The Jeeves Omnibus - Vol 1: (Jeeves & Wooster): No.1

by P. G. Wodehouse

‘She does?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Big-hearted, you see.’

  ‘She has got a delightful, impulsive, generous, spontaneous, genuine nature, hasn’t she?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Beautiful girl, Bertie.

  ‘Oh, very.’

  ‘And charming.’

  ‘Oh, most.’

  ‘In fact, attractive.’

  ‘Oh, quite.’

  ‘I saw a good deal of her in London.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘We went to the Zoo and Madame Tussaud’s together.’

  ‘I see. And what does she seem to feel about this buying the house binge?’

  ‘She seems all for it.’

  ‘Tell me, laddie,’ I said, anxious to get off the current subj., ‘how do the prospects look?’

  He knitted the Chuffnell brow.

  ‘Sometimes good. Sometimes not.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Uncertain.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘This Stoker chap makes me nervous. He’s friendly enough as a general rule, but I can’t help feeling that at any moment he may fly off the handle and scratch the entire fixture. You can’t tell me if there are any special subjects to avoid when talking to him, can you?’

  ‘Special subjects?’

  ‘Well, you know how it is with a stranger. You say it’s a fine day, and he goes all white and tense, because you’ve reminded him that it was on a fine day that his wife eloped with the chauffeur.’

  I considered.

  ‘Well, if I were you,’ I said, ‘I wouldn’t harp too much on the topic of B. Wooster. I mean, if you were thinking of singing my praises –’

  ‘I wasn’t.’

  ‘Well, don’t. He doesn’t like me.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Just one of these unreasonable antipathies. And I was thinking, old man, if it’s all the same to you, it might be better if I didn’t join the throng at the luncheon table. You can tell your aunt I’ve got a headache.’

  ‘Well, if the sight of you is going to infuriate him … What makes him bar you so much?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad you told me. You had better sneak off.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘And I suppose I ought to be joining the others.’

  He went indoors, and I started to take a turn or two up and down the gravel. I was glad to be alone. I wished to muse upon this matter of his attitude towards Pauline Stoker.

  I wonder if you would mind just going back a bit and running the mental eye over that part of our conversation which had had to do with the girl.

  Anything strike you about it?

  No?

  Oh, well, to get the full significance, of course, you ought to have been there and observed him. I am a man who can read faces, and Chuffy’s had seemed to me highly suggestive. Not only had its expression, as he spoke of Pauline, been that of a stuffed frog with a touch of the Soul’s Awakening about it, but it had also turned a fairly deepish crimson in colour. The tip of the nose had wiggled, and there had been embarrassment in the manner. The result being that I had become firmly convinced that the old schoolmate had copped it properly. Quick work, of course, seeing that he had only known the adored object a few days, but Chuffy is like that. A man of impulse and hot-blooded impetuosity. You find the girl, and he does the rest.

  Well, if it was so, it was all right with me. Nothing of the dog in the manger about Bertram. As far as I was concerned, Pauline Stoker could hitch up with anyone she liked and she would draw a hearty ‘Go to it!’ from the discarded suitor. You know how it is on quiet reflection in these affairs. For a time the broken heart, and then suddenly the healing conviction that one is jolly well out of it. I could still see that Pauline was one of the most beautiful girls I had ever met, but of the ancient fire which had caused me to bung my heart at her feet that night at the Plaza there remained not a trace.

  Analysing this, if analysing is the word I want, I came to the conclusion that this changed outlook was due to the fact that she was so dashed dynamic. Unquestionably an eyeful, Pauline Stoker had the grave defect of being one of those girls who want you to come and swim a mile before breakfast and rout you out when you are trying to snatch a wink of sleep after lunch for a merry five sets of tennis. And now that the scales had fallen from my eyes, I could see that what I required for the rôle of Mrs Bertram Wooster was something rather more on the lines of Janet Gaynor.

  But in Chuffy’s case these objections fell to the ground. He, you see, is very much on the dynamic side himself. He rides, swims, shoots, chivvies foxes with loud cries, and generally bustles about. He and this P. Stoker would make the perfect pair, and I felt that if there was anything I could do to push the thing along, it should be done unstintedly.

  So when at this point I saw Pauline coming out of the house and bearing down on me, obviously with a view to exchanging notes and picking up the old threads and what not, I did not leg it but greeted her with a bright ‘What ho!’ and allowed her to steer me into the shelter of a path that led through the rhododendron shrubbery.

  All of which goes to show to what lengths a Wooster will proceed when it is a question of helping a pal, because the last thing I really wanted was to be closeted with this girl. The first shock of meeting her was over, but I was still feeling far from yeasty at the prospect of a heart-to-heart talk. As our relations had been severed by post and the last time we had forgathered we had been an engaged couple, I wasn’t quite sure what was the correct note to strike.

  However, the thought that I might be able to put in a word for old Chuffy nerved me to the ordeal, and we parked ourselves on a rustic bench and got down to the agenda.

  ‘How perfectly extraordinary finding you here, Bertie,’ she began. ‘What are you doing in these parts?’

  ‘I am temporarily in retirement,’ I replied, pleased to find the conversational exchanges opening on what I might call an unemotional note. ‘I needed a place where I could play the banjolele in solitude, and I took this cottage.’

  ‘What cottage?’

  ‘I’ve got a cottage down by the harbour.’

  ‘You must have been surprised to see us.’

  ‘I was.’

  ‘More surprised than pleased, eh?’

  ‘Well, of course, old thing, I’m always delighted to meet you, but when it comes to your father and old Glossop –’

  ‘He’s not one of your greatest admirers, is he? By the way, Bertie, do you keep cats in your bedroom?’

  I stiffened a little.

  ‘There have been cats in my bedroom, but the incident to which you allude is one that is susceptible of a ready …’

  ‘All right. Never mind. Take it as read. But you ought to have seen Father’s face when he heard about it. Talking of Father’s face, I should get a big laugh if I saw it now.’

  I could not follow this. Goodness knows, I’m as fond of a chuckle as the next man, but J. Washburn Stoker’s face had never made me so much as smile. He was a cove who always reminded me of a pirate of the Spanish Main – a massive blighter and piercing-eyed, to boot. So far from laughing at the sight of him, I had never yet failed to feel absolutely spineless in his presence.

  ‘If he suddenly came round the corner, I mean, and found us with our heads together like this. He’s convinced that I’m still pining for you.’

  ‘You don’t mean that?’

  ‘I do, honestly.’

  ‘But, dash it –’

  ‘It’s true, I tell you. He looks on himself as the stern Victorian father who has parted the young lovers and has got to exercise ceaseless vigilance to keep them from getting together again. Little knowing that you never had a happier moment in your life than when you got my letter.’

  ‘No, I say!’

  ‘Bertie, be honest. You know you were delighted.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that.’

  ‘You don’t have to. Mother knows.’

  ‘No, dash it, rea
lly! I wish you wouldn’t talk like that. I always esteemed you most highly.’

  ‘You did what? Where do you pick up these expressions?’

  ‘Well, I suppose from Jeeves, mostly. My late man. He had a fine vocabulary.’

  ‘When you say “late”, do you mean he’s dead? Or just unpunctual?’

  ‘He’s left me. He didn’t like me playing the banjolele. Words passed, and he is now with Chuffy.’

  ‘Chuffy?’

  ‘Lord Chuffnell.’

  ‘Oh?’

  There was a pause. She sat listening for a moment to a couple of birds who were having an argument in a near-by tree.

  ‘Have you known Lord Chuffnell long?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, rather.’

  ‘You’re great friends?’

  ‘Bosom is the mot juste.’

  ‘Good. I hoped you were. I wanted to talk to you about him. I can confide in you, can’t I, Bertie?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I knew I could. That’s the comfort of having been engaged to a man. When you break it off, you feel such a sister.’

  ‘I don’t regard you as a blister at all,’ I said warmly. ‘You had a perfect right –’

  ‘Not blister. Sister!’

  ‘Oh, sister? You mean, you look on me as a brother.’

  ‘Yes, as a brother. How quick you are. And I want you to be very brotherly now. Tell me about Marmaduke.’

  ‘I don’t think I know him.’

  ‘Lord Chuffnell, idiot.’

  ‘Is his name Marmaduke? Well, well! How true is it that one doesn’t know how the other half of the world lives, what! Marmaduke!’ I said, laughing heartily. ‘I remember he was always evasive and secretive about it at school.’

  She seemed annoyed.

  ‘It’s a beautiful name!’

  I shot one of my swift, keen glances at her. This, I felt, must mean something. Nobody would say Marmaduke was a beautiful name wantonly and without good reason. And, sure enough, the eyes were gleaming and the epidermis a pretty pink.

  ‘Hullo!’ I said. ‘Hullo, hullo, hullo! Hullo!’

  Her demeanour was defiant.

  ‘All right, all right!’ she said. ‘Less of the Sherlock stuff. I’m not trying to hide anything. I was just going to tell you.’

  ‘You love this … ha, ha! Excuse me … this Marmaduke?’

  ‘I’m crazy about him.’

  ‘Good! Well, if what you say –’

  ‘Don’t you worship the way his hair fluffs up behind?’

  ‘I have better things to do than go about staring at the back of Chuffy’s head. But, as I was about to remark, if what you say is really so, be prepared for tidings of great joy. I’m a pretty close observer, and a certain bulbous look in the old boy’s eyes when a recent conversation happened to turn in your direction has convinced me that he is deeply enamoured of you.’

  She wiggled her shoulder impatiently, and in a rather peevish manner hoofed a passing earwig with a shapely foot.

  ‘I know that, you chump. Do you think a girl can’t tell?’

  I was frankly nonplussed.

  ‘Well, if he loves you and you love him, I fail to comprehend what you are beefing about.’

  ‘Why can’t you understand? He’s obviously dippy about me, but not a yip from him.’

  ‘He will not speak?’

  ‘Not a syllable.’

  ‘Well, why would he? Surely you realize that there is a certain decency in these matters, a certain decorum? Naturally he wouldn’t say anything yet. Dash it, give the man a chance. He’s only known you five days.’

  ‘I sometimes feel that he was a king in Babylon when I was a Christian slave.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘I just do.’

  ‘Well, you know best, of course. Very doubtful, I should have said myself. And, anyway, what do you want me to do about it?’

  ‘Well, you’re a friend of his. You could give him a hint. You could tell him there’s no need for cold feet –’

  ‘It is not cold feet. It is delicacy. As I just explained, we men have our code in these matters. We may fall in love pretty nippily, but after that we consider it decorous to back-pedal a while. We are the parfait gentle knights, and we feel that it ill beseems us to make a beeline for a girl like a man charging into a railway restaurant for a bowl of soup. We –’

  ‘What utter nonsense! You asked me to marry you after you had known me two weeks.’

  ‘Ah, but there you were dealing with one of the Wild Woosters.’

  ‘Well, I can’t see –’

  ‘Yes?’ I said. ‘Proceed. You have our ear.’

  But she was looking past me at something to the south-east; and, turning, I perceived that we were no longer alone.

  There, standing in an attitude of respectful courtliness, with the sunshine playing upon his finely-chiselled features, was Jeeves.

  5

  * * *

  Bertie Takes Things in Hand

  I NODDED AFFABLY. This man and I might have severed our professional relations, but a Wooster is always debonair.

  ‘Ah, Jeeves.’

  ‘Good afternoon, sir.’

  Pauline appeared interested.

  ‘Is this Jeeves?’

  ‘This is Jeeves.’

  ‘So you don’t like Mr Wooster’s banjolele?’

  ‘No, miss.’

  I preferred that this delicate matter be not discussed, and it may be, in consequence, that I spoke a little curtly.

  ‘Well, Jeeves? What is it?’

  ‘Mr Stoker, sir. He is inquiring after Miss Stoker’s whereabouts.’

  Well, of course, there’s always that old one about them being at the wash, but this seemed to me neither the time nor the place. I turned to the girl with an air of courteous dismissal.

  ‘You’d better push along.’

  ‘I suppose so. You won’t forget what I said?’

  ‘The matter,’ I assured her, ‘shall have my prompt attention.’

  She legged it, and Jeeves and I were alone together in the great solitude. I lit a cigarette nonchalantly.

  ‘Well, Jeeves.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘I mean to say, we meet again.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Philippi, what?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I hope you’re getting on all right with Chuffy?’

  ‘Everything is most pleasant, sir. I trust your new personal attendant is giving satisfaction?’

  ‘Oh, quite. A sterling fellow.’

  ‘I am extremely gratified to hear it, sir.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘Er, Jeeves,’ I said.

  A rummy thing. It had been my intention, after exchanging these few civilities, to nod carelessly and leave the fellow. But it’s so dashed difficult to break the habit of years. I mean to say, here was I and here was Jeeves, and a problem had been put up to me of just the type concerning which I had always been wont to seek his advice and counsel, and now something seemed to keep me rooted to the spot. And instead of being aloof and distant and passing on with the slight inclination of the head which, as I say, I had been planning, I found myself irresistibly impelled to consult him just as if there had been no rift at all.

  ‘Er – Jeeves,’ I said.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘I should rather like, if you have a moment to spare, to split a word with you.’

  ‘Certainly, sir.’

  ‘I wish to canvass your views regarding old Chuffy.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  His face was wearing that expression of quiet intelligence combined with a feudal desire to oblige which I had so often seen upon it, and I hesitated no longer.

  ‘You will agree with me that something’s got to be done about the fifth Baron, I take it?’

  ‘I beg your pardon, sir?’

  I was impatient with this – what the dickens is the word I want?

  ‘Come, come, Jeeves. You know w
hat I mean as well as I do. A little less coyness and a bit more of the old rallying round spirit. You can’t tell me you’ve been in his employment for nearly a week without observing and deducing and forming your conclusions.’

  ‘Am I correct in supposing, sir, that you are alluding to his lordship’s feelings towards Miss Stoker?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘I am, of course, aware that his lordship is experiencing for the young lady a sentiment deeper and warmer than that of ordinary friendship, sir.’

  ‘Would I be going too far if I said that he was potty about her?’

  ‘No, sir. The expression would meet the facts of the case quite adequately.’

  ‘Very well, then. Now, mark this. She, too, loves, Jeeves.’

  ‘Indeed, sir?’

  ‘She was telling me so specifically when you came along. She confessed herself dippy about the man. And she’s very upset, poor fish. Extremely upset. Her feminine intuition has enabled her to read his secret. She detects the love light in his eyes. And she is all for it. And what is worrying her is that he does not tell his love, but lets concealment like … like what, Jeeves?’

  ‘A worm i’ the bud, sir.’

  ‘Feed on his something –’

  ‘Damask cheek, sir.’

  ‘Damask? You’re sure?’

  ‘Quite sure, sir.’

  ‘Well, then, what on earth is it all about? He loves her. She loves him. So what’s the snag? In conversing with her just now, I advanced the theory that what was holding him back was delicacy, but I didn’t really believe it. I know Chuffy. A swift performer, if ever there was one. If he didn’t propose to a girl by the end of the first week, he would think he was losing his grip. Yet now look at him. Missing on every cylinder. Why?’

  ‘His lordship is a gentleman of scruples, sir.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘He feels that, being of straitened means himself, he has not the right to propose marriage to a young lady as wealthy as Miss Stoker.’

  ‘But, dash it, Love laughs at … no, it doesn’t … it’s at locksmiths, isn’t it?’

  ‘At locksmiths, yes, sir.’

  ‘Besides, she isn’t as rich as all that. Just comfortably off, I should have said.’

  ‘No, sir. Mr Stoker’s fortune amounts to as much as fifty million dollars.’