Right Ho, Jeeves jaw-5 Read online

  “But, Aunt Dahlia, listen to reason. I assure you, you've got hold of the wrong man. I'm hopeless at a game like that. Ask Jeeves about the time I got lugged in to address a girls' school. I made the most colossal ass of myself.”

  “And I confidently anticipate that you will make an equally colossal ass of yourself on the thirty-first of this month. That's why I want you. The way I look at it is that, as the thing is bound to be a frost, anyway, one may as well get a hearty laugh out of it. I shall enjoy seeing you distribute those prizes, Bertie. Well, I won't keep you, as, no doubt, you want to do your Swedish exercises. I shall expect you in a day or two.”

  And with these heartless words she beetled off, leaving me a prey to the gloomiest emotions. What with the natural reaction after Pongo's party and this stunning blow, it is not too much to say that the soul was seared.

  And I was still writhing in the depths, when the door opened and Jeeves appeared.

  “Mr. Fink-Nottle to see you, sir,” he announced.

  -5-

  I gave him one of my looks.

  “Jeeves,” I said, “I had scarcely expected this of you. You are aware that I was up to an advanced hour last night. You know that I have barely had my tea. You cannot be ignorant of the effect of that hearty voice of Aunt Dahlia's on a man with a headache. And yet you come bringing me Fink-Nottles. Is this a time for Fink or any other kind of Nottle?”

  “But did you not give me to understand, sir, that you wished to see Mr. Fink-Nottle to advise him on his affairs?”

  This, I admit, opened up a new line of thought. In the stress of my emotions, I had clean forgotten about having taken Gussie's interests in hand. It altered things. One can't give the raspberry to a client. I mean, you didn't find Sherlock Holmes refusing to see clients just because he had been out late the night before at Doctor Watson's birthday party. I could have wished that the man had selected some more suitable hour for approaching me, but as he appeared to be a sort of human lark, leaving his watery nest at daybreak, I supposed I had better give him an audience.

  “True,” I said. “All right. Bung him in.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  “But before doing so, bring me one of those pick-me-ups of yours.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  And presently he returned with the vital essence.

  I have had occasion, I fancy, to speak before now of these pick-me-ups of Jeeves's and their effect on a fellow who is hanging to life by a thread on the morning after. What they consist of, I couldn't tell you. He says some kind of sauce, the yolk of a raw egg and a dash of red pepper, but nothing will convince me that the thing doesn't go much deeper than that. Be that as it may, however, the results of swallowing one are amazing.

  For perhaps the split part of a second nothing happens. It is as though all Nature waited breathless. Then, suddenly, it is as if the Last Trump had sounded and Judgment Day set in with unusual severity.

  Bonfires burst out all in parts of the frame. The abdomen becomes heavily charged with molten lava. A great wind seems to blow through the world, and the subject is aware of something resembling a steam hammer striking the back of the head. During this phase, the ears ring loudly, the eyeballs rotate and there is a tingling about the brow.

  And then, just as you are feeling that you ought to ring up your lawyer and see that your affairs are in order before it is too late, the whole situation seems to clarify. The wind drops. The ears cease to ring. Birds twitter. Brass bands start playing. The sun comes up over the horizon with a jerk.

  And a moment later all you are conscious of is a great peace.

  As I drained the glass now, new life seemed to burgeon within me. I remember Jeeves, who, however much he may go off the rails at times in the matter of dress clothes and in his advice to those in love, has always had a neat turn of phrase, once speaking of someone rising on stepping-stones of his dead self to higher things. It was that way with me now. I felt that the Bertram Wooster who lay propped up against the pillows had become a better, stronger, finer Bertram.

  “Thank you, Jeeves,” I said.

  “Not at all, sir.”

  “That touched the exact spot. I am now able to cope with life's problems.”

  “I am gratified to hear it, sir.”

  “What madness not to have had one of those before tackling Aunt Dahlia! However, too late to worry about that now. Tell me of Gussie. How did he make out at the fancy-dress ball?”

  “He did not arrive at the fancy-dress ball, sir.”

  I looked at him a bit austerely.

  “Jeeves,” I said, “I admit that after that pick-me-up of yours I feel better, but don't try me too high. Don't stand by my sick bed talking absolute rot. We shot Gussie into a cab and he started forth, headed for wherever this fancy-dress ball was. He must have arrived.”

  “No, sir. As I gather from Mr. Fink-Nottle, he entered the cab convinced in his mind that the entertainment to which he had been invited was to be held at No. 17, Suffolk Square, whereas the actual rendezvous was No. 71, Norfolk Terrace. These aberrations of memory are not uncommon with those who, like Mr. Fink-Nottle, belong essentially to what one might call the dreamer-type.”

  “One might also call it the fatheaded type.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well?”

  “On reaching No. 17, Suffolk Square, Mr. Fink-Nottle endeavoured to produce money to pay the fare.”

  “What stopped him?”

  “The fact that he had no money, sir. He discovered that he had left it, together with his ticket of invitation, on the mantelpiece of his bedchamber in the house of his uncle, where he was residing. Bidding the cabman to wait, accordingly, he rang the door-bell, and when the butler appeared, requested him to pay the cab, adding that it was all right, as he was one of the guests invited to the dance. The butler then disclaimed all knowledge of a dance on the premises.”

  “And declined to unbelt?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Upon which—”

  “Mr. Fink-Nottle directed the cabman to drive him back to his uncle's residence.”

  “Well, why wasn't that the happy ending? All he had to do was go in, collect cash and ticket, and there he would have been, on velvet.”

  “I should have mentioned, sir, that Mr. Fink-Nottle had also left his latchkey on the mantelpiece of his bedchamber.”

  “He could have rung the bell.”

  “He did ring the bell, sir, for some fifteen minutes. At the expiration of that period he recalled that he had given permission to the caretaker—the house was officially closed and all the staff on holiday—to visitchis sailor son at Portsmouth.”

  “Golly, Jeeves!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “These dreamer types do live, don't they?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What happened then?”

  “Mr. Fink-Nottle appears to have realized at this point that his position as regards the cabman had become equivocal. The figures on the clock had already reached a substantial sum, and he was not in a position to meet his obligations.”

  “He could have explained.”

  “You cannot explain to cabmen, sir. On endeavouring to do so, he found the fellow sceptical of his bona fides.”

  “I should have legged it.”

  “That is the policy which appears to have commended itself to Mr. Fink-Nottle. He darted rapidly away, and the cabman, endeavouring to detain him, snatched at his overcoat. Mr. Fink-Nottle contrived to extricate himself from the coat, and it would seem that his appearance in the masquerade costume beneath it came as something of a shock to the cabman. Mr. Fink-Nottle informs me that he heard a species of whistling gasp, and, looking round, observed the man crouching against the railings with his hands over his face. Mr. Fink-Nottle thinks he was praying. No doubt an uneducated, superstitious fellow, sir. Possibly a drinker.”

  “Well, if he hadn't been one before, I'll bet he started being one shortly afterwards. I expect he could scarcely wait fo
r the pubs to open.”

  “Very possibly, in the circumstances he might have found a restorative agreeable, sir.”

  “And so, in the circumstances, might Gussie too, I should think. What on earth did he do after that? London late at night—or even in the daytime, for that matter—is no place for a man in scarlet tights.”

  “No, sir.”

  “He invites comment.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I can see the poor old bird ducking down side-streets, skulking in alley-ways, diving into dust-bins.”

  “I gathered from Mr. Fink-Nottle's remarks, sir, that something very much on those lines was what occurred. Eventually, after a trying night, he found his way to Mr. Sipperley's residence, where he was able to secure lodging and a change of costume in the morning.”

  I nestled against the pillows, the brow a bit drawn. It is all very well to try to do old school friends a spot of good, but I could not but feel that in enspousig the cause of a lunkhead capable of mucking things up as Gussie had done, I had taken on a contract almost too big for human consumption. It seemed to me that what Gussie needed was not so much the advice of a seasoned man of the world as a padded cell in Colney Hatch and a couple of good keepers to see that he did not set the place on fire.

  Indeed, for an instant I had half a mind to withdraw from the case and hand it back to Jeeves. But the pride of the Woosters restrained me. When we Woosters put our hands to the plough, we do not readily sheathe the sword. Besides, after that business of the mess-jacket, anything resembling weakness would have been fatal.

  “I suppose you realize, Jeeves,” I said, for though one dislikes to rub it in, these things have to be pointed out, “that all this was your fault?”

  “Sir?”

  “It's no good saying 'Sir?' You know it was. If you had not insisted on his going to that dance—a mad project, as I spotted from the first—this would not have happened.”

  “Yes, sir, but I confess I did not anticipate—”

  “Always anticipate everything, Jeeves,” I said, a little sternly. “It is the only way. Even if you had allowed him to wear a Pierrot costume, things would not have panned out as they did. A Pierrot costume has pockets. However,” I went on more kindly, “we need not go into that now. If all this has shown you what comes of going about the place in scarlet tights, that is something gained. Gussie waits without, you say?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then shoot him in, and I will see what I can do for him.”

  -6-

  Gussie, on arrival, proved to be still showing traces of his grim experience. The face was pale, the eyes gooseberry-like, the ears drooping, and the whole aspect that of a man who has passed through the furnace and been caught in the machinery. I hitched myself up a bit higher on the pillows and gazed at him narrowly. It was a moment, I could see, when first aid was required, and I prepared to get down to cases.

  “Well, Gussie.”

  “Hullo, Bertie.”

  “What ho.”

  “What ho.”

  These civilities concluded, I felt that the moment had come to touch delicately on the past.

  “I hear you've been through it a bit.”

  “Yes.”

  “Thanks to Jeeves.”

  “It wasn't Jeeves's fault.”

  “Entirely Jeeves's fault.”

  “I don't see that. I forgot my money and latchkey—”

  “And now you'd better forget Jeeves. For you will be interested to hear, Gussie,” I said, deeming it best to put him in touch with the position of affairs right away, “that he is no longer handling your little problem.”

  This seemed to slip it across him properly. The jaws fell, the ears drooped more limply. He had been looking like a dead fish. He now looked like a deader fish, one of last year's, cast up on some lonely beach and left there at the mercy of the wind and tides.

  “What!”

  “Yes.”

  “You don't mean that Jeeves isn't going to—”

  “No.”

  “But, dash it—”

  I was kind, but firm.

  “You will be much better off without him. Surely your terrible experiences of that awful night have told you that Jeeves needs a rest. The keenest of thinkers strikes a bad patch occasionally. That is what has happened to Jeeves. I have seen it coming on for some time. He has lost his form. He wants his plugs decarbonized. No doubt this is a shock to you. I suppose you came here this morning to seek his advice?”

  “Of course I did.”

  “On what point?”

  “Madeline Bassett has gone to stay with these people in the country, and I want to know what he thinks I ought to do.”

  “Well, as I say, Jeeves is off the case.”

  “But, Bertie, dash it—”

  “Jeeves,” I said with a certain asperity, “is no longer on the case. I am now in sole charge.”

  “But what on earth can you do?”

  I curbed my resentment. We Woosters are fair-minded. We can make allowances for men who have been parading London all night in scarlet tights.

  “That,” I said quietly, “we shall see. Sit down and let us confer. I am bound to say the thing seems quite simple to me. You say this girl has gone to visit friends in the country. It would appear obvious that you must go there too, and flock round her like a poultice. Elementary.”

  “But I can't plant myself on a lot of perfect strangers.”

  “Don't you know these people?”

  “Of course I don't. I don't know anybody.”

  I pursed the lips. This did seem to complicate matters somewhat.

  “All that I know is that their name is Travers, and it's a place called Brinkley Court down in Worcestershire.”

  I unpursed my lips.

  “Gussie,” I said, smiling paternally, “it was a lucky day for you when Bertram Wooster interested himself in your affairs. As I foresaw from the start, I can fix everything. This afternoon you shall go to Brinkley Court, an honoured guest.”

  He quivered like amousse. I suppose it must always be rather a thrilling experience for the novice to watch me taking hold.

  “But, Bertie, you don't mean you know these Traverses?”

  “They are my Aunt Dahlia.”

  “My gosh!”

  “You see now,” I pointed out, “how lucky you were to get me behind you. You go to Jeeves, and what does he do? He dresses you up in scarlet tights and one of the foulest false beards of my experience, and sends you off to fancy-dress balls. Result, agony of spirit and no progress. I then take over and put you on the right lines. Could Jeeves have got you into Brinkley Court? Not a chance. Aunt Dahlia isn't his aunt. I merely mention these things.”

  “By Jove, Bertie, I don't know how to thank you.”

  “My dear chap!”

  “But, I say.”

  “Now what?”

  “What do I do when I get there?”

  “If you knew Brinkley Court, you would not ask that question. In those romantic surroundings you can't miss. Great lovers through the ages have fixed up the preliminary formalities at Brinkley. The place is simply ill with atmosphere. You will stroll with the girl in the shady walks. You will sit with her on the shady lawns. You will row on the lake with her. And gradually you will find yourself working up to a point where—”

  “By Jove, I believe you're right.”

  “Of course, I'm right. I've got engaged three times at Brinkley. No business resulted, but the fact remains. And I went there without the foggiest idea of indulging in the tender pash. I hadn't the slightest intention of proposing to anybody. Yet no sooner had I entered those romantic grounds than I found myself reaching out for the nearest girl in sight and slapping my soul down in front of her. It's something in the air.”

  “I see exactly what you mean. That's just what I want to be able to do—work up to it. And in London—curse the place—everything's in such a rush that you don't get a chance.”

  “Quite. You see a girl alo
ne for about five minutes a day, and if you want to ask her to be your wife, you've got to charge into it as if you were trying to grab the gold ring on a merry-go-round.”

  “That's right. London rattles one. I shall be a different man altogether in the country. What a bit of luck this Travers woman turning out to be your aunt.”

  “I don't know what you mean, turning out to be my aunt. She has been my aunt all along.”

  “I mean, how extraordinary that it should be your aunt that Madeline's going to stay with.”

  “Not at all. She and my Cousin Angela are close friends. At Cannes she was with us all the time.”

  “Oh, you met Madeline at Cannes, did you? By Jove, Bertie,” said the poor lizard devoutly, “I wish I could have seen her at Cannes. How wonderful she must have looked in beach pyjamas! Oh, Bertie—”

  “Quite,” I said, a little distantly. Even when restored by one of Jeeves's depth bombs, one doesn't want this sort of thing after a hard night. I touched the bell and, when Jeeves appeared, requested him to bring me telegraph form and pencil. I then wrote a well-worded communication to Aunt Dahlia, informing her that I was sending my friend, Augustus Fink-Nottle, down to Brinkley today to enjoy her hospitality, and handed it to Gussie.

  “Push that in at the first post office you pass,” I said. “She will find it waiting for her on her return.”

  Gussie popped along, flapping the telegram and looking like a close-up of Joan Crawford, and I turned to Jeeves and gave him a precis of my operations.

  “Simple, you observe, Jeeves. Nothing elaborate.”

  “No, sir.”

  “Nothing far-fetched. Nothing strained or bizarre. Just Nature's remedy.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “This is the attack as it should have been delivered. What do you call it when two people of opposite sexes are bunged together in close association in a secluded spot, meeting each other every day and seeing a lot of each other?”