Right Ho, Jeeves

by P. G. Wodehouse

  -9-

  Tuppy's fatheaded words were still rankling in my bosom as I went up tomy room. They continued rankling as I shed the form-fitting, and had notceased to rankle when, clad in the old dressing-gown, I made my way alongthe corridor to the _salle de bain_.

  It is not too much to say that I was piqued to the tonsils.

  I mean to say, one does not court praise. The adulation of the multitudemeans very little to one. But, all the same, when one has taken thetrouble to whack out a highly juicy scheme to benefit an in-the-soupfriend in his hour of travail, it's pretty foul to find him giving thecredit to one's personal attendant, particularly if that personalattendant is a man who goes about the place not packing mess-jackets.

  But after I had been splashing about in the porcelain for a bit,composure began to return. I have always found that in moments ofheart-bowed-downness there is nothing that calms the bruised spirit likea good go at the soap and water. I don't say I actually sang in the tub,but there were times when it was a mere spin of the coin whether I woulddo so or not.

  The spiritual anguish induced by that tactless speech had becomenoticeably lessened.

  The discovery of a toy duck in the soap dish, presumably the property ofsome former juvenile visitor, contributed not a little to this new andhappier frame of mind. What with one thing and another, I hadn't playedwith toy ducks in my bath for years, and I found the novel experiencemost invigorating. For the benefit of those interested, I may mentionthat if you shove the thing under the surface with the sponge and thenlet it go, it shoots out of the water in a manner calculated to divertthe most careworn. Ten minutes of this and I was enabled to return to thebedchamber much more the old merry Bertram.

  Jeeves was there, laying out the dinner disguise. He greeted the youngmaster with his customary suavity.

  "Good evening, sir."

  I responded in the same affable key.

  "Good evening, Jeeves."

  "I trust you had a pleasant drive, sir."

  "Very pleasant, thank you, Jeeves. Hand me a sock or two, will you?"

  He did so, and I commenced to don,

  "Well, Jeeves," I said, reaching for the underlinen, "here we are againat Brinkley Court in the county of Worcestershire."

  "Yes, sir."

  "A nice mess things seem to have gone and got themselves into in thisrustic joint."

  "Yes, sir."

  "The rift between Tuppy Glossop and my cousin Angela would appear to beserious."

  "Yes, sir. Opinion in the servants' hall is inclined to take a grave viewof the situation."

  "And the thought that springs to your mind, no doubt, is that I shallhave 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 thought I should. Yes, Jeeves, I pondered on the matter most of theway down here, and with the happiest results. I have just been inconference with Mr. Glossop, and everything is taped out."

  "Indeed, sir? Might I inquire----"

  "You know my methods, Jeeves. Apply them. Have you," I asked, slippinginto the shirt and starting to adjust the cravat, "been gnawing on thething at all?"

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

  "A laudable sentiment. But I suppose you drew blank?"

  "No, sir. I was rewarded with an idea."

  "What was it?"

  "It occurred to me that a reconciliation might be effected between Mr.Glossop and Miss Angela by appealing to that instinct which promptsgentlemen in time of peril to hasten to the rescue of----"

  I had to let go of the cravat in order to raise a hand. I was shocked.

  "Don't tell me you were contemplating descending to that oldhe-saved-her-from-drowning gag? I am surprised, Jeeves. Surprised andpained. When I was discussing the matter with Aunt Dahlia on my arrival,she said in a sniffy sort of way that she supposed I was going to shovemy Cousin Angela into the lake and push Tuppy in to haul her out, and Ilet her see pretty clearly that I considered the suggestion an insult tomy intelligence. And now, if your words have the meaning I read into them,you are mooting precisely the same drivelling scheme. Really, Jeeves!"

  "No, sir. Not that. But the thought did cross my mind, as I walked in thegrounds and passed the building where the fire-bell hangs, that a suddenalarm of fire in the night might result in Mr. Glossop endeavouring toassist Miss Angela to safety."

  I shivered.

  "Rotten, Jeeves."

  "Well, sir----"

  "No good. Not a bit like it."

  "I fancy, sir----"

  "No, Jeeves. No more. Enough has been said. Let us drop the subj."

  I finished tying the tie in silence. My emotions were too deep forspeech. I knew, of course, that this man had for the time being lost hisgrip, but I had never suspected that he had gone absolutely to pieceslike this. Remembering some of the swift ones he had pulled in the past,I shrank with horror from the spectacle of his present ineptitude. Or isit ineptness? I mean this frightful disposition of his to stick straws inhis hair and talk like a perfect ass. It was the old, old story, Isupposed. A man's brain whizzes along for years exceeding the speedlimit, and something suddenly goes wrong with the steering-gear and itskids and comes a smeller in the ditch.

  "A bit elaborate," I said, trying to put the thing in as kindly a lightas possible. "Your old failing. You can see that it's a bit elaborate?"

  "Possibly the plan I suggested might be considered open to thatcriticism, sir, but _faute de mieux_----"

  "I don't get you, Jeeves."

  "A French expression, sir, signifying 'for want of anything better'."

  A moment before, I had been feeling for this wreck of a once fine thinkernothing but a gentle pity. These words jarred the Wooster pride, inducingasperity.

  "I understand perfectly well what _faute de mieux_ means, Jeeves. I didnot recently spend two months among our Gallic neighbours for nothing.Besides, I remember that one from school. What caused my bewilderment wasthat you should be employing the expression, well knowing that there isno bally _faute de mieux_ about it at all. Where do you get that_faute-de-mieux_ stuff? 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 plansin the past have not always been uniformly successful."

  There was a silence--rather a throbbing one--during which I put on mywaistcoat in a marked manner. Not till I had got the buckle at the backsatisfactorily adjusted did I speak.

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

  "Indeed, sir?"

  "On the present occasion I shall not fail, and I'll tell you why I shallnot fail. Because my scheme is rooted in human nature."

  "Indeed, sir?"

  "It is simple. Not elaborate. And, furthermore, based on the psychologyof the individual."

  "Indeed, sir?"

  "Jeeves," I said, "don't keep saying 'Indeed, sir?' No doubt nothing isfurther from your mind than to convey such a suggestion, but you have away of stressing the 'in' and then coming down with a thud on the 'deed'which makes it virtually tantamount to 'Oh, yeah?' Correct this, Jeeves."

  "Very good, sir."

  "I tell you I have everything nicely lined up. Would you care to hearwhat steps I have taken?"

  "Very much, sir."

  "Then listen. Tonight at dinner I have recommended Tuppy to lay off thefood."

  "Sir?"

  "Tut, Jeeves, surely you can follow the idea, even though it is one thatwould never have occurred to yourself. Have you forgotten that telegram Isent to Gussie Fink-Nottle, steering him away f
rom the sausages and ham?This is the same thing. Pushing the food away untasted is a universallyrecognized sign of love. It cannot fail to bring home the gravy. You mustsee that?"

  "Well, sir----"

  I frowned.

  "I don't want to seem always to be criticizing your methods of voiceproduction, Jeeves," I said, "but I must inform you that that 'Well, sir'of yours is in many respects fully as unpleasant as your 'Indeed, sir?'Like the latter, it seems to be tinged with a definite scepticism. Itsuggests a lack of faith in my vision. The impression I retain afterhearing you shoot it at me a couple of times is that you consider me tobe talking through the back of my neck, and that only a feudal sense ofwhat is fitting restrains you from substituting for it the words 'Saysyou!'"

  "Oh, no, sir."

  "Well, that's what it sounds like. Why don't you think this scheme willwork?"

  "I fear Miss Angela will merely attribute Mr. Glossop's abstinence toindigestion, sir."

  I hadn't thought of that, and I must confess it shook me for a moment.Then I recovered myself. I saw what was at the bottom of all this.Mortified by the consciousness of his own ineptness--or ineptitude--thefellow was simply trying to hamper and obstruct. I decided to knock thestuffing out of him without further preamble.

  "Oh?" I said. "You do, do you? Well, be that as it may, it doesn't alterthe fact that you've put out the wrong coat. Be so good, Jeeves," I said,indicating with a gesture the gent's ordinary dinner jacket or _smoking_,as we call it on the Cote d'Azur, which was suspended from the hanger onthe knob of the wardrobe, "as to shove that bally black thing in thecupboard and bring out my white mess-jacket with the brass buttons."

  He looked at me in a meaning manner. And when I say a meaning manner, Imean there was a respectful but at the same time uppish glint in his eyeand a sort of muscular spasm flickered across his face which wasn't quitea quiet smile and yet wasn't quite not a quiet smile. Also the softcough.

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

  The vision of that parcel in the hall seemed to rise before my eyes, andI exchanged a merry wink with it. I may even have hummed a bar or two.I'm not quite sure.

  "I know you did, Jeeves," I said, laughing down from lazy eyelids andnicking a speck of dust from the irreproachable Mechlin lace at mywrists. "But I didn't. You will find it on a chair in the hall in abrown-paper parcel."

  The information that his low manoeuvres had been rendered null and voidand that the thing was on the strength after all, must have been thenastiest of jars, but there was no play of expression on his finelychiselled to indicate it. There very seldom is on Jeeves's f-c. Inmoments of discomfort, as I had told Tuppy, he wears a mask, preservingthroughout the quiet stolidity of a stuffed moose.

  "You might just slide down and fetch it, will you?"

  "Very good, sir."

  "Right ho, Jeeves."

  And presently I was sauntering towards the drawing-room with me good oldj. nestling snugly abaft the shoulder blades.

  And Dahlia was in the drawing-room. She glanced up at my entrance.

  "Hullo, eyesore," she said. "What do you think you're made up as?"

  I did not get the purport.

  "The jacket, you mean?" I queried, groping.

  "I do. You look like one of the chorus of male guests at Abernethy Towersin Act 2 of a touring musical comedy."

  "You do not admire this jacket?"

  "I do not."

  "You did at Cannes."

  "Well, this isn't Cannes."

  "But, dash it----"

  "Oh, never mind. Let it go. If you want to give my butler a laugh, whatdoes it matter? What does anything matter now?"

  There was a death-where-is-thy-sting-fullness about her manner which Ifound distasteful. It isn't often that I score off Jeeves in thedevastating fashion just described, and when I do I like to see happy,smiling faces about me.

  "Tails up, Aunt Dahlia," I urged buoyantly.

  "Tails up be dashed," was her sombre response. "I've just been talking toTom."

  "Telling him?"

  "No, listening to him. I haven't had the nerve to tell him yet."

  "Is he still upset about that income-tax money?"

  "Upset is right. He says that Civilisation is in the melting-pot and thatall thinking men can read the writing on the wall."

  "What wall?"

  "Old Testament, ass. Belshazzar's feast."

  "Oh, that, yes. I've often wondered how that gag was worked. Withmirrors, I expect."

  "I wish I could use mirrors to break it to Tom about this baccaratbusiness."

  I had a word of comfort to offer here. I had been turning the thing overin my mind since our last meeting, and I thought I saw where she had gottwisted. Where she made her error, it seemed to me, was in feeling shehad got to tell Uncle Tom. To my way of thinking, the matter was one onwhich it would be better to continue to exercise a quiet reserve.

  "I don't see why you need mention that you lost that money at baccarat."

  "What do you suggest, then? Letting _Milady's Boudoir_ join Civilisationin the melting-pot. Because that is what it will infallibly do unless Iget a cheque by next week. The printers have been showing a nasty spiritfor months."

  "You don't follow. Listen. It's an understood thing, I take it, thatUncle Tom foots the _Boudoir_ bills. If the bally sheet has been turningthe corner for two years, he must have got used to forking out by thistime. Well, simply ask him for the money to pay the printers."

  "I did. Just before I went to Cannes."

  "Wouldn't he give it to you?"

  "Certainly he gave it to me. He brassed up like an officer and agentleman. That was the money I lost at baccarat."

  "Oh? I didn't know that."

  "There isn't much you do know."

  A nephew's love made me overlook the slur.

  "Tut!" I said.

  "What did you say?"

  "I said 'Tut!'"

  "Say it once again, and I'll biff you where you stand. I've enough toendure without being tutted at."

  "Quite."

  "Any tutting that's required, I'll attend to myself. And the same appliesto clicking the tongue, if you were thinking of doing that."

  "Far from it."

  "Good."

  I stood awhile in thought. I was concerned to the core. My heart, if youremember, had already bled once for Aunt Dahlia this evening. It now bledagain. I knew how deeply attached she was to this paper of hers. Seeingit go down the drain would be for her like watching a loved child sinkfor the third time in some pond or mere.

  And there was no question that, unless carefully prepared for the touch,Uncle Tom would see a hundred _Milady's Boudoirs_ go phut rather thantake the rap.

  Then I saw how the thing could be handled. This aunt, I perceived, mustfall into line with my other clients. Tuppy Glossop was knocking offdinner to melt Angela. Gussie Fink-Nottle was knocking off dinner toimpress the Bassett. Aunt Dahlia must knock off dinner to soften UncleTom. For the beauty of this scheme of mine was that there was no limit tothe number of entrants. Come one, come all, the more the merrier, andsatisfaction guaranteed in every case.

  "I've got it," I said. "There is only one course to pursue. Eat lessmeat."

  She looked at me in a pleading sort of way. I wouldn't swear that hereyes were wet with unshed tears, but I rather think they were, certainlyshe clasped her hands in piteous appeal.

  "Must you drivel, Bertie? Won't you stop it just this once? Just fortonight, to please Aunt Dahlia?"

  "I'm not drivelling."

  "I dare say that to a man of your high standards it doesn't come underthe head of drivel, but----"

  I saw what had happened. I hadn't made myself quite clear.

  "It's all right," I said. "Have no misgivings. This is the real Tabasco.When I said 'Eat less meat', what I meant was that you must refuse youroats at dinner tonight. Just sit there, looking blistered, and wave awayeach course as it comes with a weary gesture of resignation
. You see whatwill happen. Uncle Tom will notice your loss of appetite, and I amprepared to bet that at the conclusion of the meal he will come to youand say 'Dahlia, darling'--I take it he calls you 'Dahlia'--'Dahliadarling,' he will say, 'I noticed at dinner tonight that you were a bitoff your feed. Is anything the matter, Dahlia, darling?' 'Why, yes, Tom,darling,' you will reply. 'It is kind of you to ask, darling. The factis, darling, I am terribly worried.' 'My darling,' he will say----"

  Aunt Dahlia interrupted at this point to observe that these Traversesseemed to be a pretty soppy couple of blighters, to judge by theirdialogue. She also wished to know when I was going to get to the point.

  I gave her a look.

  "'My darling,' he will say tenderly, 'is there anything I can do?' Towhich your reply will be that there jolly well is--viz. reach for hischeque-book and start writing."

  I was watching her closely as I spoke, and was pleased to note respectsuddenly dawn in her eyes.

  "But, Bertie, this is positively bright."

  "I told you Jeeves wasn't the only fellow with brain."

  "I believe it would work."

  "It's bound to work. I've recommended it to Tuppy."

  "Young Glossop?"

  "In order to soften Angela."

  "Splendid!"

  "And to Gussie Fink-Nottle, who wants to make a hit with the Bassett."

  "Well, well, well! What a busy little brain it is."

  "Always working, Aunt Dahlia, always working."

  "You're not the chump I took you for, Bertie."

  "When did you ever take me for a chump?"

  "Oh, some time last summer. I forget what gave me the idea. Yes, Bertie,this scheme is bright. I suppose, as a matter of fact, Jeeves suggestedit."

  "Jeeves did not suggest it. I resent these implications. Jeeves hadnothing to do with it whatsoever."

  "Well, all right, no need to get excited about it. Yes, I think it willwork. Tom's devoted to me."

  "Who wouldn't be?"

  "I'll do it."

  And then the rest of the party trickled in, and we toddled down todinner.

  Conditions being as they were at Brinkley Court--I mean to say, the placebeing loaded down above the Plimsoll mark with aching hearts and standingroom only as regarded tortured souls--I hadn't expected the evening mealto be particularly effervescent. Nor was it. Silent. Sombre. The wholething more than a bit like Christmas dinner on Devil's Island.

  I was glad when it was over.

  What with having, on top of her other troubles, to rein herself back fromthe trough, Aunt Dahlia was a total loss as far as anything in the shapeof brilliant badinage was concerned. The fact that he was fifty quid inthe red and expecting Civilisation to take a toss at any moment hadcaused Uncle Tom, who always looked a bit like a pterodactyl with asecret sorrow, to take on a deeper melancholy. The Bassett was a silentbread crumbler. Angela might have been hewn from the living rock. Tuppyhad the air of a condemned murderer refusing to make the usual heartybreakfast before tooling off to the execution shed.

  And as for Gussie Fink-Nottle, many an experienced undertaker would havebeen deceived by his appearance and started embalming him on sight.

  This was the first glimpse I had had of Gussie since we parted at myflat, and I must say his demeanour disappointed me. I had been expectingsomething a great deal more sparkling.

  At my flat, on the occasion alluded to, he had, if you recall,practically given me a signed guarantee that all he needed to touch himoff was a rural setting. Yet in this aspect now I could detect noindication whatsoever that he was about to round into mid-season form. Hestill looked like a cat in an adage, and it did not take me long torealise that my very first act on escaping from this morgue must be todraw him aside and give him a pep talk.

  If ever a chap wanted the clarion note, it looked as if it was thisFink-Nottle.

  In the general exodus of mourners, however, I lost sight of him, and,owing to the fact that Aunt Dahlia roped me in for a game of backgammon,it was not immediately that I was able to institute a search. But afterwe had been playing for a while, the butler came in and asked her if shewould speak to Anatole, so I managed to get away. And some ten minuteslater, having failed to find scent in the house, I started to throw outthe drag-net through the grounds, and flushed him in the rose garden.

  He was smelling a rose at the moment in a limp sort of way, but removedthe beak as I approached.

  "Well, Gussie," I said.

  I had beamed genially upon him as I spoke, such being my customary policyon meeting an old pal; but instead of beaming back genially, he gave me amost unpleasant look. His attitude perplexed me. It was as if he were notglad to see Bertram. For a moment he stood letting this unpleasant lookplay upon me, as it were, and then he spoke.

  "You and your 'Well, Gussie'!"

  He said this between clenched teeth, always an unmatey thing to do, and Ifound myself more fogged than ever.

  "How do you mean--me and my 'Well, Gussie'?"

  "I like your nerve, coming bounding about the place, saying 'Well,Gussie.' That's about all the 'Well, Gussie' I shall require from you,Wooster. And it's no good looking like that. You know what I mean. Thatdamned prize-giving! It was a dastardly act to crawl out as you did andshove it off on to me. I will not mince my words. It was the act of ahound and a stinker."

  Now, though, as I have shown, I had devoted most of the time on thejourney down to meditating upon the case of Angela and Tuppy, I had notneglected to give a thought or two to what I was going to say when Iencountered Gussie. I had foreseen that there might be some littletemporary unpleasantness when we met, and when a difficult interview isin the offing Bertram Wooster likes to have his story ready.

  So now I was able to reply with a manly, disarming frankness. The suddenintroduction of the topic had given me a bit of a jolt, it is true, forin the stress of recent happenings I had rather let that prize-givingbusiness slide to the back of my mind; but I had speedily recovered and,as I say, was able to reply with a manly d.f.

  "But, my dear chap," I said, "I took it for granted that you wouldunderstand that that was all part of my schemes."

  He said something about my schemes which I did not catch.

  "Absolutely. 'Crawling out' is entirely the wrong way to put it. Youdon't suppose I didn't want to distribute those prizes, do you? Left tomyself, there is nothing I would find a greater treat. But I saw that thesquare, generous thing to do was to step aside and let you take it on, soI did so. I felt that your need was greater than mine. You don't mean tosay you aren't looking forward to it?"

  He uttered a coarse expression which I wouldn't have thought he wouldhave known. It just shows that you can bury yourself in the country andstill somehow acquire a vocabulary. No doubt one picks up things from theneighbours--the vicar, the local doctor, the man who brings the milk, andso on.

  "But, dash it," I said, "can't you see what this is going to do for you?It will send your stock up with a jump. There you will be, up on thatplatform, a romantic, impressive figure, the star of the wholeproceedings, the what-d'you-call-it of all eyes. Madeline Bassett will beall over you. She will see you in a totally new light."

  "She will, will she?"

  "Certainly she will. Augustus Fink-Nottle, the newts' friend, she knows.She is acquainted with Augustus Fink-Nottle, the dogs' chiropodist. ButAugustus Fink-Nottle, the orator--that'll knock her sideways, or I knownothing of the female heart. Girls go potty over a public man. If everanyone did anyone else a kindness, it was I when I gave thisextraordinary attractive assignment to you."

  He seemed impressed by my eloquence. Couldn't have helped himself, ofcourse. The fire faded from behind his horn-rimmed spectacles, and in itsplace appeared the old fish-like goggle.

  '"Myes," he said meditatively. "Have you ever made a speech, Bertie?"

  "Dozens of times. It's pie. Nothing to it. Why, I once addressed a girls'school."

  "You weren't nervous?"

  "Not a bit."

  "How did you go?"


  "They hung on my lips. I held them in the hollow of my hand."

  "They didn't throw eggs, or anything?"

  "Not a thing."

  He expelled a deep breath, and for a space stood staring in silence at apassing slug.

  "Well," he said, at length, "it may be all right. Possibly I am lettingthe thing prey on my mind too much. I may be wrong in supposing it thefate that is worse than death. But I'll tell you this much: the prospectof that prize-giving on the thirty-first of this month has been turningmy existence into a nightmare. I haven't been able to sleep or think oreat ... By the way, that reminds me. You never explained that ciphertelegram about the sausages and ham."

  "It wasn't a cipher telegram. I wanted you to go light on the food, sothat she would realize you were in love."

  He laughed hollowly.

  "I see. Well, I've been doing that, all right."

  "Yes, I was noticing at dinner. Splendid."

  "I don't see what's splendid about it. It's not going to get me anywhere.I shall never be able to ask her to marry me. I couldn't find nerve to dothat if I lived on wafer biscuits for the rest of my life."

  "But, dash it, Gussie. In these romantic surroundings. I should havethought the whispering trees alone----"

  "I don't care what you would have thought. I can't do it."

  "Oh, come!"

  "I can't. She seems so aloof, so remote."

  "She doesn't."

  "Yes, she does. Especially when you see her sideways. Have you seen hersideways, Bertie? That cold, pure profile. It just takes all the heartout of one."

  "It doesn't."

  "I tell you it does. I catch sight of it, and the words freeze on mylips."

  He spoke with a sort of dull despair, and so manifest was his lack ofginger and the spirit that wins to success that for an instant, Iconfess, I felt a bit stymied. It seemed hopeless to go on trying tosteam up such a human jellyfish. Then I saw the way. With thatextraordinary quickness of mine, I realized exactly what must be done ifthis Fink-Nottle was to be enabled to push his nose past the judges' box.

  "She must be softened up," I said.

  "Be what?"

  "Softened up. Sweetened. Worked on. Preliminary spadework must be put in.Here, Gussie, is the procedure I propose to adopt: I shall now return tothe house and lug this Bassett out for a stroll. I shall talk to her ofhearts that yearn, intimating that there is one actually on the premises.I shall pitch it strong, sparing no effort. You, meanwhile, will lurk onthe outskirts, and in about a quarter of an hour you will come along andcarry on from there. By that time, her emotions having been stirred, youought to be able to do the rest on your head. It will be like leaping onto a moving bus."

  I remember when I was a kid at school having to learn a poem of sortsabout a fellow named Pig-something--a sculptor he would have been, nodoubt--who made a statue of a girl, and what should happen one morningbut that the bally thing suddenly came to life. A pretty nasty shock forthe chap, of course, but the point I'm working round to is that therewere a couple of lines that went, if I remember correctly:

  _She starts. She moves. She seems to feelThe stir of life along her keel._

  And what I'm driving at is that you couldn't get a better description ofwhat happened to Gussie as I spoke these heartening words. His browcleared, his eyes brightened, he lost that fishy look, and he gazed atthe slug, which was still on the long, long trail with somethingapproaching bonhomie. A marked improvement.

  "I see what you mean. 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 don't forget that after that it will be up to you. You willhave to haul up your slacks and give her the old oil, or my efforts willhave been in vain."

  Something of his former Gawd-help-us-ness seemed to return to him. Hegasped a bit.

  "That's true. What the dickens shall I say?"

  I restrained my impatience with an effort. The man had been at schoolwith me.

  "Dash it, there are hundreds of things you can say. Talk about thesunset."

  "The sunset?"

  "Certainly. Half the married men you meet began by talking about thesunset."

  "But what can I say about the sunset?"

  "Well, Jeeves got off a good one the other day. I met him airing the dogin the park one evening, and he said, 'Now fades the glimmering landscapeon the sight, sir, and all the air a solemn stillness holds.' You mightuse that."

  "What sort of landscape?"

  "Glimmering. _G_ for 'gastritis,' _l_ for 'lizard'----"

  "Oh, glimmering? Yes, that's not bad. Glimmering landscape ... solemnstillness.... Yes, I call that pretty good."

  "You could then say that you have often thought that the stars are God'sdaisy chain."

  "But I haven't."

  "I dare say not. But she has. Hand her that one, and I don't see how shecan help feeling that you're a twin soul."

  "God's daisy chain?"

  "God's daisy chain. And then you go on about how twilight always makesyou sad. I know you're going to say it doesn't, but on this occasion ithas jolly well got to."

  "Why?"

  "That's just what she will ask, and you will then have got her going.Because you will reply that it is because yours is such a lonely life. Itwouldn't be a bad idea to give her a brief description of a typical homeevening at your Lincolnshire residence, showing how you pace the meadowswith a heavy tread."

  "I generally sit indoors and listen to the wireless."

  "No, you don't. You pace the meadows with a heavy tread, wishing that youhad someone to love you. And then you speak of the day when she came intoyour life."

  "Like a fairy princess."

  "Absolutely," I said with approval. I hadn't expected such a hot one fromsuch a quarter. "Like a fairy princess. Nice work, Gussie."

  "And then?"

  "Well, after that it's easy. You say you have something you want to sayto her, and then you snap into it. I don't see how it can fail. If I wereyou, I should do it in this rose garden. It is well established thatthere is no sounder move than to steer the adored object into rosegardens in the gloaming. And you had better have a couple of quick onesfirst."

  "Quick ones?"

  "Snifters."

  "Drinks, do you mean? But I don't drink."

  "What?"

  "I've never touched a drop in my life."

  This made me a bit dubious, I must confess. On these occasions it isgenerally conceded that a moderate skinful is of the essence.

  However, if the facts were as he had stated, I supposed there was nothingto be done about it.

  "Well, you'll have to make out as best you can on ginger pop."

  "I always drink orange juice."

  "Orange juice, then. Tell me, Gussie, to settle a bet, do you really likethat muck?"

  "Very much."

  "Then there is no more to be said. Now, let's just have a run through, tosee that you've got the lay-out straight. Start off with the glimmeringlandscape."

  "Stars God's daisy chain."

  "Twilight makes you feel sad."

  "Because mine lonely life."

  "Describe life."

  "Talk about the day I met her."

  "Add fairy-princess gag. Say there's something you want to say to her.Heave a couple of sighs. Grab her hand. And give her the works. Right."

  And confident that he had grasped the scenario and that everything mightnow be expected to proceed through the proper channels, I picked up thefeet and hastened back to the house.

  It was not until I had reached the drawing-room and was enabled to take asquare look at the Bassett that I found the debonair gaiety with which Ihad embarked on this affair beginning to wane a trifle. Beholding her atclose range like this, I suddenly became cognisant of what I was in for.The thought of strolling with this rummy specimen undeniably gave me amost unpleasant sinking feeling. I could not but remember how often, when
in her company at Cannes, I had gazed dumbly at her, wishing that somekindly motorist in a racing car would ease the situation by coming alongand ramming her amidships. As I have already made abundantly clear, thisgirl was not one of my most congenial buddies.

  However, a Wooster's word is his bond. Woosters may quail, but they donot edge out. Only the keenest ear could have detected the tremor in thevoice as I asked her if she would care to come out for half an hour.

  "Lovely evening," I said.

  "Yes, lovely, isn't it?"

  "Lovely. Reminds me of Cannes."

  "How lovely the evenings were there!"

  "Lovely," I said.

  "Lovely," said the Bassett.

  "Lovely," I agreed.

  That completed the weather and news bulletin for the French Riviera.Another minute, and we were out in the great open spaces, she cooing abit about the scenery, and self replying, "Oh, rather, quite," andwondering how best to approach the matter in hand.