Right Ho, Jeeves by P. G. Wodehouse (love letters to the dead TXT) 📕

been Angela? She has pride, sensibility, all the natural feelings of a good woman. She told him he was an ass and a fool and an idiot, and didn’t know what he was talking about.”

I must say I saw the girl’s viewpoint. It’s only about once in a lifetime that anything sensational ever happens to one, and when it does, you don’t want people taking all the colour out of it. I remember at school having to read that stuff where that chap, Othello, tells the girl what a hell of a time he’d been having among the cannibals and whatnot. Well, imagine his feelings if, after he had described some particularly sticky passage with a cannibal chief and was waiting for the awestruck “Oh-h! Not really?”, she had said that the whole thing had no doubt been greatly exaggerated and that the man had probably really been a prominent local vegetarian.

Yes, I saw Angela’s point of view.

“But don’t tell me that when he saw how shirty she was about it, the chump didn’t back down?”

“He didn’t. He argued. And one thing led to another until, by easy stages, they had arrived at the point where she was saying that she didn’t know if he was aware of it, but if he didn’t knock off starchy foods and do exercises every morning, he would be getting as fat as a pig, and he was talking about this modern habit of girls putting makeup on their faces, of which he had always disapproved. This continued for a while, and then there was a loud pop and the air was full of mangled fragments of their engagement. I’m distracted about it. Thank goodness you’ve come, Bertie.”

“Nothing could have kept me away,” I replied, touched. “I felt you needed me.”

“Yes.”

“Quite.”

“Or, rather,” she said, “not you, of course, but Jeeves. The minute all this happened, I thought of him. The situation obviously cries out for Jeeves. If ever in the whole history of human affairs there was a moment when that lofty brain was required about the home, this is it.”

I think, if I had been standing up, I would have staggered. In fact, I’m pretty sure I would. But it isn’t so dashed easy to stagger when you’re sitting in an armchair. Only my face, therefore, showed how deeply I had been stung by these words.

Until she spoke them, I had been all sweetness and light⁠—the sympathetic nephew prepared to strain every nerve to do his bit. I now froze, and the face became hard and set.

“Jeeves!” I said, between clenched teeth.

“Oom beroofen,” said Aunt Dahlia.

I saw that she had got the wrong angle.

“I was not sneezing. I was saying ‘Jeeves!’ ”

“And well you may. What a man! I’m going to put the whole thing up to him. There’s nobody like Jeeves.”

My frigidity became more marked.

“I venture to take issue with you, Aunt Dahlia.”

“You take what?”

“Issue.”

“You do, do you?”

“I emphatically do. Jeeves is hopeless.”

“What?”

“Quite hopeless. He has lost his grip completely. Only a couple of days ago I was compelled to take him off a case because his handling of it was so footling. And, anyway, I resent this assumption, if assumption is the word I want, that Jeeves is the only fellow with brain. I object to the way everybody puts things up to him without consulting me and letting me have a stab at them first.”

She seemed about to speak, but I checked her with a gesture.

“It is true that in the past I have sometimes seen fit to seek Jeeves’s advice. It is possible that in the future I may seek it again. But I claim the right to have a pop at these problems, as they arise, in person, without having everybody behave as if Jeeves was the only onion in the hash. I sometimes feel that Jeeves, though admittedly not unsuccessful in the past, has been lucky rather than gifted.”

“Have you and Jeeves had a row?”

“Nothing of the kind.”

“You seem to have it in for him.”

“Not at all.”

And yet I must admit that there was a modicum of truth in what she said. I had been feeling pretty austere about the man all day, and I’ll tell you why.

You remember that he caught that 12:45 train with the luggage, while I remained on in order to keep a luncheon engagement. Well, just before I started out to the tryst, I was pottering about the flat, and suddenly⁠—I don’t know what put the suspicion into my head, possibly the fellow’s manner had been furtive⁠—something seemed to whisper to me to go and have a look in the wardrobe.

And it was as I had suspected. There was the mess-jacket still on its hanger. The hound hadn’t packed it.

Well, as anybody at the Drones will tell you, Bertram Wooster is a pretty hard chap to outgeneral. I shoved the thing in a brown-paper parcel and put it in the back of the car, and it was on a chair in the hall now. But that didn’t alter the fact that Jeeves had attempted to do the dirty on me, and I suppose a certain what-d’you-call-it had crept into my manner during the above remarks.

“There has been no breach,” I said. “You might describe it as a passing coolness, but no more. We did not happen to see eye to eye with regard to my white mess-jacket with the brass buttons and I was compelled to assert my personality. But⁠—”

“Well, it doesn’t matter, anyway. The thing that matters is that you are talking piffle, you poor fish. Jeeves lost his grip? Absurd. Why, I saw him for a moment when he arrived, and his eyes were absolutely glittering with intelligence. I said to myself, ‘Trust Jeeves,’ and I intend to.”

“You would be far better advised to let me see what I can accomplish, Aunt Dahlia.”

“For heaven’s sake, don’t you start butting in. You’ll only make matters worse.”

“On the contrary, it may interest you to know that while driving here I concentrated deeply on