-17-
"And yet, Jeeves," I said, twiddling a thoughtful steering wheel, "thereis always the bright side."
Some twenty minutes had elapsed, and having picked the honest fellow upoutside the front door, I was driving in the two-seater to thepicturesque town of Market Snodsbury. Since we had parted--he to go tohis lair and fetch his hat, I to remain in my room and complete theformal costume--I had been doing some close thinking.
The results of this I now proceeded to hand on to him.
"However dark the prospect may be, Jeeves, however murkily the stormclouds may seem to gather, a keen eye can usually discern the blue bird.It is bad, no doubt, that Gussie should be going, some ten minutes fromnow, to distribute prizes in a state of advanced intoxication, but wemust never forget that these things cut both ways."
"You imply, sir----"
"Precisely. I am thinking of him in his capacity of wooer. All this oughtto have put him in rare shape for offering his hand in marriage. I shallbe vastly surprised if it won't turn him into a sort of caveman. Have youever seen James Cagney in the movies?"
"Yes, sir."
"Something on those lines."
I heard him cough, and sniped him with a sideways glance. He was wearingthat informative look of his.
"Then you have not heard, sir?"
"Eh?"
"You are not aware that a marriage has been arranged and will shortlytake place between Mr. Fink-Nottle and Miss Bassett?"
"What?"
"Yes, sir."
"When did this happen?"
"Shortly after Mr. Fink-Nottle had left your room, sir."
"Ah! In the post-orange-juice era?"
"Yes, sir."
"But are you sure of your facts? How do you know?"
"My informant was Mr. Fink-Nottle himself, sir. He appeared anxious toconfide in me. His story was somewhat incoherent, but I had no difficultyin apprehending its substance. Prefacing his remarks with the statementthat this was a beautiful world, he laughed heartily and said that he hadbecome formally engaged."
"No details?"
"No, sir."
"But one can picture the scene."
"Yes, sir."
"I mean, imagination doesn't boggle."
"No, sir."
And it didn't. I could see exactly what must have happened. Insert aliberal dose of mixed spirits in a normally abstemious man, and hebecomes a force. He does not stand around, twiddling his fingers andstammering. He acts. I had no doubt that Gussie must have reached for theBassett and clasped her to him like a stevedore handling a sack of coals.And one could readily envisage the effect of that sort of thing on a girlof romantic mind.
"Well, well, well, Jeeves."
"Yes, sir."
"This is splendid news."
"Yes, sir."
"You see now how right I was."
"Yes, sir."
"It must have been rather an eye-opener for you, watching me handle thiscase."
"Yes, sir."
"The simple, direct method never fails."
"No, sir."
"Whereas the elaborate does."
"Yes, sir."
"Right ho, Jeeves."
We had arrived at the main entrance of Market Snodsbury Grammar School. Iparked the car, and went in, well content. True, the Tuppy-Angela problemstill remained unsolved and Aunt Dahlia's five hundred quid seemed as faroff as ever, but it was gratifying to feel that good old Gussie'stroubles were over, at any rate.
The Grammar School at Market Snodsbury had, I understood, been builtsomewhere in the year 1416, and, as with so many of these ancientfoundations, there still seemed to brood over its Great Hall, where theafternoon's festivities were to take place, not a little of the fug ofthe centuries. It was the hottest day of the summer, and though somebodyhad opened a tentative window or two, the atmosphere remained distinctiveand individual.
In this hall the youth of Market Snodsbury had been eating its dailylunch for a matter of five hundred years, and the flavour lingered. Theair was sort of heavy and languorous, if you know what I mean, with thescent of Young England and boiled beef and carrots.
Aunt Dahlia, who was sitting with a bevy of the local nibs in the secondrow, sighted me as I entered and waved to me to join her, but I was toosmart for that. I wedged myself in among the standees at the back,leaning up against a chap who, from the aroma, might have been a cornchandler or something on that order. The essence of strategy on theseoccasions is to be as near the door as possible.
The hall was gaily decorated with flags and coloured paper, and the eyewas further refreshed by the spectacle of a mixed drove of boys, parents,and what not, the former running a good deal to shiny faces and Etoncollars, the latter stressing the black-satin note rather when female,and looking as if their coats were too tight, if male. And presentlythere was some applause--sporadic, Jeeves has since told me it was--and Isaw Gussie being steered by a bearded bloke in a gown to a seat in themiddle of the platform.
And I confess that as I beheld him and felt that there but for the graceof God went Bertram Wooster, a shudder ran through the frame. It allreminded me so vividly of the time I had addressed that girls' school.
Of course, looking at it dispassionately, you may say that for horror andperil there is no comparison between an almost human audience like theone before me and a mob of small girls with pigtails down their backs,and this, I concede, is true. Nevertheless, the spectacle was enough tomake me feel like a fellow watching a pal going over Niagara Falls in abarrel, and the thought of what I had escaped caused everything for amoment to go black and swim before my eyes.
When I was able to see clearly once more, I perceived that Gussie was nowseated. He had his hands on his knees, with his elbows out at rightangles, like a nigger minstrel of the old school about to ask Mr. Boneswhy a chicken crosses the road, and he was staring before him with asmile so fixed and pebble-beached that I should have thought that anybodycould have guessed that there sat one in whom the old familiar juice wasplashing up against the back of the front teeth.
In fact, I saw Aunt Dahlia, who, having assisted at so many huntingdinners in her time, is second to none as a judge of the symptoms, give astart and gaze long and earnestly. And she was just saying something toUncle Tom on her left when the bearded bloke stepped to the footlightsand started making a speech. From the fact that he spoke as if he had ahot potato in his mouth without getting the raspberry from the lads inthe ringside seats, I deduced that he must be the head master.
With his arrival in the spotlight, a sort of perspiring resignationseemed to settle on the audience. Personally, I snuggled up against thechandler and let my attention wander. The speech was on the subject ofthe doings of the school during the past term, and this part of aprize-giving is always apt rather to fail to grip the visiting stranger.I mean, you know how it is. You're told that J.B. Brewster has won anExhibition for Classics at Cat's, Cambridge, and you feel that it's oneof those stories where you can't see how funny it is unless you reallyknow the fellow. And the same applies to G. Bullett being awarded theLady Jane Wix Scholarship at the Birmingham College of VeterinaryScience.
In fact, I and the corn chandler, who was looking a bit fagged I thought,as if he had had a hard morning chandling the corn, were beginning todoze lightly when things suddenly brisked up, bringing Gussie into thepicture for the first time.
"Today," said the bearded bloke, "we are all happy to welcome as theguest of the afternoon Mr. Fitz-Wattle----"
At the beginning of the address, Gussie had subsided into a sort ofdaydream, with his mouth hanging open. About half-way through, faintsigns of life had begun to show. And for the last few minutes he had beentrying to cross one leg over the other and failing and having anothershot and failing again. But only now did he exhibit any real animation.He sat up with a jerk.
"Fink-Nottle," he said, opening his eyes.
"Fitz-Nottle."
"Fink-Nottle."
"I should say Fink-Nottle."
"Of course you should, you silly ass," said Gussie genially. "All right,get on with it."
And closing his eyes, he began trying to cross his legs again.
I could see that this little spot of friction had rattled the beardedbloke a bit. He stood for a moment fumbling at the fungus with ahesitating hand. But they make these head masters of tough stuff. Theweakness passed. He came back nicely and carried on.
"We are all happy, I say, to welcome as the guest of the afternoon Mr.Fink-Nottle, who has kindly consented to award the prizes. This task, asyou know, is one that should have devolved upon that well-beloved andvigorous member of our board of governors, the Rev. William Plomer, andwe are all, I am sure, very sorry that illness at the last moment shouldhave prevented him from being here today. But, if I may borrow a familiarmetaphor from the--if I may employ a homely metaphor familiar to youall--what we lose on the swings we gain on the roundabouts."
He paused, and beamed rather freely, to show that this was comedy. Icould have told the man it was no use. Not a ripple. The corn chandlerleaned against me and muttered "Whoddidesay?" but that was all.
It's always a nasty jar to wait for the laugh and find that the gaghasn't got across. The bearded bloke was visibly discomposed. At that,however, I think he would have got by, had he not, at this juncture,unfortunately stirred Gussie up again.
"In other words, though deprived of Mr. Plomer, we have with us thisafternoon Mr. Fink-Nottle. I am sure that Mr. Fink-Nottle's name is onethat needs no introduction to you. It is, I venture to assert, a namethat is familiar to us all."
"Not to you," said Gussie.
And the next moment I saw what Jeeves had meant when he had described himas laughing heartily. "Heartily" was absolutely the _mot juste_. Itsounded like a gas explosion.
"You didn't seem to know it so dashed well, what, what?" said Gussie.And, reminded apparently by the word "what" of the word "Wattle," herepeated the latter some sixteen times with a rising inflection.
"Wattle, Wattle, Wattle," he concluded. "Right-ho. Push on."
But the bearded bloke had shot his bolt. He stood there, licked at last;and, watching him closely, I could see that he was now at the crossroads.I could spot what he was thinking as clearly as if he had confided it tomy personal ear. He wanted to sit down and call it a day, I mean, but thethought that gave him pause was that, if he did, he must then eitheruncork Gussie or take the Fink-Nottle speech as read and get straight onto the actual prize-giving.
It was a dashed tricky thing, of course, to have to decide on the spur ofthe moment. I was reading in the paper the other day about those birdswho are trying to split the atom, the nub being that they haven't thefoggiest as to what will happen if they do. It may be all right. On theother hand, it may not be all right. And pretty silly a chap would feel,no doubt, if, having split the atom, he suddenly found the house going upin smoke and himself torn limb from limb.
So with the bearded bloke. Whether he was abreast of the inside facts inGussie's case, I don't know, but it was obvious to him by this time thathe had run into something pretty hot. Trial gallops had shown that Gussiehad his own way of doing things. Those interruptions had been enough toprove to the perspicacious that here, seated on the platform at the bigbinge of the season, was one who, if pushed forward to make a speech,might let himself go in a rather epoch-making manner.
On the other hand, chain him up and put a green-baize cloth over him, andwhere were you? The proceeding would be over about half an hour too soon.
It was, as I say, a difficult problem to have to solve, and, left tohimself, I don't know what conclusion he would have come to. Personally,I think he would have played it safe. As it happened, however, the thingwas taken out of his hands, for at this moment, Gussie, having stretchedhis arms and yawned a bit, switched on that pebble-beached smile againand tacked down to the edge of the platform.
"Speech," he said affably.
He then stood with his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat, waitingfor the applause to die down.
It was some time before this happened, for he had got a very fine handindeed. I suppose it wasn't often that the boys of Market SnodsburyGrammar School came across a man public-spirited enough to call theirhead master a silly ass, and they showed their appreciation in nouncertain manner. Gussie may have been one over the eight, but as far asthe majority of those present were concerned he was sitting on top of theworld.
"Boys," said Gussie, "I mean ladies and gentlemen and boys, I do notdetain you long, but I suppose on this occasion to feel compelled to saya few auspicious words; Ladies--and boys and gentlemen--we have alllistened with interest to the remarks of our friend here who forgot toshave this morning--I don't know his name, but then he didn't knowmine--Fitz-Wattle, I mean, absolutely absurd--which squares things up abit--and we are all sorry that the Reverend What-ever-he-was-called shouldbe dying of adenoids, but after all, here today, gone tomorrow, and allflesh is as grass, and what not, but that wasn't what I wanted to say.What I wanted to say was this--and I say it confidently--without fear ofcontradiction--I say, in short, I am happy to be here on this auspiciousoccasion and I take much pleasure in kindly awarding the prizes,consisting of the handsome books you see laid out on that table. AsShakespeare says, there are sermons in books, stones in the runningbrooks, or, rather, the other way about, and there you have it in anutshell."
It went well, and I wasn't surprised. I couldn't quite follow some of it,but anybody could see that it was real ripe stuff, and I was amazed thateven the course of treatment he had been taking could have rendered sonormally tongue-tied a dumb brick as Gussie capable of it.
It just shows, what any member of Parliament will tell you, that if youwant real oratory, the preliminary noggin is essential. Unless pie-eyed,you cannot hope to grip.
"Gentlemen," said Gussie, "I mean ladies and gentlemen and, of course,boys, what a beautiful world this is. A beautiful world, full ofhappiness on every side. Let me tell you a little story. Two Irishmen,Pat and Mike, were walking along Broadway, and one said to the other,'Begorrah, the race is not always to the swift,' and the other replied,'Faith and begob, education is a drawing out, not a putting in.'"
I must say it seemed to me the rottenest story I had ever heard, and Iwas surprised that Jeeves should have considered it worth while shovinginto a speech. However, when I taxed him with this later, he said thatGussie had altered the plot a good deal, and I dare say that accounts forit.
At any rate, that was the _conte_ as Gussie told it, and when I say thatit got a very fair laugh, you will understand what a popular favourite hehad become with the multitude. There might be a bearded bloke or so onthe platform and a small section in the second row who were wishing thespeaker would conclude his remarks and resume his seat, but the audienceas a whole was for him solidly.
There was applause, and a voice cried: "Hear, hear!"
"Yes," said Gussie, "it is a beautiful world. The sky is blue, the birdsare singing, there is optimism everywhere. And why not, boys and ladiesand gentlemen? I'm happy, you're happy, we're all happy, even the meanestIrishman that walks along Broadway. Though, as I say, there were two ofthem--Pat and Mike, one drawing out, the other putting in. I should likeyou boys, taking the time from me, to give three cheers for thisbeautiful world. All together now."
Presently the dust settled down and the plaster stopped falling from theceiling, and he went on.
"People who say it isn't a beautiful world don't know what they aretalking about. Driving here in the car today to award the kind prizes, Iwas reluctantly compelled to tick off my host on this very point. Old TomTravers. You will see him sitting there in the second row next to thelarge lady in beige."
He pointed helpfully, and the hundred or so Market Snods-buryians whocraned their necks in the direction indicated were able to observe UncleTom blushing prettily.
"I ticked him off properly, the poor fish. He expressed the opinion thatthe world was in a deplorable state. I said, 'Don't talk rot, old TomTravers.' 'I am not a
ccustomed to talk rot,' he said. 'Then, for abeginner,' I said, 'you do it dashed well.' And I think you will admit,boys and ladies and gentlemen, that that was telling him."
The audience seemed to agree with him. The point went big. The voice thathad said, "Hear, hear" said "Hear, hear" again, and my corn chandlerhammered the floor vigorously with a large-size walking stick.
"Well, boys," resumed Gussie, having shot his cuffs and smirked horribly,"this is the end of the summer term, and many of you, no doubt, areleaving the school. And I don't blame you, because there's a frost inhere you could cut with a knife. You are going out into the great world.Soon many of you will be walking along Broadway. And what I want toimpress upon you is that, however much you may suffer from adenoids, youmust all use every effort to prevent yourselves becoming pessimists andtalking rot like old Tom Travers. There in the second row. The fellowwith a face rather like a walnut."
He paused to allow those wishing to do so to refresh themselves withanother look at Uncle Tom, and I found myself musing in some littleperplexity. Long association with the members of the Drones has put mepretty well in touch with the various ways in which an overdose of theblushful Hippocrene can take the individual, but I had never seen anyonereact quite as Gussie was doing.
There was a snap about his work which I had never witnessed before, evenin Barmy Fotheringay-Phipps on New Year's Eve.
Jeeves, when I discussed the matter with him later, said it was somethingto do with inhibitions, if I caught the word correctly, and thesuppression of, I think he said, the ego. What he meant, I gathered, wasthat, owing to the fact that Gussie had just completed a five years'stretch of blameless seclusion among the newts, all the goofiness whichought to have been spread out thin over those five years and had beenbottled up during that period came to the surface on this occasion in alump--or, if you prefer to put it that way, like a tidal wave.
There may be something in this. Jeeves generally knows.
Anyway, be that as it may, I was dashed glad I had had the shrewdness tokeep out of that second row. It might be unworthy of the prestige of aWooster to squash in among the proletariat in the standing-room-onlysection, but at least, I felt, I was out of the danger zone. Sothoroughly had Gussie got it up his nose by now that it seemed to me thathad he sighted me he might have become personal about even an old schoolfriend.
"If there's one thing in the world I can't stand," proceeded Gussie,"it's a pessimist. Be optimists, boys. You all know the differencebetween an optimist and a pessimist. An optimist is a man who--well, takethe case of two Irishmen walking along Broadway. One is an optimist andone 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."
Too late, I endeavoured to go to earth behind the chandler, only todiscover that there was no chandler there. Some appointment, suddenlyremembered--possibly a promise to his wife that he would be home totea--had caused him to ooze away while my attention was elsewhere,leaving me right out in the open.
Between me and Gussie, who was now pointing in an offensive manner, therewas nothing but a sea of interested faces looking up at me.
"Now, there," boomed Gussie, continuing to point, "is an instance of whatI mean. Boys and ladies and gentlemen, take a good look at that objectstanding up there at the back--morning coat, trousers as worn, quiet greytie, and carnation in buttonhole--you can't miss him. Bertie Wooster,that is, and as foul a pessimist as ever bit a tiger. I tell you Idespise that man. And why do I despise him? Because, boys and ladies andgentlemen, he is a pessimist. His attitude is defeatist. When I told himI was going to address you this afternoon, he tried to dissuade me. Anddo you know why he tried to dissuade me? Because he said my trouserswould split up the back."
The cheers that greeted this were the loudest yet. Anything aboutsplitting trousers went straight to the simple hearts of the youngscholars of Market Snodsbury Grammar School. Two in the row in front ofme turned purple, and a small lad with freckles seated beside them askedme for my autograph.
"Let me tell you a story about Bertie Wooster."
A Wooster can stand a good deal, but he cannot stand having his namebandied in a public place. Picking my feet up softly, I was in the veryprocess of executing a quiet sneak for the door, when I perceived thatthe bearded bloke had at last decided to apply the closure.
Why he hadn't done so before is beyond me. Spell-bound, I take it. And,of course, when a chap is going like a breeze with the public, as Gussiehad been, it's not so dashed easy to chip in. However, the prospect ofhearing another of Gussie's anecdotes seemed to have done the trick.Rising rather as I had risen from my bench at the beginning of thatpainful scene with Tuppy in the twilight, he made a leap for the table,snatched up a book and came bearing down on the speaker.
He touched Gussie on the arm, and Gussie, turning sharply and seeing alarge bloke with a beard apparently about to bean him with a book, sprangback in an attitude of self-defence.
"Perhaps, as time is getting on, Mr. Fink-Nottle, we had better----"
"Oh, ah," said Gussie, getting the trend. He relaxed. "The prizes, eh? Ofcourse, yes. Right-ho. Yes, might as well be shoving along with it.What's this one?"
"Spelling and dictation--P.K. Purvis," announced the bearded bloke.
"Spelling and dictation--P.K. Purvis," echoed Gussie, as if he werecalling coals. "Forward, P.K. Purvis."
Now that the whistle had been blown on his speech, it seemed to me thatthere was no longer any need for the strategic retreat which I had beenplanning. I had no wish to tear myself away unless I had to. I mean, Ihad told Jeeves that this binge would be fraught with interest, and itwas fraught with interest. There was a fascination about Gussie's methodswhich gripped and made one reluctant to pass the thing up providedpersonal innuendoes were steered clear of. I decided, accordingly, toremain, and presently there was a musical squeaking and P.K. Purvisclimbed the platform.
The spelling-and-dictation champ was about three foot six in hissqueaking shoes, with a pink face and sandy hair. Gussie patted his hair.He seemed to have taken an immediate fancy to the lad.
"You P.K. Purvis?"
"Sir, yes, sir."
"It's a beautiful world, P.K. Purvis."
"Sir, yes, sir."
"Ah, you've noticed it, have you? Good. You married, by any chance?"
"Sir, no, sir."
"Get married, P.K. Purvis," said Gussie earnestly. "It's the only life... Well, here's your book. Looks rather bilge to me from a glance atthe title page, but, such as it is, here you are."
P.K. Purvis squeaked off amidst sporadic applause, but one could not failto note that the sporadic was followed by a rather strained silence. Itwas evident that Gussie was striking something of a new note in MarketSnodsbury scholastic circles. Looks were exchanged between parent andparent. The bearded bloke had the air of one who has drained the bittercup. As for Aunt Dahlia, her demeanour now told only too clearly that herlast doubts had been resolved and her verdict was in. I saw her whisperto the Bassett, who sat on her right, and the Bassett nodded sadly andlooked like a fairy about to shed a tear and add another star to theMilky Way.
Gussie, after the departure of P.K. Purvis, had fallen into a sort ofdaydream and was standing with his mouth open and his hands in hispockets. Becoming abruptly aware that a fat kid in knickerbockers was athis elbow, he started violently.
"Hullo!" he said, visibly shaken. "Who are you?"
"This," said the bearded bloke, "is R.V. Smethurst."
"What's he doing here?" asked Gussie suspiciously.
"You are presenting him with the drawing prize, Mr. Fink-Nottle."
This apparently struck Gussie as a reasonable explanation. His facecleared.
"That's right, too," he said.... "Well, here it is, cocky. You off?" hesaid, as the kid prepared to withdraw.
"Sir, yes, sir."
"Wait, R.V. Smethurst. Not so fast. Before you go, there is a question Iwish to ask you."
But the beard bloke's aim now seeme
d to be to rush the ceremonies a bit.He hustled R.V. Smethurst off stage rather like a chucker-out in a pubregretfully ejecting an old and respected customer, and starting pagingG.G. Simmons. A moment later the latter was up and coming, and conceivemy emotion when it was announced that the subject on which he had clickedwas Scripture knowledge. One of us, I mean to say.
G.G. Simmons was an unpleasant, perky-looking stripling, mostly frontteeth and spectacles, but I gave him a big hand. We Scripture-knowledgesharks stick together.
Gussie, I was sorry to see, didn't like him. There was in his manner, ashe regarded G.G. Simmons, none of the chumminess which had marked itduring his interview with P.K. Purvis or, in a somewhat lesser degree,with R.V. Smethurst. He was cold and distant.
"Well, G.G. Simmons."
"Sir, yes, sir."
"What do you mean--sir, yes, sir? Dashed silly thing to say. So you'vewon the Scripture-knowledge prize, have you?"
"Sir, yes, sir."
"Yes," said Gussie, "you look just the sort of little tick who would. Andyet," he said, pausing and eyeing the child keenly, "how are we to knowthat this has all been open and above board? Let me test you, G.G.Simmons. What was What's-His-Name--the chap who begat Thingummy? Can youanswer me that, Simmons?"
"Sir, no, sir."
Gussie turned to the bearded bloke.
"Fishy," he said. "Very fishy. This boy appears to be totally lacking inScripture knowledge."
The bearded bloke passed a hand across his forehead.
"I can assure you, Mr. Fink-Nottle, that every care was taken to ensure acorrect marking and that Simmons outdistanced his competitors by a widemargin."
"Well, if you say so," said Gussie doubtfully. "All right, G.G. Simmons,take your prize."
"Sir, thank you, sir."
"But let me tell you that there's nothing to stick on side about inwinning a prize for Scripture knowledge. Bertie Wooster----"
I don't know when I've had a nastier shock. I had been going on theassumption that, now that they had stopped him making his speech,Gussie's fangs had been drawn, as you might say. To duck my head down andresume my edging toward the door was with me the work of a moment.
"Bertie Wooster won the Scripture-knowledge prize at a kids' school wewere at together, and you know what he's like. But, of course, Bertiefrankly cheated. He succeeded in scrounging that Scripture-knowledgetrophy over the heads of better men by means of some of the rawest andmost brazen swindling methods ever witnessed even at a school where suchthings were common. If that man's pockets, as he entered theexamination-room, were not stuffed to bursting-point with lists of thekings of Judah----"
I heard no more. A moment later I was out in God's air, fumbling with afevered foot at the self-starter of the old car.
The engine raced. The clutch slid into position. I tooted and drove off.
My ganglions were still vibrating as I ran the car into the stables ofBrinkley Court, and it was a much shaken Bertram who tottered up to hisroom to change into something loose. Having donned flannels, I lay downon the bed for a bit, and I suppose I must have dozed off, for the nextthing I remember is finding Jeeves at my side.
I sat up. "My tea, Jeeves?"
"No, sir. It is nearly dinner-time."
The mists cleared away.
"I must have been asleep."
"Yes, sir."
"Nature taking its toll of the exhausted frame."
"Yes, sir."
"And enough to make it."
"Yes, sir."
"And now it's nearly dinner-time, you say? All right. I am in no mood fordinner, but I suppose you had better lay out the clothes."
"It will not be necessary, sir. The company will not be dressing tonight.A cold collation has been set out in the dining-room."
"Why's that?"
"It was Mrs. Travers's wish that this should be done in order to minimizethe work for the staff, who are attending a dance at Sir PercivalStretchley-Budd's residence tonight."
"Of course, yes. I remember. My Cousin Angela told me. Tonight's thenight, what? You going, Jeeves?"
"No, sir. I am not very fond of this form of entertainment in the ruraldistricts, sir."
"I know what you mean. These country binges are all the same. A piano,one fiddle, and a floor like sandpaper. Is Anatole going? Angela hintednot."
"Miss Angela was correct, sir. Monsieur Anatole is in bed."
"Temperamental blighters, these Frenchmen."
"Yes, sir."
There was a pause.
"Well, Jeeves," I said, "it was certainly one of those afternoons, what?"
"Yes, sir."
"I cannot recall one more packed with incident. And I left before thefinish."
"Yes, sir. I observed your departure."
"You couldn't blame me for withdrawing."
"No, sir. Mr. Fink-Nottle had undoubtedly become embarrassinglypersonal."
"Was there much more of it after I went?"
"No, sir. The proceedings terminated very shortly. Mr. Fink-Nottle'sremarks with reference to Master G.G. Simmons brought about an earlyclosure."
"But he had finished his remarks about G.G. Simmons."
"Only temporarily, sir. He resumed them immediately after your departure.If you recollect, sir, he had already proclaimed himself suspicious ofMaster Simmons's bona fides, and he now proceeded to deliver a violentverbal attack upon the young gentleman, asserting that it was impossiblefor him to have won the Scripture-knowledge prize without systematiccheating on an impressive scale. He went so far as to suggest that MasterSimmons was well known to the police."
"Golly, Jeeves!"
"Yes, sir. The words did create a considerable sensation. The reaction ofthose present to this accusation I should describe as mixed. The youngstudents appeared pleased and applauded vigorously, but Master Simmons'smother rose from her seat and addressed Mr. Fink-Nottle in terms ofstrong protest."
"Did Gussie seem taken aback? Did he recede from his position?"
"No, sir. He said that he could see it all now, and hinted at a guiltyliaison between Master Simmons's mother and the head master, accusing thelatter of having cooked the marks, as his expression was, in order togain favour with the former."
"You don't mean that?"
"Yes, sir."
"Egad, Jeeves! And then----"
"They sang the national anthem, sir."
"Surely not?"
"Yes, sir."
"At a moment like that?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, you were there and you know, of course, but I should have thoughtthe last thing Gussie and this woman would have done in the circs. wouldhave been to start singing duets."
"You misunderstand me, sir. It was the entire company who sang. The headmaster turned to the organist and said something to him in a low tone.Upon which the latter began to play the national anthem, and theproceedings terminated."
"I see. About time, too."
"Yes, sir. Mrs. Simmons's attitude had become unquestionably menacing."
I pondered. What I had heard was, of course, of a nature to excite pityand terror, not to mention alarm and despondency, and it would bepaltering with the truth to say that I was pleased about it. On the otherhand, it was all over now, and it seemed to me that the thing to do wasnot to mourn over the past but to fix the mind on the bright future. Imean to say, Gussie might have lowered the existing Worcestershire recordfor goofiness and definitely forfeited all chance of becoming MarketSnodsbury's favourite son, but you couldn't get away from the fact thathe had proposed to Madeline Bassett, and you had to admit that she hadaccepted him.
I put this to Jeeves.
"A frightful exhibition," I said, "and one which will very possibly ringdown history's pages. But we must not forget, Jeeves, that Gussie, thoughnow doubtless looked upon in the neighbourhood as the world's worstfreak, is all right otherwise."
"No, sir."
I did not get quite this.
"When you say 'No, sir,' do you mean 'Yes, sir'?"
"He is not all right otherwise?"
"No, sir."
"But he's betrothed."
"No longer, sir. Miss Bassett has severed the engagement."
"You don't mean that?"
"Yes, sir."
I wonder if you have noticed a rather peculiar thing about thischronicle. I allude to the fact that at one time or another practicallyeverybody playing a part in it has had occasion to bury his or her facein his or her hands. I have participated in some pretty glutinous affairsin my time, but I think that never before or since have I been mixed upwith such a solid body of brow clutchers.
Uncle Tom did it, if you remember. So did Gussie. So did Tuppy. So,probably, though I have no data, did Anatole, and I wouldn't put it pastthe Bassett. And Aunt Dahlia, I have no doubt, would have done it, too,but for the risk of disarranging the carefully fixed coiffure.
Well, what I am trying to say is that at this juncture I did it myself.Up went the hands and down went the head, and in another jiffy I wasclutching as energetically as the best of them.
And it was while I was still massaging the coconut and wondering what thenext move was that something barged up against the door like the deliveryof a ton of coals.
"I think this may very possibly be Mr. Fink-Nottle himself, sir," saidJeeves.
His intuition, however, had led him astray. It was not Gussie but Tuppy.He came in and stood breathing asthmatically. It was plain that he wasdeeply stirred.
Right Ho, Jeeves Page 17
