RIGHT
HO JEEVES
PART
12
-18-
I eyed him
narrowly. I didn't like his looks. Mark you, I don't say I ever had, much,
because Nature, when planning this sterling fellow, shoved in a lot more lower
jaw than was absolutely necessary and made the eyes a bit too keen and piercing
for one who was neither an Empire builder nor a traffic policeman. But on the
present occasion, in addition to offending the aesthetic sense, this Glossop
seemed to me to be wearing a distinct air of menace, and I found myself wishing
that Jeeves wasn't always so dashed tactful. I mean, it's all very well to
remove yourself like an eel sliding into mud when the employer has a visitor,
but there are moments—and it looked to me as if this was going to be one of
them—when the truer tact is to stick round and stand ready to lend a hand in
the free-for-all.
For Jeeves
was no longer with us. I hadn't seen him go, and I hadn't heard him go, but he
had gone. As far as the eye could reach, one noted nobody but Tuppy. And in
Tuppy's demeanour, as I say, there was a certain something that tended to
disquiet. He looked to me very much like a man who had come to reopen that
matter of my tickling Angela's ankles.
However,
his opening remark told me that I had been alarming myself unduly. It was of a
pacific nature, and came as a great relief.
"Bertie,"
he said, "I owe you an apology. I have come to make it."
My relief
on hearing these words, containing as they did no reference of any sort to
tickled ankles, was, as I say, great. But I don't think it was any greater than
my surprise. Months had passed since that painful episode at the Drones, and
until now he hadn't given a sign of remorse and contrition. Indeed, word had
reached me through private sources that he frequently told the story at dinners
and other gatherings and, when doing so, laughed his silly head off.
I found it
hard to understand, accordingly, what could have caused him to abase himself at
this later date. Presumably he had been given the elbow by his better self, but
why?
Still,
there it was.
"My
dear chap," I said, gentlemanly to the gills, "don't mention
it."
"What's
the sense of saying, 'Don't mention it'? I have mentioned it."
"I
mean, don't mention it any more. Don't give the matter another thought. We all
of us forget ourselves sometimes and do things which, in our calmer moments, we
regret. No doubt you were a bit tight at the time."
"What
the devil do you think you're talking about?"
I didn't
like his tone. Brusque.
"Correct
me if I am wrong," I said, with a certain stiffness, "but I assumed
that you were apologizing for your foul conduct in looping back the last ring
that night in the Drones, causing me to plunge into the swimming b. in the full
soup and fish."
"Ass!
Not that, at all."
"Then
what?"
"This
Bassett business."
"What
Bassett business?"
"Bertie,"
said Tuppy, "when you told me last night that you were in love with
Madeline Bassett, I gave you the impression that I believed you, but I didn't.
The thing seemed too incredible. However, since then I have made inquiries, and
the facts appear to square with your statement. I have now come to apologize
for doubting you."
"Made
inquiries?"
"I
asked her if you had proposed to her, and she said, yes, you had."
"Tuppy!
You didn't?"
"I
did."
"Have
you no delicacy, no proper feeling?"
"No."
"Oh?
Well, right-ho, of course, but I think you ought to have."
"Delicacy
be dashed. I wanted to be certain that it was not you who stole Angela from me.
I now know it wasn't."
So long as
he knew that, I didn't so much mind him having no delicacy.
"Ah,"
I said. "Well, that's fine. Hold that thought."
"I
have found out who it was."
"What?"
He stood
brooding for a moment. His eyes were smouldering with a dull fire. His jaw
stuck out like the back of Jeeves's head.
"Bertie,"
he said, "do you remember what I swore I would do to the chap who stole
Angela from me?"
"As
nearly as I recall, you planned to pull him inside out——"
"—and
make him swallow himself. Correct. The programme still holds good."
"But,
Tuppy, I keep assuring you, as a competent eyewitness, that nobody snitched
Angela from you during that Cannes trip."
"No.
But they did after she got back."
"What?"
"Don't
keep saying, 'What?' You heard."
"But
she hasn't seen anybody since she got back."
"Oh,
no? How about that newt bloke?"
"Gussie?"
"Precisely.
The serpent Fink-Nottle."
This
seemed to me absolute gibbering.
"But
Gussie loves the Bassett."
"You
can't all love this blighted Bassett. What astonishes me is that anyone can do
it. He loves Angela, I tell you. And she loves him."
"But
Angela handed you your hat before Gussie ever got here."
"No,
she didn't. Couple of hours after."
"He
couldn't have fallen in love with her in a couple of hours."
"Why
not? I fell in love with her in a couple of minutes. I worshipped her immediately
we met, the popeyed little excrescence."
"But,
dash it——"
"Don't
argue, Bertie. The facts are all docketed. She loves this newt-nuzzling
blister."
"Quite
absurd, laddie—quite absurd."
"Oh?"
He ground a heel into the carpet—a thing I've often read about, but had never
seen done before. "Then perhaps you will explain how it is that she
happens to come to be engaged to him?"
You could
have knocked me down with a f.
"Engaged
to him?"
"She
told me herself."
"She
was kidding you."
"She
was not kidding me. Shortly after the conclusion of this afternoon's binge at
Market Snodsbury Grammar School he asked her to marry him, and she appears to
have right-hoed without a murmur."
"There
must be some mistake."
"There
was. The snake Fink-Nottle made it, and by now I bet he realizes it. I've been
chasing him since 5.30."
"Chasing
him?"
"All
over the place. I want to pull his head off."
"I
see. Quite."
"You
haven't seen him, by any chance?"
"No."
"Well,
if you do, say goodbye to him quickly and put in your order for lilies.... Oh,
Jeeves."
"Sir?"
I hadn't
heard the door open, but the man was on the spot once more. My private belief,
as I think I have mentioned before, is that Jeeves doesn't have to open doors.
He's like one of those birds in India who bung their astral bodies about—the
chaps, I mean, who having gone into thin air in Bombay, reassemble the parts
and appear two minutes later in Calcutta. Only some such theory will account
for the fact that he's not there one moment and is there the next. He just
seems to float from Spot A to Spot B like some form of gas.
"Have
you seen Mr. Fink-Nottle, Jeeves?"
"No,
sir."
"I'm
going to murder him."
"Very
good, sir."
Tuppy
withdrew, banging the door behind him, and I put Jeeves abreast.
"Jeeves,"
I said, "do you know what? Mr. Fink-Nottle is engaged to my Cousin
Angela."
"Indeed,
sir?"
"Well,
how about it? Do you grasp the psychology? Does it make sense? Only a few hours
ago he was engaged to Miss Bassett."
"Gentlemen
who have been discarded by one young lady are often apt to attach themselves
without delay to another, sir. It is what is known as a gesture."
I began to
grasp.
"I
see what you mean. Defiant stuff."
"Yes,
sir."
"A
sort of 'Oh, right-ho, please yourself, but if you don't want me, there are
plenty who do.'"
"Precisely,
sir. My Cousin George——"
"Never
mind about your Cousin George, Jeeves."
"Very
good, sir."
"Keep
him for the long winter evenings, what?"
"Just
as you wish, sir."
"And,
anyway, I bet your Cousin George wasn't a shrinking, non-goose-bo-ing jellyfish
like Gussie. That is what astounds me, Jeeves—that it should be Gussie who has
been putting in all this heavy gesture-making stuff."
"You
must remember, sir, that Mr. Fink-Nottle is in a somewhat inflamed cerebral
condition."
"That's
true. A bit above par at the moment, as it were?"
"Exactly,
sir."
"Well,
I'll tell you one thing—he'll be in a jolly sight more inflamed cerebral
condition if Tuppy gets hold of him.... What's the time?"
"Just
on eight o'clock, sir."
"Then
Tuppy has been chasing him for two hours and a half. We must save the
unfortunate blighter, Jeeves."
"Yes,
sir."
"A
human life is a human life, what?"
"Exceedingly
true, sir."
"The
first thing, then, is to find him. After that we can discuss plans and schemes.
Go forth, Jeeves, and scour the neighbourhood."
"It
will not be necessary, sir. If you will glance behind you, you will see Mr.
Fink-Nottle coming out from beneath your bed."
And, by
Jove, he was absolutely right.
There was
Gussie, emerging as stated. He was covered with fluff and looked like a
tortoise popping forth for a bit of a breather.
"Gussie!"
I said.
"Jeeves,"
said Gussie.
"Sir?"
said Jeeves.
"Is
that door locked, Jeeves?"
"No,
sir, but I will attend to the matter immediately."
Gussie sat
down on the bed, and I thought for a moment that he was going to be in the mode
by burying his face in his hands. However, he merely brushed a dead spider from
his brow.
"Have
you locked the door, Jeeves?"
"Yes,
sir."
"Because
you can never tell that that ghastly Glossop may not take it into his head to
come——"
The word
"back" froze on his lips. He hadn't got any further than a b-ish
sound, when the handle of the door began to twist and rattle. He sprang from
the bed, and for an instant stood looking exactly like a picture my Aunt Agatha
has in her dining-room—The Stag at Bay—Landseer. Then he made a dive for the
cupboard and was inside it before one really got on to it that he had started
leaping. I have seen fellows late for the 9.15 move less nippily.
I shot a
glance at Jeeves. He allowed his right eyebrow to flicker slightly, which is as
near as he ever gets to a display of the emotions.
"Hullo?"
I yipped.
"Let
me in, blast you!" responded Tuppy's voice from without. "Who locked
this door?"
I
consulted Jeeves once more in the language of the eyebrow. He raised one of
his. I raised one of mine. He raised his other. I raised my other. Then we both
raised both. Finally, there seeming no other policy to pursue, I flung wide the
gates and Tuppy came shooting in.
"Now
what?" I said, as nonchalantly as I could manage.
"Why
was the door locked?" demanded Tuppy.
I was in
pretty good eyebrow-raising form by now, so I gave him a touch of it.
"Is
one to have no privacy, Glossop?" I said coldly. "I instructed Jeeves
to lock the door because I was about to disrobe."
"A
likely story!" said Tuppy, and I'm not sure he didn't add
"Forsooth!" "You needn't try to make me believe that you're
afraid people are going to run excursion trains to see you in your underwear.
You locked that door because you've got the snake Fink-Nottle concealed in
here. I suspected it the moment I'd left, and I decided to come back and
investigate. I'm going to search this room from end to end. I believe he's in
that cupboard.... What's in this cupboard?"
"Just
clothes," I said, having another stab at the nonchalant, though extremely
dubious as to whether it would come off. "The usual wardrobe of the
English gentleman paying a country-house visit."
"You're
lying!"
Well, I
wouldn't have been if he had only waited a minute before speaking, because the
words were hardly out of his mouth before Gussie was out of the cupboard. I
have commented on the speed with which he had gone in. It was as nothing to the
speed with which he emerged. There was a sort of whir and blur, and he was no
longer with us.
I think
Tuppy was surprised. In fact, I'm sure he was. Despite the confidence with
which he had stated his view that the cupboard contained Fink-Nottles, it
plainly disconcerted him to have the chap fizzing out at him like this. He
gargled sharply, and jumped back about five feet. The next moment, however, he
had recovered his poise and was galloping down the corridor in pursuit. It only
needed Aunt Dahlia after them, shouting "Yoicks!" or whatever is
customary on these occasions, to complete the resemblance to a brisk run with
the Quorn.
I sank
into a handy chair. I am not a man whom it is easy to discourage, but it seemed
to me that things had at last begun to get too complex for Bertram.
"Jeeves,"
I said, "all this is a bit thick."
"Yes,
sir."
"The
head rather swims."
"Yes,
sir."
"I
think you had better leave me, Jeeves. I shall need to devote the very closest
thought to the situation which has arisen."
"Very
good, sir."
The door
closed. I lit a cigarette and began to ponder.
-19-
Most chaps
in my position, I imagine, would have pondered all the rest of the evening
without getting a bite, but we Woosters have an uncanny knack of going straight
to the heart of things, and I don't suppose it was much more than ten minutes
after I had started pondering before I saw what had to be done.
What was
needed to straighten matters out, I perceived, was a heart-to- heart talk with
Angela. She had caused all the trouble by her mutton- headed behaviour in
saying "Yes" instead of "No" when Gussie, in the grip of
mixed drinks and cerebral excitement, had suggested teaming up. She must
obviously be properly ticked off and made to return him to store. A quarter of
an hour later, I had tracked her down to the summer-house in which she was
taking a cooler and was seating myself by her side.
"Angela,"
I said, and if my voice was stern, well, whose wouldn't have been, "this
is all perfect drivel."
She seemed
to come out of a reverie. She looked at me inquiringly.
"I'm
sorry, Bertie, I didn't hear. What were you talking drivel about?"
"I
was not talking drivel."
"Oh,
sorry, I thought you said you were."
"Is
it likely that I would come out here in order to talk drivel?"
"Very
likely."
I thought
it best to haul off and approach the matter from another angle.
"I've
just been seeing Tuppy."
"Oh?"
"And
Gussie Fink-Nottle."
"Oh,
yes?"
"It
appears that you have gone and got engaged to the latter."
"Quite
right."
"Well,
that's what I meant when I said it was all perfect drivel. You can't possibly
love a chap like Gussie."
"Why
not?"
"You
simply can't."
Well, I
mean to say, of course she couldn't. Nobody could love a freak like Gussie
except a similar freak like the Bassett. The shot wasn't on the board. A
splendid chap, of course, in many ways—courteous, amiable, and just the fellow
to tell you what to do till the doctor came, if you had a sick newt on your
hands—but quite obviously not of Mendelssohn's March timber. I have no doubt
that you could have flung bricks by the hour in England's most densely
populated districts without endangering the safety of a single girl capable of
becoming Mrs. Augustus Fink-Nottle without an anaesthetic.
I put this
to her, and she was forced to admit the justice of it.
"All
right, then. Perhaps I don't."
"Then
what," I said keenly, "did you want to go and get engaged to him for,
you unreasonable young fathead?"
"I
thought it would be fun."
"Fun!"
"And
so it has been. I've had a lot of fun out of it. You should have seen Tuppy's
face when I told him."
A sudden
bright light shone upon me.
"Ha!
A gesture!"
"What?"
"You
got engaged to Gussie just to score off Tuppy?"
"I
did."
"Well,
then, that was what I was saying. It was a gesture."
"Yes,
I suppose you could call it that."
"And
I'll tell you something else I'll call it—viz. a dashed low trick. I'm
surprised at you, young Angela."
"I
don't see why."
I curled
the lip about half an inch. "Being a female, you wouldn't. You gentler
sexes are like that. You pull off the rawest stuff without a pang. You pride
yourselves on it. Look at Jael, the wife of Heber."
"Where
did you ever hear of Jael, the wife of Heber?"
"Possibly
you are not aware that I once won a Scripture-knowledge prize at school?"
"Oh,
yes. I remember Augustus mentioning it in his speech."
"Quite,"
I said, a little hurriedly. I had no wish to be reminded of Augustus's speech.
"Well, as I say, look at Jael, the wife of Heber. Dug spikes into the
guest's coconut while he was asleep, and then went swanking about the place
like a Girl Guide. No wonder they say, 'Oh, woman, woman!'"
"Who?"
"The
chaps who do. Coo, what a sex! But you aren't proposing to keep this up, of
course?"
"Keep
what up?"
"This
rot of being engaged to Gussie."
"I
certainly am."
"Just
to make Tuppy look silly."
"Do
you think he looks silly?"
"I
do."
"So
he ought to."
I began to
get the idea that I wasn't making real headway. I remember when I won that
Scripture-knowledge prize, having to go into the facts about Balaam's ass. I
can't quite recall what they were, but I still retain a sort of general
impression of something digging its feet in and putting its ears back and
refusing to co-operate; and it seemed to me that this was what Angela was doing
now. She and Balaam's ass were, so to speak, sisters under the skin. There's a
word beginning with r——"re" something——"recal" something—No,
it's gone. But what I am driving at is that is what this Angela was showing
herself.
"Silly
young geezer," I said.
She
pinkened.
"I'm
not a silly young geezer."
"You
are a silly young geezer. And, what's more, you know it."
"I
don't know anything of the kind."
"Here
you are, wrecking Tuppy's life, wrecking Gussie's life, all for the sake of a
cheap score."
"Well,
it's no business of yours."
I sat on
this promptly:
"No
business of mine when I see two lives I used to go to school with wrecked? Ha!
Besides, you know you're potty about Tuppy."
"I'm
not!"
"Is
that so? If I had a quid for every time I've seen you gaze at him with the
lovelight in your eyes——"
She gazed
at me, but without the lovelight.
"Oh,
for goodness sake, go away and boil your head, Bertie!"
I drew
myself up.
"That,"
I replied, with dignity, "is just what I am going to go away and boil. At
least, I mean, I shall now leave you. I have said my say."
"Good."
"But
permit me to add——"
"I
won't."
"Very
good," I said coldly. "In that case, tinkerty tonk."
And I
meant it to sting.
"Moody"
and "discouraged" were about the two adjectives you would have
selected to describe me as I left the summer-house. It would be idle to deny
that I had expected better results from this little chat.
I was
surprised at Angela. Odd how you never realize that every girl is at heart a
vicious specimen until something goes wrong with her love affair. This cousin
and I had been meeting freely since the days when I wore sailor suits and she
hadn't any front teeth, yet only now was I beginning to get on to her hidden
depths. A simple, jolly, kindly young pimple she had always struck me as—the
sort you could more or less rely on not to hurt a fly. But here she was now
laughing heartlessly—at least, I seemed to remember hearing her laugh
heartlessly—like something cold and callous out of a sophisticated talkie, and
fairly spitting on her hands in her determination to bring Tuppy's grey hairs
in sorrow to the grave.
I've said
it before, and I'll say it again—girls are rummy. Old Pop Kipling never said a
truer word than when he made that crack about the f. of the s. being more d.
than the m.
It seemed
to me in the circs. that there was but one thing to do—that is head for the
dining-room and take a slash at the cold collation of which Jeeves had spoken.
I felt in urgent need of sustenance, for the recent interview had pulled me
down a bit. There is no gainsaying the fact that this naked-emotion stuff
reduces a chap's vitality and puts him in the vein for a good whack at the beef
and ham.
To the
dining-room, accordingly, I repaired, and had barely crossed the threshold when
I perceived Aunt Dahlia at the sideboard, tucking into salmon mayonnaise.
The
spectacle drew from me a quick "Oh, ah," for I was somewhat embarrassed.
The last time this relative and I had enjoyed a tête-à-tête, it will be
remembered, she had sketched out plans for drowning me in the kitchen-garden
pond, and I was not quite sure what my present standing with her was.
I was
relieved to find her in genial mood. Nothing could have exceeded the cordiality
with which she waved her fork.
"Hallo,
Bertie, you old ass," was her very matey greeting. "I thought I
shouldn't find you far away from the food. Try some of this salmon.
Excellent."
"Anatole's?"
I queried.
"No.
He's still in bed. But the kitchen maid has struck an inspired streak. It
suddenly seems to have come home to her that she isn't catering for a covey of
buzzards in the Sahara Desert, and she has put out something quite fit for
human consumption. There is good in the girl, after all, and I hope she enjoys
herself at the dance."
I ladled
out a portion of salmon, and we fell into pleasant conversation, chatting of
this servants' ball at the Stretchley-Budds and speculating idly, I recall, as
to what Seppings, the butler, would look like, doing the rumba.
It was not
till I had cleaned up the first platter and was embarking on a second that the
subject of Gussie came up. Considering what had passed at Market Snodsbury that
afternoon, it was one which I had been expecting her to touch on earlier. When
she did touch on it, I could see that she had not yet been informed of Angela's
engagement.
"I
say, Bertie," she said, meditatively chewing fruit salad. "This
Spink-Bottle."
"Nottle."
"Bottle,"
insisted the aunt firmly. "After that exhibition of his this afternoon,
Bottle, and nothing but Bottle, is how I shall always think of him. However,
what I was going to say was that, if you see him, I wish you would tell him
that he has made an old woman very, very happy. Except for the time when the
curate tripped over a loose shoelace and fell down the pulpit steps, I don't
think I have ever had a more wonderful moment than when good old Bottle
suddenly started ticking Tom off from the platform. In fact, I thought his
whole performance in the most perfect taste."
I could
not but demur.
"Those
references to myself——"
"Those
were what I liked next best. I thought they were fine. Is it true that you
cheated when you won that Scripture-knowledge prize?"
"Certainly
not. My victory was the outcome of the most strenuous and unremitting
efforts."
"And
how about this pessimism we hear of? Are you a pessimist, Bertie?"
I could
have told her that what was occurring in this house was rapidly making me one,
but I said no, I wasn't.
"That's
right. Never be a pessimist. Everything is for the best in this best of all
possible worlds. It's a long lane that has no turning. It's always darkest
before the dawn. Have patience and all will come right. The sun will shine,
although the day's a grey one.... Try some of this salad."
I followed
her advice, but even as I plied the spoon my thoughts were elsewhere. I was
perplexed. It may have been the fact that I had recently been hobnobbing with
so many bowed-down hearts that made this cheeriness of hers seem so bizarre,
but bizarre was certainly what I found it.
"I
thought you might have been a trifle peeved," I said.
"Peeved?"
"By
Gussie's manoeuvres on the platform this afternoon. I confess that I had rather
expected the tapping foot and the drawn brow."
"Nonsense.
What was there to be peeved about? I took the whole thing as a great
compliment, proud to feel that any drink from my cellars could have produced
such a majestic jag. It restores one's faith in post-war whisky. Besides, I
couldn't be peeved at anything tonight. I am like a little child clapping its
hands and dancing in the sunshine. For though it has been some time getting a
move on, Bertie, the sun has at last broken through the clouds. Ring out those
joy bells. Anatole has withdrawn his notice."
"What?
Oh, very hearty congratulations."
"Thanks.
Yes, I worked on him like a beaver after I got back this afternoon, and
finally, vowing he would ne'er consent, he consented. He stays on, praises be,
and the way I look at it now is that God's in His heaven and all's right
with——"
She broke
off. The door had opened, and we were plus a butler.
"Hullo,
Seppings," said Aunt Dahlia. "I thought you had gone."
"Not
yet, madam."
"Well,
I hope you will all have a good time."
"Thank
you, madam."
"Was
there something you wanted to see me about?"
"Yes,
madam. It is with reference to Monsieur Anatole. Is it by your wish, madam,
that Mr. Fink-Nottle is making faces at Monsieur Anatole through the skylight
of his bedroom?"
To be continued
