I know these females. You can’t go by what they say.

You feel that Miss Angela’s statements should not be taken too much au pied de la lettre, sir?

Eh?

In English, we should say ‘literally’.

That’s exactly what I mean. A tiff occurs, and they shoot their heads off. But underneath it all, the old love still remains. Am I correct?

Quite correct, sir. The poet Scott —

Right ho, Jeeves.

Very good, sir.

I see what must be done to jerk my Cousin Angela back to normalcy. I’ll tell you, shall I?

If you would be so kind, sir.

Roast, sir?

Knock. Slam. Tick-off. Abuse. Denounce. I shall be very terse about Tuppy, giving it as my opinion that in all essentials he is more like a wart hog than an ex-member of a fine English school. Hearing him attacked, my Cousin Angela’s womanly heart will be as sick as mud. The maternal tigress in her will awake. No matter what differences they may have had, she will remember only that he is the man she loves, and will leap to his defense. And from that to falling into his arms and burying the dead past will be but a step.

The idea is an ingenious one, sir.

We Woosters are ingenious, Jeeves.

Yes, sir.

Right ho, then. So much for the western front. We now turn to the eastern.

Sir?

I speak in parables, Jeeves. What I mean is, we now approach the matter of Gussie and Miss Bassett.

Yes, sir.

Here, Jeeves, more direct methods are required. Psychology doesn’t get you anywhere. If I may say without wounding your feelings, even if Gussie had got to that ball; even if those scarlet tights hadn’t given the girl a fit of some kind; even then your efforts would have been fruitless, because, Mephistopheles costume or no Mephistopheles costume, Augustus Fink-Nottle would never have been able to summon up the courage to ask her to be his. The basset would have simply gotten that lecture on newts a few days earlier. And why, Jeeves? Shall I tell you why?

Yes, sir.

Because Gussie would have been attempting the hopeless task of trying to do the thing on orange juice.

Sir?

Gussie is an orange-juice addict.

I was not aware of that, sir.

Gussie Fink-Nottle has never in the whole course of his career pushed so much as the simplest gin and tonic over the larynx. And this wabbling, shrinking, diffident rabbit in human shape expects under these conditions to propose to the girl he loves. One hardly knows whether to smile or weep, what?

You consider total abstinence a handicap to a gentleman who wishes to make a proposal of marriage, sir?

Use your intelligence, Jeeves. Reflect what proposing means. It means that a decent, self-respecting chap has got to listen to himself saying things which, if spoken on the silver screen, would cause him to dash to the box-office and demand his money back. Let him attempt to do it on orange juice, and what ensues? Shame makes him lose his morale and start to babble about syncopated newts.

Palmated newts, sir.

Palmated or syncopated, the point is that he babbles and is going to babble again, unless — and this is where I want you to follow me very closely, Jeeves — unless steps are taken at once through the proper channels. And that is why, Jeeves, I intend tomorrow to secure a bottle of gin and lace his luncheon orange juice.

I fear, sir, that this action would introduce a certain amount of risk. It is not always a simple matter to gauge the effect of alcohol on a subject unaccustomed to such stimulant. I have known it to have distressing results in the case of parrots.

Parrots?

When I was in the service of the late Lord Brancaster, a gentleman who owned a parrot to which he was greatly devoted, one day the bird chanced to be lethargic, and his lordship, with the kindly intention of restoring it to its customary animation, fed it a portion of seed cake steeped in the ’84 port. Almost immediately afterwards, however, its manner became markedly feverish. Having bitten his lordship in the thumb and sung part of a sea-chanty, it fell to the bottom of the cage and remained there for a considerable period of time with its legs in the air. I merely mention this, sir, in order to —

Ah, but there is a gaping flaw in your reasoning. Gussie isn’t a parrot.

No, sir, but —

No no more discussion, Jeeves. My mind is made up. There is only one way of handling this difficult case, and that is the way I have outlined.

Very good, sir.

And it's got to happen tomorrow, when Gussie is going to deliver those prizes. Thus we shall, by lacing that juice, not only embolden him to propose to Miss Bassett, but also put him so into shape to spellbind the audience. Which brings me to a minor point. I think the best plan will be for you, not me, to lace the juice.

Sir?

Because you, as part of the staff, are in a position to obtain ready access to the stuff. It is served to Gussie daily, I have noticed, in an individual jug. It will be the simplest of tasks for you to pour some gin into it.

No doubt, sir, but I am afraid I must enter an unequivocal nolle prosequi.

Do what?

You won’t do it, you mean?

Precisely, sir.

Jeeves, I had not expected this of you. Naturally, I realize that lacing Gussie’s orange juice is not one of those regular duties for which you receive the monthly stipend, and if you care to stand on the strict letter of the contract, I suppose there is nothing to be done about it. But you will permit me to observe that this is scarcely the feudal spirit.

I am sorry, sir.

It is quite all right, Jeeves, quite all right. I am not angry, only a little hurt.

Very good, sir.

Right ho, Jeeves.

Oh dear, the grass was wet. Let's go back inside.

But I haven’t had a chance to talk to you since I arrived. I have much to say to you that is not for the public ear.

I shall ruin my shoes.

Put your feet up on my lap.

All right. And you can tickle my ankles.

Quite.

Well, old thing, I’ve heard all about your little dust-up. So those wedding bells are not going to ring out, what?

No.

Definitely over, is it?

Yes.

Well, if you want my opinion, I think you’re extremely better off out of it. It’s a mystery to me how you stood this Glossop so long. A washout, I should describe him as. I’d pity the girl who was linked for life to a pig like Tuppy Glossop.

I always thought you were such friends.

Friends? Absolutely not. One was civil, of course, when one met the fellow, but it would be absurd to say one was a friend of his. A school acquaintance, and a mere one at that. A grubby little brute he was, I recollect, covered with ink and mire, washing only on alternate Thursdays. In short, a notable outsider, shunned by all.

Ask anyone who knew him in those days to describe him in a word, and the word they will use is ‘uncouth’. And he’s just the same today. It’s the old story. The boy is the father of the man. ... The boy, I said, is the father of the man.

What are you talking about?

I’m talking about Tuppy Glossop.

I thought you said something about somebody’s father.

I said the boy was the father of the man.

What boy?

The boy Glossop.

He hasn’t got a father.

I never said he had. I said he was the father of the boy — or, rather, of the man.

What man?

The point I am trying to make is that the boy Glossop is the father of the man Glossop. Each loathsome fault and blemish that led the boy Glossop to be frowned upon by his fellows is present in the man Glossop, and causes him to be a hissing and a byword. Few can stand his face; even worse are his habits. The universal consensus of opinion is that the fellow is a bounder, a tick, and a dumb brick. Any girl who, having been rash enough to get engaged to him, has managed at the eleventh hour to slide out should consider herself dashed lucky.

Yes, you’re quite right.

Eh?

That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking myself.

What!

‘Dumb brick.’ It’s so nice, Bertie, talking to somebody who really takes a sensible view about this man Glossop. Mother says he’s a good chap, which is simply absurd. Anybody can see that he’s conceited and opinionative and argues all the time, even when he knows perfectly well that he’s talking through his hat. He smokes too much and eats too much and drinks too much, and I don’t like the color of his hair. Not that he’ll have any hair in a year or two. Do you know, I found him in the kitchen at one o’clock this morning, absolutely wallowing in a steak-and-kidney pie? There was hardly any of it left. And you remember what an enormous dinner he had. But I can’t spend all night talking about men who aren’t worth wasting a word on and haven’t even enough sense to tell sharks from flatfish. I’m going in.

Why, hallo, Tuppy. You here?

Been here long?

I have.

Fine. I wanted to see you.

Well, here I am. Come out from behind that bench.

No, thanks, old man. I like leaning on it. It seems to rest the spine.

I think I know what’s on your mind, Tuppy. If you were in those bushes during my conversation with the recent Angela, I dare say you heard what I was saying about you.

I did.

Well, we won’t go into the ethics of the thing, but there are some who consider eavesdropping un-English. A bit un-English, Tuppy, old man, you must admit.

I’m Scotch.

Really? Rummy how you don’t suspect a man of being Scotch unless he’s Mac-something and says ‘Och, aye’ and things like that. I wonder if you can tell me something that has puzzled me a good deal. What exactly is it that they put into haggis?

However, that is a side issue. No doubt you were surprised at the way I was talking.

It was just the sort of stuff I should have expected a treacherous, sneaking hound like you to say.

My dear chap, I should have thought you would have spotted right away that it was all part of a well-laid plan.

I’ll get you in a jiffy.

You know we’ve been pals for years.

What do you mean, be careful?

All right. Never mind about being careful. Why, if I had not your interests at heart, should I have ticked you off?

Ah! Your beetle. No doubt you were unaware of it, but all this while there has been a beetle of sorts parked on the side of your head. You have now dislodged it.

Beetles!

Not beetles. One beetle only.

I like your crust! Talking of beetles, when all the time you know you’re a treacherous, sneaking hound.

I'm not sure why treacherous, sneaking hounds should be considered ineligible to talk about beetles, but I'm going to let that go. Be reasonable, Tuppy. Suggest another motive I could have had.

Do you think I don’t know you’re in love with Angela?

What?

You knocked me in order to poison her mind against me and finally remove me from your path.

This is pure banana oil! She's my cousin!

She called you ‘darling’.

This habit of the younger generation of scattering ‘darlings’ about like birdseed is one I disapprove of.

You tickled her ankles.

In a purely cousinly spirit.

And you tipped her off that I was in the kitchen last night, so that she could find me there with that pie.

My dear Tuppy! You think a Wooster would do that?

You told me yourself that she was with you all the time at Cannes and hardly saw anybody else. You gloated over the swimming and moonlight walks you had together —

Merely mentioned them.

As soon as I can get you clear of this damned bench, I am going to tear you limb from limb.

You’ve got it all wrong, Tuppy, and I can prove it. During that sojourn in Cannes, my affections were engaged elsewhere.

What?

Engaged elsewhere. My affections. At Cannes.

Who was she?

My dear Tuppy, does one bandy a woman’s name?

One does if one doesn’t want one’s ruddy head pulled off.

I see that it is a special case. Madeline Bassett.

That's hardly respectful.

You deliberately assert that you loved that weird Gawd-help-us?

Odd in some of her views perhaps — one does not quite see eye to eye with her in the matter of stars and rabbits — but not a weird Gawd-help-us.

It sounds thin to me, Wooster, very thin.

I must ask you to treat this as entirely confidential, Glossop, but I may as well inform you that it is not twenty-four hours since she turned me down.

Turned you down?

Like a bedspread. In this very garden. So you will readily see that I can’t be the chap, if any, who stole Angela from you at Cannes.

I see. ... All right, then. Sorry you were troubled.

Don’t mention it, old man.

But what the hell did you mean by telling Angela that I used to be covered with ink when I was a kid?

My dear old chap, it was all part of my scheme.

In the future do me a favor and leave me out of your foul schemes.

It’s obvious that Angela spotted you in those bushes. There you were, I mean, if you follow the psychology, and in that impulsive way girls have, she seized the opportunity of ribbing you a bit.

What the dickens are you grinning about?

I was conjuring up a sort of vision, if you know what I mean, of you as seen through Angela’s eyes. Fat in the middle and thin on the top. Rather funny.

You think it funny, do you?

Not a bit.

If you see Mr. Glossop anywhere, Bertie, I wish you would give him these. I’m so afraid he may be hungry, poor fellow. It’s nearly ten o’clock, and he hasn’t eaten a morsel since dinner. I’ll just leave them on this bench. How still and peaceful everything is.

I’ve got good news for you, Gussie.

Has Market Snodsbury Grammar School burned down?

Not that I know of.

What news could possibly be good except the information that bubonic plague had broken out among the school and the boys were confined to their beds?

Why worry about a laughably simple job like distributing prizes at a school?

Do you realize I’ve been sweating for days and haven’t been able to think of a thing to say yet?

You say the race is not always won by the swift.

Why?

Well, it’s a good gag. It generally gets some applause.

Why isn’t the race won by the swift?

Ah, there you have me. But they say it isn’t. I take it’s supposed to console the chaps who haven’t won prizes.

It’s the ones that have won prizes that I’m worrying about, the little blighters who will come up on the platform. I’ve a good mind to take that tip of yours and have a drink.

Oh, you’ll be all right.

As sure as I’m standing here, something is going to happen this afternoon which will make everybody laugh themselves sick at me. ... Bertie!

Hullo?

Do you remember that kids’ school we went to?

Quite. It was there I won my Scripture prize. No one knew the kings of Judah better than me.

Never mind about your Scripture prize. Do you recollect the Bosher incident?

How could I forget?

Major-General Sir Wilfred Bosher came to distribute the prizes at that school. He dropped a book. He stooped to pick it up. And, as he stooped, his trousers split up the back.

It was one of the high spots of my youth. How we roared!

Little swine that we were. Instead of exhibiting a decent sympathy for a gallant officer at a peculiarly embarrassing moment, we howled and yelled with mirth. I loudest of any. That is what will happen to me this afternoon, Bertie. It will be a judgment on me for laughing like that at General Bosher.

Your trousers won’t split.

How do you know they won’t? Better men than I have split their trousers.

When I said I had good news, old man, I meant about Madeline Bassett.

You can’t have good news about her.

She told me with her own lips that she was in love with you. All you have to do is try again, and you cannot fail to swing the vote. You are her dream man.

She may have loved me once, but last night will have killed all that.

She knows you simply got cold feet.

And I should get cold feet if I tried again. No, I accept my destiny. It’s all over. And now, Bertie, like a good chap, shove off. I can’t compose my speech with you mucking around ... unless you have a couple of stories you can give me. The little hell hounds are sure to expect a story or two.

I heard a story the other day about a chap who snored and disturbed the neighbors, and it ended, ‘It was his adenoids that adenoid them.’

Leave me, Bertie. ... Ladies and gentlemen, I do not propose to detain this auspicious occasion long —

Yes, Jeeves?

Sir?

You have the air of one about to make a remark.

Oh, no, sir. I note that you are in possession of Mr. Fink-Nottle’s orange juice. I was merely about to observe that in my opinion it would be injudicious to add spirit to it.

That is a remark, Jeeves, and it is precisely —

Because I have already attended to the matter, sir.

What?

Yes, sir. I decided, after all, to acquiesce in your wishes.

Jeeves, I am touched.

Thank you, sir.

Touched and gratified.

Thank you very much, sir.

But what caused this change of heart?

And you came away feeling that he needed a bracer?

Very much so, sir. His attitude struck me as defeatist.

How much gin did you put in the jug?

A liberal tumblerful, sir. I fancy that should prove adequate.

I think I’ll add just another fluid ounce or so.

I would not advocate it, sir. In the case of Lord Brancaster’s parrot —

You are falling into your old error, Jeeves, of thinking that Gussie is a parrot. I shall add the ounce.

Very good, sir.

What-ho, Bertie. What-ho, Jeeves. What-ho, what-ho, and again what-ho. What a beautiful world this is. One of the nicest I ever met. Well, Bertie, you will be glad to hear that you were right. Your theory has been tested and proved correct. I feel like a fighting cock.

Have you been having a drink?

Unpleasant stuff. Burns the throat and makes one as thirsty as the dickens.

What did you have?

Whisky. At least, that was the label on your aunt's bottle.

A whisky and soda, eh? You couldn’t have done better.

Soda? I knew there was something I had forgotten.

Didn’t you put any soda in it?

It never occurred to me.

How much did you drink?

Oh, about ten swallows. Twelve, maybe. Or fourteen. Say sixteen medium-sized gulps. Gosh, I’m thirsty. Did I say I could bite a tiger? Make it two tigers. Bring on the school, I say! And to think I was afraid.

Hullo, the luncheon gong. Come, my friends.

Boys, I mean ladies and gentlemen and boys, I do not detain you long, but I feel compelled to say a few auspicious words; Ladies — and boys and gentlemen. I am happy to be here on this auspicious occasion, and I take much pleasure in awarding the handsome prizes.

 

Gentlemen, I mean ladies and gentlemen and, of course, boys, what a beautiful world this is. A beautiful world, full of happiness. Let me tell you a little story. Two Irishmen, Pat and Mike, were walking along a street, and one said to the other, ‘The race is not always won by the swift,’ and the other replied, ‘Education is a drawing out, not a putting in.’

 

Yes, it is a beautiful world. The sky is blue, the birds are singing. There is optimism everywhere. And why not, boys and ladies and gentlemen? I’m happy, you’re happy, we’re all happy. Even the meanest Irishmen that walk along Broadway are happy. Though, as I say, there were two of them — Pat and Mike, one drawing out, the other putting in.

 

People who say it isn’t a beautiful world don’t know what they are talking about. Driving here in the car today, I was reluctantly compelled to tick off my host on this very point. Old Tom Travers.

 

He expressed the opinion that the world was in a deplorable state. I said, ‘Don’t talk rot, old Tom Travers.’ ‘I am not accustomed to talk rot,’ he said. ‘Then, for a beginner,’ I said, ‘you do it dashed well.’ And I think you will admit, boys and ladies and gentlemen, that that was telling him.

 

Well, boys, you are going out into the great world. Soon many of you will be walking along Broadway. And what I want to impress upon you is that, however much you may suffer from adenoids, you must all use every effort to prevent yourselves from becoming pessimists and talking rot like old Tom Travers. There in the second row. The fellow with a face like a walnut.

 

If there’s one thing in the world I can’t stand, it’s a pessimist. Be optimists, boys. An optimist is a man who — well, take the case of two Irishmen walking along Broadway. One is an optimist and one is a pessimist, just as one’s name is Pat and the other’s Mike. ... Why, hullo, Bertie; I didn’t know you were here.

 

Now, there, is an instance of what I mean. Boys and ladies and gentlemen, take a good look at that object standing up there at the back. Bertie Wooster, as foul a pessimist as ever bit a tiger. I tell you I despise that man. And why do I despise him? Because, boys and ladies and gentlemen, he is a pessimist. When I told him I was going to address you this afternoon, he tried to dissuade me. And do you know why he tried to dissuade me? Because he said my trousers would split up the back.

 

Let me tell you a story about Bertie Wooster.

Perhaps, as time is getting on, Mr. Fink-Nottle, we had better —

Oh, the prizes, eh? Right-ho. What’s this one?

Spelling and Dictation for P.K. Purvis.

Spelling and Dictation for P.K. Purvis. Come forward, P.K. Purvis.

Are you, little bloke, P.K. Purvis? Yes?

Hullo! Who are you?

This is G.G. Simmons.

What’s he doing here?

You are presenting him with a prize, Mr. Fink-Nottle.

That’s right, too. Well, here it is, cocky. You off? Not so fast, G.G. Simmons. There is a question I wish to ask you.

So you’ve won the Scripture-knowledge prize, have you? You look like just the sort of little tick who would. Let me test you, G.G. Simmons. What was What’s-His-Name — the chap who begat Thingummy? Can you answer me that, Simmons? ... No? Fishy. Very fishy. This boy appears to be totally lacking in scripture knowledge.

I can assure you, Mr. Fink-Nottle, that Simmons outdistanced his competitors by a wide margin.

All right, G.G. Simmons. But let me tell you that there’s nothing to boast about in winning a prize for scripture knowledge. Bertie Wooster won the scripture knowledge prize at a kids’ school we were at together, and you know what he’s like. But, of course, Bertie cheated. He succeeded in scrounging that scripture-knowledge trophy over the heads of better men by means of some of the rawest and most brazen swindling methods ever witnessed.

At that point I could hear no more of the nonsense. A moment later I was out in God’s air, fumbling with a fevered foot at the pedal of the old car. And now it’s nearly dinner-time, you say? I suppose you had better lay out the clothes.

It will not be necessary, sir. The company will not be dressing tonight. A cold meal has been set out in the dining-room.

Why’s that?

Monsieur Anatole, I'm afraid, is bed-ridden.

Temperamental blighters, these Frenchmen.

Yes, sir.

Well, Jeeves, it was certainly one of those afternoons, what?

Yes, sir.

Did I miss anything?

If you recollect, sir, Mr. Fink-Nottle had proclaimed himself suspicious of Master Simmons’s bona fides, and he proceeded to deliver a verbal attack upon the young gentleman, asserting that it was impossible for him to have won the scripture knowledge prize without systematic cheating on an impressive scale. He went so far as to suggest that Master Simmons was well known to the police.

Golly, Jeeves!

Yes, sir. The young students appeared pleased and applauded vigorously, but Master Simmons’s mother rose from her seat and addressed Mr. Fink-Nottle in terms of strong protest. Altogether I should describe the scene as chaotic.

Egad, Jeeves! And then —

They sang the national anthem, sir, and the proceedings terminated.

No, sir.

When you say ‘No, sir,’ do you mean ‘Yes, sir’?

No, sir. I mean ‘No, sir. Miss Bassett has severed the engagement.

You don’t mean that?

Yes, sir.

Bertie, I owe you an apology.

My dear chap, don’t mention it.

What’s the sense of saying, ‘Don’t mention it’? I have mentioned it.

We all do things we regret. No doubt you were not yourself when you caused me to plunge into the swimming pool.

I'm talking about this Bassett business.

Bassett business?

I asked Madeline Basset if you had proposed to her.

And she said you had. Still seems incredible, but there you have it. The real thief, I realized, stole Angela after she got back.

But she hasn’t seen anybody since she got back.

Oh, no? How about that newt bloke?

Gussie?

The serpent Fink-Nottle.

But Gussie loves the Bassett.

You can’t all love this blighted Bassett. What astonishes me is that anyone can do it. He loves Angela, I tell you. And she loves him.

Quite absurd, laddie — quite absurd.

Oh? Then perhaps you will explain how it is that she's engaged to him?

Engaged?

She told me herself. Shortly after the binge at the school, he asked her to marry him, and she right-hoed without a murmur.

There must be some mistake.

Chasing him?

All over the place. I'm going to pull his head off.

I see. Quite.

You haven’t seen him, by any chance?

No.

Have you seen Mr. Fink-Nottle, Jeeves?

No, sir.

I’m going to murder him.

Very good, sir.

We must save the unfortunate blighter, Jeeves.

Yes, sir.

A human life is a human life, what?

Exceedingly true, sir.

The first thing, then, is to find him. After that we can discuss plans and schemes. Go forth, Jeeves, and scour the neighborhood.

It will not be necessary, sir. If you will glance behind you, you will see Mr. Fink-Nottle.

Gussie!

Have you locked the door, Jeeves?

Yes, sir.

That ghastly Glossop may not take it into his head to come —

Let me in, blast you! Who locked this door?

Is one to have no privacy, Glossop? I was about to disrobe.

You locked that door because you’ve got the snake Fink-Nottle concealed in here. I suspected it the moment I left, and I’m going to search this room from end to end.

I think you had better leave me, Jeeves. I shall need to devote the very closest thought to the situation which has arisen.

Very good, sir.

Angela, this is all perfect drivel.

I’m sorry, Bertie, what were you talking drivel about?

I thought you said you were.

Is it likely that I would come to you in order to talk drivel?

Very likely.

I’ve just been seeing Tuppy and Gussie.

Ah, yes. I believe they just passed through.

It appears that you have gone and got engaged to the latter.

Quite right.

You can’t possibly love a chap like Gussie.

Why not?

You simply can’t.

All right, then. Perhaps I don’t.

Then what did you want to go and get engaged to him for, you unreasonable fathead?

I thought it would be fun.

Fun!

And so it has been. You should have seen Tuppy’s face when I told him.

You got engaged to Gussie just to tick off Tuppy?

A dashed low trick. Here you are, wrecking Tuppy’s life, wrecking Gussie’s life, all for the sake of a cheap score. Besides, you know you’re in love with Tuppy.

I’m not!

If I had a quid for every time I’ve seen you gaze at him with the lovelight in your eyes —

Oh, for goodness sake, go away and boil your head, Bertie!

That is just what I am going to go away and boil. At least, I mean, I shall now leave you. I have said my say.

Good.

But permit me to add —

I won’t.

Very good. In that case, tinkerty tonk.

I thought I shouldn’t find you far away from the food. ... I say, Bertie, This Spink-Bottle.

Nottle.

Bottle is how I shall always think of him. If you see him, I wish you would tell him that he has made an old woman very, very ... happy. I don’t think I have ever had a more wonderful moment than when he roasted Tom from the platform. In fact, I thought his whole performance was in the most perfect taste.

Those references to myself —

Those were what I liked next best.

I thought you might have been a trifle peeved.

I was proud to feel that any drink from my cellars could have produced such a majestic jag. Besides, I couldn’t be peeved at anything today. The sun has at last broken through the clouds. Anatole has withdrawn his notice.

Oh, very hearty congratulations.

I worked on him all afternoon, and finally, he vowing he would never consent, consented. God’s in His heaven, and all’s right with —

I beg your pardon, madam, but I've recently spoken to Monsieur Anatole, who's asked me to inform you that he will be resigning after all.

Give me a drink, Bertie.

What sort?

Any sort, so long as it’s strong.

Shove it down, Aunt Dahlia. These things take it out of one, don’t they? But everything will work out, I'm sure.

Attila. That’s the name. Attila, the Hun.

Eh?

I was trying to think who you reminded me of. Somebody who went about strewing ruin and desolation and breaking up homes which, until he came along, had been happy and peaceful. When I contemplate everything that's followed since you came to my home, the sorrow and horror comes with such a thud, I feel as if I've walked into a lamp post. It’s amazing.

 

I’ve lost the best cook in England, the house is filled with cries for blood, and my only daughter, for whom I had dreamed such a wonderful future, is to be married to an inebriated newt fancier.

Things are not looking too oojah-cum-spiff at the moment, but be of good cheer. A Wooster is seldom baffled for long.

You're working on another one of your schemes?

It will come to me any minute.

I don’t see how things could possibly be made worse than they are, but no doubt you will find a way. Carry on, Bertie. I shall find interest in seeing into what darker abysses of hell you can plunge this home.

A note for you, sir, from Miss Bassett.

From Miss Bassett, Jeeves?

From Miss Bassett, sir.

But what can this female be writing to me about?

Why not open the damn thing and see?

Dash it! Madeline Bassett says she’s going to marry me!

Oh!

A touch of salmon?

Thank you.

With a suspicion of salad?

If you please.

And to drink? Name the poison.

I think I would like a little orange juice. ... Er —

Er —

I’m sorry.

I beg your pardon.

You were saying —

You were saying —

No, please go on.

Oh, right-ho. With reference to your ...

You got my note?

Yes, I got your note.

I gave it to Jeeves to give it to you.

Yes, he gave it to me. That’s how I got it. Very well expressed and all that. But ... well ... dash it! Fruit salad?

No, thank you.

Spot of pie?

No, thanks.

I mean to say —

I think I know —

I beg your pardon.

I’m sorry.

Do go on.

No, you go on.

I think I know what you are trying to say. You are surprised.

Yes.

And yet it is quite simple. I want to make you happy.

I am going to devote the rest of my life to making you happy. But — may I be quite frank with you, Bertie?

Oh, rather.

I will marry you. I will do my best to make you a good wife. But my affection for you can never be the flamelike passion I felt for Augustus.

There, as you say, is the snag. Why not chuck the whole idea of hitching up with me? I mean, if you love old Gussie —

No longer.

Oh, come. Have you not considered that Bertie's behavior this afternoon may not have properly represented his true character?

It was like you to say that, Bertie. I respect you for it.

Oh, no.

You have a splendid, chivalrous soul.

Not a bit.

But it is no use. There are things which kill love. I can never forget Augustus, but my love for him is dead. I will be your wife.

Right ho.

Always, sir.

I am up against it, Jeeves.

I am sorry to hear that, sir. Can I be of any assistance?

Tell me frankly, Jeeves, are you in pretty good shape mentally?

Yes, sir.

Still eating plenty of fish?

Yes, sir.

There is just one point before I begin. In the past, when you have contrived to extricate myself or a pal from some difficulty, you have frequently shown a disposition to take advantage of my gratitude to gain some private end. The disposal of my purple socks, for instance. If you are successful on the present occasion, there must be no rot about that mess-jacket of mine.

Very good, sir.

You will not come to me when all is over and ask me to jettison the jacket?

Certainly not, sir.

On that understanding, we will carry on. What’s to be done?

You feel that Miss Bassett, despite what has occurred, still retains a fondness for Mr. Fink-Nottle, sir?

She’s pining for him.

In that case, sir, surely the best plan would be to bring about a reconciliation between them. The device which I have in mind is one that I have already mentioned to you, sir.

Good Lord! Not the old fire-alarm thing?

As I see it, sir, the occupants of the house, hearing the fire bell ring, will suppose that a fire has broken out. Whereupon Mr. Glossop will hasten to save Miss Angela, while Mr. Fink-Nottle performs the same office for Miss Bassett.

Desperate times, Jeeves. I will adopt this policy of yours, though, as I say, with misgivings. At what hour would you suggest bonging the bell?

Not before midnight, sir.

Right-ho, then. At 12.30 on the dot, I will bong.

Very good, sir.

Well, Jeeves?

Sir?

It’s no good saying ‘Sir?’ Jeeves. Look round you. They're just as distant as ever. Didn’t I tell you it would be a flop?

You did seem dubious, sir.

I hadn’t a scrap of faith in the idea from the start. I’m not blaming you, Jeeves. It is not your fault that you have sprained your brain. But after this — forgive me if I hurt your feelings, Jeeves — I shall know better than to allow you to handle any but the simplest and most elementary problems.

Very good, sir.

Hoy, Attila! Here we all are.

Quite.

Splendid. So much healthier for us out in the open like this than wasting away in bed. I had just dropped off when you did your bell-ringing act. For it was you, my sweet child, who rang that bell, was it not?

I did ring the bell, yes.

Any particular reason, or just a whim?

I thought there was a fire.

What gave you that impression, dear?

I thought I saw flames in one of the windows.

So we have all been dragged out of bed and scared rigid because you have been seeing things.

I admit I was mistaken. I am sorry.

Don’t apologize, ducky. Can’t you see how pleased we all are?

I say, what are we going to do?

Speaking for myself, I intend to return to bed.

But the doors are locked. All of them.

What? Who did this?

I don’t know.

To what end? There’s nobody in the house. The servants are all at the country house party.

Why not take out one of the cars, drive to the party, and pick up a key?

Shout, then, and wake the chauffeur.

But he’s also gone to the dance.

If I might make a suggestion, madam.

Jeeves! Has that great brain of yours clicked as ever in the hour of need?

Yes, madam. There is a bicycle in the gardener’s shed, madam. Possibly one of the gentlemen might feel disposed to ride over to Kingham Manor, where the dance is occurring, and procure the back-door key from your butler.

Splendid, Jeeves!

Thank you, madam.

Attila!

Yes, madam, Mr. Wooster would perform the task admirably. He is an expert cyclist. He has often boasted to me of his triumphs on the wheel.

That’s right. I remember at Oxford he used to take all his clothes off on party nights and ride around the quad, singing comic songs. Jolly fast he used to go too.

Then he can go jolly fast now. He may also sing comic songs, if he likes. But whether clothed or in the nude, Bertie, my lamb, get a move on it.

But I haven’t ridden for years.

Then it’s high time you began again.

But it’s miles to Kingham.

So the sooner you’re off, the better.

But, dash it!

So, Jeeves, this is what your great scheme has accomplished! Tuppy, Angela, Gussie and the Bassett are still not on speaking terms, and I'm faced with an eight-mile ride.

Nine, I believe, sir.

Where is this foul bone-shaker?

I will bring it out, sir.

Is the lamp in working order?

I fear there is no lamp, sir.

But suppose I barge into something. You smile, Jeeves. The thought amuses you?

I beg your pardon, sir. I was thinking of a tale my Uncle Cyril used to tell me as a child. An absurd little story, sir. Two men named Nicholls and Jackson set out to ride to on a tandem bicycle and were so unfortunate as to come into collision with a van. And when the rescue party arrived on the scene, it was discovered that Nicholas and Jackson had been hurled together with such force that the keenest eye could not discern which portion of the fragments was Nicholls and which Jackson. So they collected as much as they could, and called it Nixon.

Next time you meet your Uncle Cyril, Jeeves, tell him from me that his sense of humor is morbid and unpleasant.

Thank heaven for that.

Very good, sir.

Right ho, Jeeves.

Hello, Bertie.

About a quarter of an hour after you left, Jeeves found the back-door key on the kitchen window-sill.

Ha!

What?

Nothing. Seen Jeeves anywhere?

Yes, in the dining-room.

The dining-room?

Waiting on everybody. They are having eggs and bacon and champagne.

Unbelievable.

Bertie, do you read Tennyson?

Not if I can help it.

You remind me so much of those Knights of the Round Table. You are one of the few really chivalrous men I have met.

Hullo?

Will you be chivalrous now?

Rather. Only too pleased. How do you mean?

I am going to test you as few men have ever been tested. I am going —

Always glad to oblige, you know, but I’ve just had the dickens of a bicycle ride, and —

How can I say it? ... Bertie — let me go!

But I haven’t got hold of you.

Release me!

Hold on, you don't mean ... You you want to call it all off? You’re going to hitch up with Gussie, after all?

Only if you are fine and big enough to consent.

Oh, I am.

I gave you my promise.

Dash promises.

Oh, Bertie, a perfect knight!

Hullo, Bertie. You look like a wreck. Get run over by a steam-roller or something?

Tuppy, old man, the Bassett’s going to marry Gussie Fink-Nottle.

Tough luck on both of them, what?

This means that Angela is free, and you have only to play your cards properly.

You’re right behind the times, Bertie. Only to be expected, of course, if you go riding bicycles half the night. Angela and I made it up hours ago.

What?

Nothing but a passing tiff. We got together and talked things over. She withdrew my double chin. I conceded her shark. All done in a couple of minutes.

But —

Sorry, Bertie. Can’t chat with you all night. There is a rather impressive party in progress, and they are waiting for supplies.

Glossop! Hurry up with that stuff.

Coming, coming.

Your aunt is a bit above herself. I hear that Anatole consented to stay on, and your uncle has given her a cheque for that paper of hers. See you later.

Good evening, sir. I trust you had an enjoyable ride.

Yes, sir. I am glad to say that my efforts have been rewarded.

You aren’t going to try to make out that that rotten fire bell scheme had anything to do with it?

Yes, sir.

Don’t be an ass, Jeeves. It flopped.

I fear, sir, that I was not entirely frank with regard to my suggestion of ringing the fire bell. I had intended it merely as a preliminary to what I might describe as the real business of the evening.

And that is?

It was essential that the ladies and gentlemen should be brought from the house, in order that, once out of doors, I could ensure that they remained there for the necessary period of time.

How do you mean?

There is nothing that so satisfactorily unites individuals who have been so unfortunate as to quarrel amongst themselves as a strong mutual dislike for some definite person. In my own family, in times of domestic disagreement, it was necessary only to invite my Aunt Annie for a visit to heal all breaches between the other members of the household. In the mutual animosity excited by Aunt Annie, those who had become estranged were reconciled almost immediately.

 

It occurred to me that if you, sir, were to be established as the person responsible for the ladies and gentlemen being forced to spend the night in the garden, everybody would take so strong a dislike to you that in this common sympathy, they would come together.

 

After your departure on the bicycle, the various estranged parties agreed so heartily in their dislike of you that it was not long before Mr. Glossop was walking beneath the trees with Miss Angela, telling her anecdotes of your career at the university in exchange for hers regarding your childhood; while Mr. Fink-Nottle, leaning against the sundial, held Miss Bassett enthralled with stories of your schooldays. Mrs. Travers, meanwhile, was telling Monsieur Anatole —

I see. And now, I suppose, as the result of this dashed psychology of yours, Aunt Dahlia is so sore with me that it will be years before I can dare to show my face here again — years, Jeeves, without Anatole's dinners.

No, sir. When I informed the ladies and gentlemen that I had found the key, and you were having that long ride for nothing, their animosity vanished immediately, to be replaced by cordial amusement. There was much laughter.

There was, eh?

Yes, sir. I fear you may possibly have to submit to a certain amount of good-natured chaff, but nothing more. All, if I may say so, is forgiven, sir.

I suppose you might say that all’s well that ends well. All the same, your methods are a bit rough, Jeeves.

One cannot make an omelet without breaking eggs, sir.

Undoubtedly, sir.

Do so, Jeeves, and with all speed. I'll be waiting in the bathtub.

Something on your mind, Jeeves?

I fear I have been negligent, sir.

Yes, Jeeves?

In the matter of your mess-jacket, sir. I am sorry to say that while I was ironing it this afternoon, I was careless enough to leave the hot instrument upon it. I very much fear that it will be impossible for you to wear it again, sir. I am extremely sorry.

Right ho, Jeeves.

Very good, sir.