RIGHT HO, JEEVES
By
P. G. WODEHOUSE
1922
To
RAYMOND NEEDHAM, K.C.
WITH AFFECTION AND ADMIRATION
-1-
"Jeeves," I said, "may I speak frankly?"
"Certainly, sir."
"What I have to say may wound you."
"Not at all, sir."
"Well, then - - "
No - wait. Hold the line a minute. I've gone off the rails.
I don't know if you have had the same experience, but the snag I always
come up against when I'm telling a story is this dashed difficult problem
of where to begin it. It's a thing you don't want to go wrong over,
because one false step and you're sunk. I mean, if you fool about too
long at the start, trying to establish atmosphere, as they call it, and
all that sort of rot, you fail to grip and the customers walk out on you.
Get off the mark, on the other hand, like a scalded cat, and your public
is at a loss. It simply raises its eyebrows, and can't make out what
you're talking about.
And in opening my report of the complex case of Gussie Fink-Nottle,
Madeline Bassett, my Cousin Angela, my Aunt Dahlia, my Uncle Thomas,
young Tuppy Glossop and the cook, Anatole, with the above spot of
dialogue, I see that I have made the second of these two floaters.
I shall have to hark back a bit. And taking it for all in all and
weighing this against that, I suppose the affair may be said to have had
its inception, if inception is the word I want, with that visit of mine
to Cannes. If I hadn't gone to Cannes, I shouldn't have met the Bassett
or bought that white mess jacket, and Angela wouldn't have met her shark,
and Aunt Dahlia wouldn't have played baccarat.
Yes, most decidedly, Cannes was the _point d'appui._
Right ho, then. Let me marshal my facts.
I went to Cannes - leaving Jeeves behind, he having intimated that he did
not wish to miss Ascot - round about the beginning of June. With me
travelled my Aunt Dahlia and her daughter Angela. Tuppy Glossop, Angela's
betrothed, was to have been of the party, but at the last moment couldn't
get away. Uncle Tom, Aunt Dahlia's husband, remained at home, because he
can't stick the South of France at any price.
So there you have the layout - Aunt Dahlia, Cousin Angela and self off to
Cannes round about the beginning of June.
All pretty clear so far, what?
We stayed at Cannes about two months, and except for the fact that Aunt
Dahlia lost her shirt at baccarat and Angela nearly got inhaled by a
shark while aquaplaning, a pleasant time was had by all.
On July the twenty-fifth, looking bronzed and fit, I accompanied aunt and
child back to London. At seven p.m. on July the twenty-sixth we alighted
at Victoria. And at seven-twenty or thereabouts we parted with mutual
expressions of esteem - they to shove off in Aunt Dahlia's car to Brinkley
Court, her place in Worcestershire, where they were expecting to
entertain Tuppy in a day or two; I to go to the flat, drop my luggage,
clean up a bit, and put on the soup and fish preparatory to pushing round
to the Drones for a bite of dinner.
And it was while I was at the flat, towelling the torso after a
much-needed rinse, that Jeeves, as we chatted of this and that - picking
up the threads, as it were - suddenly brought the name of Gussie
Fink-Nottle into the conversation.
As I recall it, the dialogue ran something as follows:
SELF: Well, Jeeves, here we are, what?
JEEVES: Yes, sir.
SELF: I mean to say, home again.
JEEVES: Precisely, sir.
SELF: Seems ages since I went away.
JEEVES: Yes, sir.
SELF: Have a good time at Ascot?
JEEVES: Most agreeable, sir.
SELF: Win anything?
JEEVES: Quite a satisfactory sum, thank you, sir.
SELF: Good. Well, Jeeves, what news on the Rialto? Anybody been phoning
or calling or anything during my abs.?
JEEVES: Mr. Fink-Nottle, sir, has been a frequent caller.
I stared. Indeed, it would not be too much to say that I gaped.
"Mr. Fink-Nottle?"
"Yes, sir."
"You don't mean Mr. Fink-Nottle?"
"Yes, sir."
"But Mr. Fink-Nottle's not in London?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, I'm blowed."
And I'll tell you why I was blowed. I found it scarcely possible to give
credence to his statement. This Fink-Nottle, you see, was one of those
freaks you come across from time to time during life's journey who can't
stand London. He lived year in and year out, covered with moss, in a
remote village down in Lincolnshire, never coming up even for the Eton
and Harrow match. And when I asked him once if he didn't find the time
hang a bit heavy on his hands, he said, no, because he had a pond in his
garden and studied the habits of newts.
I couldn't imagine what could have brought the chap up to the great city.
I would have been prepared to bet that as long as the supply of newts
didn't give out, nothing could have shifted him from that village of his.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, sir."
"You got the name correctly? Fink-Nottle?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, it's the most extraordinary thing. It must be five years since he
was in London. He makes no secret of the fact that the place gives him
the pip. 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."
"He kept them in his study in a kind of glass-tank arrangement, and
pretty niffy the whole thing was, I recall. I suppose one ought to have
been able to see what the end would be even then, but you know what boys
are. Careless, heedless, busy about our own affairs, we scarcely gave
this kink in Gussie's character a thought. We may have exchanged an
occasional remark about it taking all sorts to make a world, but nothing
more. You can guess the sequel. The trouble spread,"
"Indeed, sir?"
"Absolutely, Jeeves. The craving grew upon him. The newts got him.
Arrived at man's estate, 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 every second
day and refused to see a soul. That's why I was so amazed when you told
me he had suddenly risen to the surface like this. I still can't believe
it. I am inclined to think that there must be some mistake, and that
this bird who has been calling here is some different variety of
Fink-Nottle. The chap I know wears horn-rimmed spectacles and has a face
like a fish. How does that check up with your data?"
"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, I suppose. 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."
"Young lady?"
"Yes, sir."
"You don't mean he's in love?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, I'm dashed. I'm really dashed. I positively am dashed, Jeeves."
And I was too. I mean to say, a joke's a joke, but there are limits.
Then I found my mind turning to another aspect of this rummy affair.
Conceding the fact that Gussie Fink-Nottle, against all the ruling of the
form book, might have fallen in love, why should he have been haunting my
flat like this? No doubt the occasion was one of those when a fellow
needs a friend, but I couldn't see what had made him pick on me.
It wasn't as if he and I were in any way bosom. We had seen a lot of each
other at one time, of course, but in the last two years I hadn't had so
much as a post card from him.
I put all this to Jeeves:
"Odd, his coming to me. Still, if he did, he did. No argument about that.
It must have been a nasty jar for the poor perisher when he found I
wasn't here."
"No, sir. Mr. Fink-Nottle did not call to see you, sir."
"Pull yourself together, Jeeves. You've just told me that this is what he
has been doing, and assiduously, at that."
"It was I with whom he was desirous of establishing communication, sir."
"You? But I didn't know you had ever met him."
"I had not had that pleasure until he called here, sir. But it appears
that Mr. Sipperley, a fellow student of whom Mr. Fink-Nottle had been at
the university, recommended him to place his affairs in my hands."
The mystery had conked. I saw all. As I dare say you know, Jeeves's
reputation as a counsellor has long been established among the
cognoscenti, and the first move of any of my little circle on discovering
themselves in any form of soup is always to roll round and put the thing
up to him. And when he's got A out of a bad spot, A puts B on to him. And
then, when he has fixed up B, B sends C along. And so on, if you get my
drift, and so forth.
That's how these big consulting practices like Jeeves's grow. Old Sippy,
I knew, had been deeply impressed by the man's efforts on his behalf at
the time when he was trying to get engaged to Elizabeth Moon, so it was
not to be wondered at that he should have advised Gussie to apply. Pure
routine, you might say.
"Oh, you're acting for him, are you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Now I follow. Now I understand. And what is Gussie's trouble?"
"Oddly enough, sir, precisely the same as that of Mr. Sipperley when I
was enabled to be of assistance to him. No doubt you recall Mr.
Sipperley's predicament, sir. Deeply attached to Miss Moon, he suffered
from a rooted diffidence which made it impossible for him to speak."
I nodded.
"I remember. Yes, I recall the Sipperley case. He couldn't bring himself
to the scratch. A marked coldness of the feet, was there not? I recollect
you saying he was letting - what was it? - letting something do something.
Cats entered into it, if I am not mistaken."
"Letting 'I dare not' wait upon 'I would', sir."
"That's right. But how about the cats?"
"Like the poor cat i' the adage, sir."
"Exactly. It beats me how you think up these things. And Gussie, you say,
is in the same posish?"
"Yes, sir. Each time he endeavours 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."
I mused.
"Well, I suppose this was inevitable, Jeeves. I wouldn't have thought
that this Fink-Nottle would ever have fallen a victim to the divine _p_,
but, if he has, no wonder he finds the going sticky."
"Yes, sir."
"Look at the life he's led."
"Yes, sir."
"I don't suppose he has spoken to a girl for years. 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.
In this life, you can choose between two courses. You can either shut
yourself up in a country house and stare into tanks, or you can be a
dasher with the sex. You can't do both."
"No, sir."
I mused once more. Gussie and I, as I say, had rather lost touch, but all
the same I was exercised about the poor fish, as I am about all my pals,
close or distant, who find themselves treading upon Life's banana skins.
It seemed to me that he was up against it.
I threw my mind back to the last time I had seen him. About two years
ago, it had been. I had looked in at his place while on a motor trip, and
he had put me right off my feed by bringing a couple of green things with
legs to the luncheon table, crooning over them like a young mother and
eventually losing one of them in the salad. That picture, rising before
my eyes, didn't give me much confidence in the unfortunate goof's ability
to woo and win, I must say. Especially if the girl he had earmarked was
one of these tough modern thugs, all lipstick and cool, hard, sardonic
eyes, as she probably was.
"Tell me, Jeeves," I said, wishing to know the worst, "what sort of a
girl is this girl of Gussie's?"
"I have not met the young lady, sir. Mr. Fink-Nottle speaks highly of her
attractions."
"Seemed to like her, did he?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did he mention her name? Perhaps I know her."
"She is a Miss Bassett, sir. Miss Madeline Bassett."
"What?"
"Yes, sir."
I was deeply intrigued.
"Egad, Jeeves! Fancy that. It's a small world, isn't it, what?"
"The young lady is an acquaintance of yours, sir?"
"I know her well. Your news has relieved my mind, Jeeves. It makes the
whole thing begin to seem far more like a practical working proposition."
"Indeed, sir?"
"Absolutely. 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."
"Cleopatra wouldn't have liked him."
"Possibly not, sir."
"And I doubt if he would go any too well with Tallulah Bankhead."
"No, sir."
"But when you tell me that the object of his affections is Miss Bassett,
why, then, Jeeves, hope begins to dawn a bit. He's just the sort of chap
a girl like Madeline Bassett might scoop in with relish."
This Bassett, I must explain, had been a fellow visitor of ours at
Cannes; and as she and Angela had struck up one of those effervescent
friendships which girls do strike up, I had seen quite a bit of her.
Indeed, in my moodier moments it sometimes seemed to me that I could not
move a step without stubbing my toe on the woman.
And what made it all so painful and distressing was that the more we met,
the less did I seem able to find to say to her.
You know how it is with some girls. They seem to take the stuffing right
out of you. I mean to say, there is something about their personality
that paralyses the vocal cords and reduces the contents of the brain to
cauliflower. It was like that with this Bassett and me; so much so that I
have known occasions when for minutes at a stretch Bertram Wooster might
have been observed fumbling with the tie, shuffling the feet, and
behaving in all other respects in her presence like the complete dumb
brick. When, therefore, she took her departure some two weeks before we
did, you may readily imagine that, in Bertram's opinion, it was not a day
too soon.
It was not her beauty, mark you, that thus numbed me. She was a pretty
enough girl in a droopy, blonde, saucer-eyed way, but not the sort of
breath-taker that takes the breath.
No, what caused this disintegration in a usually fairly fluent prattler
with the sex was her whole mental attitude. I don't want to wrong
anybody, so I won't go so far as to say that she actually wrote poetry,
but her conversation, to my mind, was of a nature calculated to excite
the liveliest suspicions. Well, I mean to say, when a girl suddenly asks
you out of a blue sky if you don't sometimes feel that the stars are
God's daisy-chain, you begin to think a bit.
As regards the fusing of her soul and mine, therefore, there was nothing
doing. But with Gussie, the posish was entirely different. The thing that
had stymied me - viz. that this girl was obviously all loaded down with
ideals and sentiment and what not - was quite in order as far as he was
concerned.
Gussie had always been one of those dreamy, soulful birds - you can't shut
yourself up in the country and live only for newts, if you're not - and I
could see no reason why, if he could somehow be induced to get the low,
burning words off his chest, he and the Bassett shouldn't hit it off like
ham and eggs.
"She's just the type for him," I said.
"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," replied the honest fellow. "I will attend to the matter
at once."
Now up to this point, as you will doubtless agree, what you might call a
perfect harmony had prevailed. Friendly gossip between employer and
employed, and everything as sweet as a nut. But at this juncture, I
regret to say, there was an unpleasant switch. The atmosphere suddenly
changed, the storm clouds began to gather, and before we knew where we
were, the jarring note had come bounding on the scene. I have known this
to happen before in the Wooster home.
The first intimation I had that things were about to hot up was a pained
and disapproving cough from the neighbourhood of the carpet. For, during
the above exchanges, I should explain, while I, having dried the frame,
had been dressing in a leisurely manner, donning here a sock, there a
shoe, and gradually climbing into the vest, the shirt, the tie, and the
knee-length, Jeeves had been down on the lower level, unpacking my
effects.
He now rose, holding a white object. And at the sight of it, I realized
that another of our domestic crises had arrived, another of those
unfortunate clashes of will between two strong men, and that Bertram,
unless he remembered his fighting ancestors and stood up for his rights,
was about to be put upon.
I don't know if you were at Cannes this summer. If you were, you will
recall that anybody with any pretensions to being the life and soul of
the party was accustomed to attend binges at the Casino in the ordinary
evening-wear trouserings topped to the north by a white mess-jacket with
brass buttons. And ever since I had stepped aboard the Blue Train at
Cannes station, I had been wondering on and off how mine would go with
Jeeves.
In the matter of evening costume, you see, Jeeves is hidebound and
reactionary. I had had trouble with him before about soft-bosomed shirts.
And while these mess-jackets had, as I say, been all the rage - _tout ce
qu'il y a de chic_ - on the Côte d'Azur, I had never concealed it from
myself, even when treading the measure at the Palm Beach Casino in the
one I had hastened to buy, that there might be something of an upheaval
about it on my return.
I prepared to be firm.
"Yes, Jeeves?" I said. And though my voice was suave, a close observer in
a position to watch my eyes would have noticed a steely glint. Nobody has
a greater respect for Jeeves's intellect than I have, but this
disposition of his to dictate to the hand that fed him had got, I felt,
to be checked. This mess-jacket was very near to my heart, and I jolly
well intended to fight for it with all the vim of grand old Sieur de
Wooster at the Battle of Agincourt.
"Yes, Jeeves?" I said. "Something on your mind, Jeeves?"
"I fear that you inadvertently left Cannes in the possession of a coat
belonging to some other gentleman, sir."
I switched on the steely a bit more.
"No, Jeeves," I said, in a level tone, "the object under advisement is
mine. I bought it out there."
"You wore it, sir?"
"Every night."
"But surely you are not proposing to wear it in England, sir?"
I saw that we had arrived at the nub.
"Yes, Jeeves."
"But, sir - - "
"You were saying, Jeeves?"
"It is quite unsuitable, sir."
"I do not agree with you, Jeeves. I anticipate a great popular success
for this jacket. 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."
He went on with his unpacking. I said no more on the subject. I had won
the victory, and we Woosters do not triumph over a beaten foe. Presently,
having completed my toilet, I bade the man a cheery farewell and in
generous mood suggested that, as I was dining out, why didn't he take the
evening off and go to some improving picture or something. Sort of olive
branch, if you see what I mean.
He didn't seem to think much of it.
"Thank you, sir, I will remain in."
I surveyed him narrowly.
"Is this dudgeon, Jeeves?"
"No, sir, I am obliged to remain on the premises. Mr. Fink-Nottle
informed me he would be calling to see me this evening."
"Oh, Gussie's coming, is he? Well, give him my love."
"Very good, sir."
"Yes, sir."
"And a whisky and soda, and so forth."
"Very good, sir."
"Right ho, Jeeves."
I then set off for the Drones.
At the Drones I ran into Pongo Twistleton, and he talked so much about
his forthcoming merry-making of his, of which good reports had already
reached me through my correspondents, that it was nearing eleven when I
got home again.
And scarcely had I opened the door when I heard voices in the
sitting-room, and scarcely had I entered the sitting-room when I found
that these proceeded from Jeeves and what appeared at first sight to be
the Devil.
A closer scrutiny informed me that it was Gussie Fink-Nottle, dressed as
Mephistopheles.
-2-
"What-ho, Gussie," I said.
You couldn't have told it from my manner, but I was feeling more than a
bit nonplussed. The spectacle before me was enough to nonplus anyone. I
mean to say, this Fink-Nottle, as I remembered him, was the sort of shy,
shrinking goop who might have been expected to shake like an aspen if
invited to so much as a social Saturday afternoon at the vicarage. And
yet here he was, if one could credit one's senses, about to take part in
a fancy-dress ball, a form of entertainment notoriously a testing
experience for the toughest.
And he was attending that fancy-dress ball, mark you - not, like every
other well-bred Englishman, as a Pierrot, but as Mephistopheles - this
involving, as I need scarcely stress, not only scarlet tights but a
pretty frightful false beard.
Rummy, you'll admit. However, one masks one's feelings. I betrayed no
vulgar astonishment, but, as I say, what-hoed with civil nonchalance.
He grinned through the fungus - rather sheepishly, I thought.
"Oh, hullo, Bertie."
"Long time since I saw you. Have a spot?"
"No, thanks. I must be off in a minute. I just came round to ask Jeeves
how he thought I looked. How do you think I look, Bertie?"
Well, the answer to that, of course, was "perfectly foul". But we
Woosters are men of tact and have a nice sense of the obligations of a
host. We do not tell old friends beneath our roof-tree that they are an
offence to the eyesight. I evaded the question.
"I hear you're in London," I said carelessly.
"Oh, yes."
"Must be years since you came up."
"Oh, yes."
"And now you're off for an evening's pleasure."
He shuddered a bit. He had, I noticed, a hunted air.
"Pleasure!"
"Aren't you looking forward to this rout or revel?"
"Oh, I suppose it'll be all right," he said, in a toneless voice.
"Anyway, I ought to be off, I suppose. The thing starts round about
eleven. I told my cab to wait.... Will you see if it's there, Jeeves?"
"Very good, sir."
There was something of a pause after the door had closed. A certain
constraint. I mixed myself a beaker, while Gussie, a glutton for
punishment, stared at himself in the mirror. Finally I decided that it
would be best to let him know that I was abreast of his affairs. It might
be that it would ease his mind to confide in a sympathetic man of
experience. I have generally found, with those under the influence, that
what they want more than anything is the listening ear.
"Well, Gussie, old leper," I said, "I've been hearing all about you."
"Eh?"
"This little trouble of yours. Jeeves has told me everything."
He didn't seem any too braced. It's always difficult to be sure, of
course, when a chap has dug himself in behind a Mephistopheles beard, but
I fancy he flushed a trifle.
"I wish Jeeves wouldn't go gassing all over the place. It was supposed to
be confidential."
I could not permit this tone.
"Dishing up the dirt to the young master can scarcely be described as
gassing all over the place," I said, with a touch of rebuke. "Anyway,
there it is. I know all. And I should like to begin," I said, sinking my
personal opinion that the female in question was a sloppy pest in my
desire to buck and encourage, "by saying that Madeline Bassett is a
charming girl. A winner, and just the sort for you."
"You don't know her?"
"Certainly I know her. What beats me is how you ever got in touch. Where
did you meet?"
"She was staying at a place near mine in Lincolnshire the week before
last."
"Yes, but even so. I didn't know you called on the neighbours."
"I don't. I met her out for a walk with her dog. The dog had got a thorn
in its foot, and when she tried to take it out, it snapped at her. So, of
course, I had to rally round."
"You extracted the thorn?"
"Yes."
"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 press her hand?"
"Of course not."
Well, I mean, it looked as though there was no more to be said. If a chap
is such a rabbit that he can't get action when he's handed the thing on a
plate, his case would appear to be pretty hopeless. Nevertheless, I
reminded myself that this non-starter and I had been at school together.
One must make an effort for an old school friend.
"Ah, well," I said, "we must see what can be done. Things may brighten.
At any rate, you will be glad to learn that I am behind you in this
enterprise. You have Bertram Wooster in your corner, Gussie."
"Thanks, old man. And Jeeves, of course, which is the thing that really
matters."
I don't mind admitting that I winced. He meant no harm, I suppose, but
I'm bound to say that this tactless speech nettled me not a little.
People are always nettling me like that. Giving me to understand, I mean
to say, that in their opinion Bertram Wooster is a mere cipher and that
the only member of the household with brains and resources is Jeeves.
It jars on me.
And tonight it jarred on me more than usual, because I was feeling pretty
dashed fed with Jeeves. Over that matter of the mess jacket, I mean.
True, I had forced him to climb down, quelling him, as described, with
the quiet strength of my personality, but I was still a trifle shirty at
his having brought the thing up at all. It seemed to me that what Jeeves
wanted was the iron hand.
"And what is he doing about it?" I inquired stiffly.
"He's been giving the position of affairs a lot of thought."
"He has, has he?"
"It's on his advice that I'm going to this dance."
"Why?"
"She is going to be there. In fact, it was she who sent me the ticket of
invitation. And Jeeves considered - - "
"And why not as a Pierrot?" I said, taking up the point which had struck
me before. "Why this break with a grand old tradition?"
"He particularly wanted me to go as Mephistopheles."
I started.
"He did, did he? He specifically recommended that definite costume?"
"Yes."
"Ha!"
"Eh?"
"Nothing. Just 'Ha!'"
And I'll tell you why I said "Ha!" Here was Jeeves making heavy weather
about me wearing a perfectly ordinary white mess jacket, a garment not
only _tout ce qu'il y a de chic_, but absolutely _de rigueur_, and in the
same breath, as you might say, inciting Gussie Fink-Nottle to be a blot
on the London scene in scarlet tights. Ironical, what? One looks askance
at this sort of in-and-out running.
"What has he got against Pierrots?"
"I don't think he objects to Pierrots as Pierrots. But in my case he
thought a Pierrot wouldn't be adequate."
"I don't follow that."
"He said that the costume of Pierrot, while pleasing to the eye, lacked
the authority of the Mephistopheles costume."
"I still don't get it."
"Well, it's a matter of psychology, he said."
There was a time when a remark like that would have had me snookered. But
long association with Jeeves has developed the Wooster vocabulary
considerably. Jeeves has always been a whale for the psychology of the
individual, and I now follow him like a bloodhound when he snaps it out
of the bag.
"Oh, psychology?"
"Yes. Jeeves is a great believer in the moral effect of clothes. He
thinks I might be emboldened in a striking costume like this. He said a
Pirate Chief would be just as good. In fact, a Pirate Chief was his first
suggestion, but I objected to the boots."
I saw his point. There is enough sadness in life without having fellows
like Gussie Fink-Nottle going about in sea boots.
"And are you emboldened?"
"Well, to be absolutely accurate, Bertie, old man, no."
A gust of compassion shook me. After all, though we had lost touch a bit
of recent years, this man and I had once thrown inked darts at each
other.
"Gussie," I said, "take an old friend's advice, and don't go within a
mile of this binge."
"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."
"Don't know what?"
"That this idea of Jeeves's won't work. I feel a most frightful chump
now, yes, but who can say whether that will not pass off when I get into
a mob of other people in fancy dress. I had the same experience as a
child, one year during the Christmas festivities. They dressed me up as a
rabbit, and the shame was indescribable. Yet when I got to the party and
found myself surrounded by scores of other children, many in costumes
even ghastlier than my own, I perked up amazingly, joined freely in the
revels, and was able to eat so hearty a supper that I was sick twice in
the cab coming home. What I mean is, you can't tell in cold blood."
I weighed this. It was specious, of course.
"And you can't get away from it that, fundamentally, Jeeves's idea is
sound. In a striking costume like Mephistopheles, I might quite easily
pull off something pretty impressive. Colour does make a difference. Look
at newts. During the courting season the male newt is brilliantly
coloured. It helps him a lot."
"But you aren't a male newt."
"I wish I were. Do you know how a male newt proposes, Bertie? He just
stands in front of the female newt vibrating his tail and bending his
body in a semi-circle. I could do that on my head. No, you wouldn't find
me grousing if I were a male newt."
"But if you were a male newt, Madeline Bassett wouldn't look at you. Not
with the eye of love, I mean."
"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."
A slight throbbing about the temples told me that this discussion had
reached saturation point.
"Well, anyway," I said, "coming down to hard facts and cutting out all
this visionary stuff about vibrating tails and what not, the salient
point that emerges is that you are booked to appear at a fancy-dress
ball. And I tell you out of my riper knowledge of fancy-dress balls,
Gussie, that you won't enjoy yourself."
"It isn't a question of enjoying yourself."
"I wouldn't go."
"I must go. I keep telling you she's off to the country tomorrow."
I gave it up.
"So be it," I said. "Have it your own way.... Yes, Jeeves?"
"Mr. Fink-Nottle's cab, sir."
"Ah? The cab, eh?... Your cab, Gussie."
"Oh, the cab? Oh, right. Of course, yes, rather.... Thanks, Jeeves ...
Well, so long, Bertie."
And giving me the sort of weak smile Roman gladiators used to give the
Emperor before entering the arena, Gussie trickled off. And I turned to
Jeeves. The moment had arrived for putting him in his place, and I was
all for it.
It was a little difficult to know how to begin, of course. I mean to say,
while firmly resolved to tick him off, I didn't want to gash his feelings
too deeply. Even when displaying the iron hand, we Woosters like to keep
the thing fairly matey.
However, on consideration, I saw that there was nothing to be gained by
trying to lead up to it gently. It is never any use beating about the b.
"Jeeves," I said, "may I speak frankly?"
"Certainly, sir."
"What I have to say may wound you."
"Not at all, sir."
"Well, then, I have been having a chat with Mr. Fink-Nottle, and he has
been telling me about this Mephistopheles scheme of yours."
"Yes, sir?"
"Now let me get it straight. If I follow your reasoning correctly, you
think that, stimulated by being upholstered throughout in scarlet tights,
Mr. Fink-Nottle, on encountering the adored object, will vibrate his tail
and generally let himself go with a whoop."
"I am of opinion that he will lose much of his normal diffidence, sir."
"I don't agree with you, Jeeves."
"No, sir?"
"No. In fact, not to put too fine a point upon it, I consider that of all
the dashed silly, drivelling ideas I ever heard in my puff 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 before now a tendency or disposition on your part to
become - what's the word?"
"I could not say, sir."
"Eloquent? No, it's not eloquent. Elusive? No, it's not elusive. It's on
the tip of my tongue. 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 - that is what
you are frequently prone to become. Your methods are not simple, not
straightforward. 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 what I suggest is that from now onward
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 ere long. I will make a point of seeing Gussie
tomorrow."
"Very good, sir."
"Right ho, Jeeves."
But on the morrow all those telegrams started coming in, and I confess
that for twenty-four hours I didn't give the poor chap a thought, having
problems of my own to contend with.
-3-
The first of the telegram arrived shortly after noon, and Jeeves brought
it in with the before-luncheon snifter. It was from my Aunt Dahlia,
operating from Market Snodsbury, a small town of sorts a mile or two
along the main road as you leave her country seat.
It ran as follows:
_Come at once. Travers._
And when I say it puzzled me like the dickens, I am understating it; if
anything. As mysterious a communication, I considered, as was ever
flashed over the wires. I studied it in a profound reverie for the best
part of two dry Martinis and a dividend. I read it backwards. I read it
forwards. As a matter of fact, I have a sort of recollection of even
smelling it. But it still baffled me.
Consider the facts, I mean. It was only a few hours since this aunt and I
had parted, after being in constant association for nearly two months.
And yet here she was - with my farewell kiss still lingering on her cheek,
so to speak - pleading for another reunion. Bertram Wooster is not
accustomed to this gluttonous appetite for his society. Ask anyone who
knows me, and they will tell you that after two months of my company,
what the normal person feels is that that will about do for the present.
Indeed, I have known people who couldn't stick it out for more than a few
days.
Before sitting down to the well-cooked, therefore, I sent this reply:
_Perplexed. Explain. Bertie._
To this I received an answer during the after-luncheon sleep:
_What on earth is there to be perplexed about, ass? Come at once.
Travers._
Three cigarettes and a couple of turns about the room, and I had my
response ready:
_How do you mean come at once? Regards. Bertie._
I append the comeback:
_I mean come at once, you maddening half-wit. What did you think I meant?
Come at once or expect an aunt's curse first post tomorrow. Love.
Travers._
I then dispatched the following message, wishing to get everything quite
clear:
_When you say "Come" do you mean "Come to Brinkley Court"? And when you
say "At once" do you mean "At once"? Fogged. At a loss. All the best.
Bertie._
I sent this one off on my way to the Drones, where I spent a restful
afternoon throwing cards into a top-hat with some of the better element.
Returning in the evening hush, I found the answer waiting for me:
_Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. It doesn't matter whether you
understand or not. You just come at once, as I tell you, and for heaven's
sake stop this back-chat. Do you think I am made of money that I can
afford to send you telegrams every ten minutes. Stop being a fathead and
come immediately. Love. Travers._
It was at this point that I felt the need of getting a second opinion. I
pressed the bell.
"Jeeves," I said, "a V-shaped rumminess has manifested itself from the
direction of Worcestershire. Read these," I said, handing him the papers
in the case.
He scanned them.
"What do you make of it, Jeeves?"
"I think Mrs. Travers wishes you to come at once, sir."
"You gather that too, do you?"
"Yes, sir."
"I put the same construction on the thing. But why, Jeeves? Dash it all,
she's just had nearly two months of me."
"Yes, sir."
"And many people consider the medium dose for an adult two days."
"Yes, sir. 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. I've an important conference on at
the Drones tonight. Pongo Twistleton's birthday party, you remember."
"Yes, sir."
There was a slight pause. We were both recalling the little
unpleasantness that had arisen. I felt obliged to allude to it.
"You're all wrong about that mess jacket, Jeeves."
"These things are matters of opinion, sir."
"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."
"And when I described it to Pongo last night, he was fascinated."
"Indeed, sir?"
"So were all the rest of those present. One and all admitted that I had
got hold of a good thing. Not a dissentient voice."
"Indeed, sir?"
"I am convinced that you will eventually learn to love this mess-jacket,
Jeeves."
"I fear not, sir."
I gave it up. It is never any use trying to reason with Jeeves on these
occasions. "Pig-headed" is the word that springs to the lips. One sighs
and passes on.