Right Ho, Jeeves Page 7

  -7-

  I meditated pretty freely as I drove down to Brinkley in the oldtwo-seater that afternoon. The news of this rift or rupture of Angela'sand Tuppy's had disturbed me greatly.

  The projected match, you see, was one on which I had always looked withkindly approval. Too often, when a chap of your acquaintance is planningto marry a girl you know, you find yourself knitting the brow a bit andchewing the lower lip dubiously, feeling that he or she, or both, shouldbe warned while there is yet time.

  But I have never felt anything of this nature about Tuppy and Angela.Tuppy, when not making an ass of himself, is a soundish sort of egg. Sois Angela a soundish sort of egg. And, as far as being in love wasconcerned, it had always seemed to me that you wouldn't have been far outin describing them as two hearts that beat as one.

  True, they had had their little tiffs, notably on the occasion whenTuppy--with what he said was fearless honesty and I considered thoroughgoofiness--had told Angela that her new hat made her look like aPekingese. But in every romance you have to budget for the occasionaldust-up, and after that incident I had supposed that he had learned hislesson and that from then on life would be one grand, sweet song.

  And now this wholly unforeseen severing of diplomatic relations hadpopped up through a trap.

  I gave the thing the cream of the Wooster brain all the way down, but itcontinued to beat me what could have caused the outbreak of hostilities,and I bunged my foot sedulously on the accelerator in order to get toAunt Dahlia with the greatest possible speed and learn the inside historystraight from the horse's mouth. And what with all six cylinders hittingnicely, I made good time and found myself closeted with the relativeshortly before the hour of the evening cocktail.

  She seemed glad to see me. In fact, she actually said she was glad to seeme--a statement no other aunt on the list would have committed herselfto, the customary reaction of these near and dear ones to the spectacleof Bertram arriving for a visit being a sort of sick horror.

  "Decent of you to rally round, Bertie," she said.

  "My place was by your side, Aunt Dahlia," I responded.

  I could see at a g. that the unfortunate affair had got in amongst her inno uncertain manner. Her usually cheerful map was clouded, and the genialsmile conspic. by its a. I pressed her hand sympathetically, to indicatethat my heart bled for her.

  "Bad show this, my dear old flesh and blood," I said. "I'm afraid you'vebeen having a sticky time. You must be worried."

  She snorted emotionally. She looked like an aunt who has just bitten intoa bad oyster.

  "Worried is right. I haven't had a peaceful moment since I got back fromCannes. Ever since I put my foot across this blasted threshold," saidAunt Dahlia, returning for the nonce to the hearty _argot_ of the huntingfield, "everything's been at sixes and sevens. First there was that mix-upabout the prize-giving."

  She paused at this point and gave me a look. "I had been meaning to speakfreely to you about your behaviour in that matter, Bertie," she said. "Ihad some good things all stored up. But, as you've rallied round likethis, I suppose I shall have to let you off. And, anyway, it is probablyall for the best that you evaded your obligations in that sickeninglycraven way. I have an idea that this Spink-Bottle of yours is going to begood. If only he can keep off newts."

  "Has he been talking about newts?"

  "He has. Fixing me with a glittering eye, like the Ancient Mariner. Butif that was the worst I had to bear, I wouldn't mind. What I'm worryingabout is what Tom says when he starts talking."

  "Uncle Tom?"

  "I wish there was something else you could call him except 'Uncle Tom',"said Aunt Dahlia a little testily. "Every time you do it, I expect to seehim turn black and start playing the banjo. Yes, Uncle Tom, if you musthave it. I shall have to tell him soon about losing all that money atbaccarat, and, when I do, he will go up like a rocket."

  "Still, no doubt Time, the great healer----"

  "Time, the great healer, be blowed. I've got to get a cheque for fivehundred pounds out of him for _Milady's Boudoir_ by August the third atthe latest."

  I was concerned. Apart from a nephew's natural interest in an aunt'srefined weekly paper, I had always had a soft spot in my heart for_Milady's Boudoir_ ever since I contributed that article to it on Whatthe Well-Dressed Man is Wearing. Sentimental, possibly, but we oldjournalists do have these feelings.

  "Is the _Boudoir_ on the rocks?"

  "It will be if Tom doesn't cough up. It needs help till it has turned thecorner."

  "But wasn't it turning the corner two years ago?"

  "It was. And it's still at it. Till you've run a weekly paper for women,you don't know what corners are."

  "And you think the chances of getting into uncle--into my uncle bymarriage's ribs are slight?"

  "I'll tell you, Bertie. Up till now, when these subsidies were required,I have always been able to come to Tom in the gay, confident spirit of anonly child touching an indulgent father for chocolate cream. But he'sjust had a demand from the income-tax people for an additional fifty-eightpounds, one and threepence, and all he's been talking about since I gotback has been ruin and the sinister trend of socialistic legislation andwhat will become of us all."

  I could readily believe it. This Tom has a peculiarity I've noticed inother very oofy men. Nick him for the paltriest sum, and he lets out asquawk you can hear at Land's End. He has the stuff in gobs, but he hatesgiving up.

  "If it wasn't for Anatole's cooking, I doubt if he would bother to carryon. Thank God for Anatole, I say."

  I bowed my head reverently.

  "Good old Anatole," I said.

  "Amen," said Aunt Dahlia.

  Then the look of holy ecstasy, which is always the result of letting themind dwell, however briefly, on Anatole's cooking, died out of her face.

  "But don't let me wander from the subject," she resumed. "I was tellingyou of the way hell's foundations have been quivering since I got home.First the prize-giving, then Tom, and now, on top of everything else,this infernal quarrel between Angela and young Glossop."

  I nodded gravely. "I was frightfully sorry to hear of that. Terribleshock. What was the row about?"

  "Sharks."

  "Eh?"

  "Sharks. Or, rather, one individual shark. The brute that went for thepoor child when she was aquaplaning at Cannes. You remember Angela'sshark?"

  Certainly I remembered Angela's shark. A man of sensibility does notforget about a cousin nearly being chewed by monsters of the deep. Theepisode was still green in my memory.

  In a nutshell, what had occurred was this: You know how you aquaplane. Amotor-boat nips on ahead, trailing a rope. You stand on a board, holdingthe rope, and the boat tows you along. And every now and then you loseyour grip on the rope and plunge into the sea and have to swim to yourboard again.

  A silly process it has always seemed to me, though many find itdiverting.

  Well, on the occasion referred to, Angela had just regained her boardafter taking a toss, when a great beastly shark came along and cannonedinto it, flinging her into the salty once more. It took her quite a bitof time to get on again and make the motor-boat chap realize what was upand haul her to safety, and during that interval you can readily pictureher embarrassment.

  According to Angela, the finny denizen kept snapping at her anklesvirtually without cessation, so that by the time help arrived, she wasfeeling more like a salted almond at a public dinner than anything human.Very shaken the poor child had been, I recall, and had talked of nothingelse for weeks.

  "I remember the whole incident vividly," I said. "But how did that startthe trouble?"

  "She was telling him the story last night."

  "Well?"

  "Her eyes shining and her little hands clasped in girlish excitement."

  "No doubt."

  "And instead of giving her the understanding and sympathy to which shewas entitled, what do you think this blasted Glossop did? He satlistening like a lump of dough, as if she had been talking abo
ut theweather, and when she had finished, he took his cigarette holder out ofhis mouth and said, 'I expect it was only a floating log'!"

  "He didn't!"

  "He did. And when Angela described how the thing had jumped and snappedat her, he took his cigarette holder out of his mouth again, and said,'Ah! Probably a flatfish. Quite harmless. No doubt it was just trying toplay.' Well, I mean! What would you have done if you had been Angela? Shehas pride, sensibility, all the natural feelings of a good woman. Shetold him he was an ass and a fool and an idiot, and didn't know what hewas talking about."

  I must say I saw the girl's viewpoint. It's only about once in a lifetimethat anything sensational ever happens to one, and when it does, youdon't want people taking all the colour out of it. I remember at schoolhaving to read that stuff where that chap, Othello, tells the girl what ahell of a time he'd been having among the cannibals and what not. Well,imagine his feelings if, after he had described some particularly stickypassage 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 greatlyexaggerated and that the man had probably really been a prominent localvegetarian.

  Yes, I saw Angela's point of view.

  "But don't tell me that when he saw how shirty she was about it, thechump didn't back down?"

  "He didn't. He argued. And one thing led to another until, by easystages, they had arrived at the point where she was saying that shedidn't know if he was aware of it, but if he didn't knock off starchyfoods and do exercises every morning, he would be getting as fat as apig, and he was talking about this modern habit of girls putting make-upon their faces, of which he had always disapproved. This continued for awhile, and then there was a loud pop and the air was full of mangledfragments of their engagement. I'm distracted about it. Thank goodnessyou've come, Bertie."

  "Nothing could have kept me away," I replied, touched. "I felt you neededme."

  "Yes."

  "Quite."

  "Or, rather," she said, "not you, of course, but Jeeves. The minute allthis happened, I thought of him. The situation obviously cries out forJeeves. If ever in the whole history of human affairs there was a momentwhen 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'mpretty sure I would. But it isn't so dashed easy to stagger when you'resitting in an arm-chair. Only my face, therefore, showed how deeply I hadbeen stung by these words.

  Until she spoke them, I had been all sweetness and light--the sympatheticnephew prepared to strain every nerve to do his bit. I now froze, and theface 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 tohim. 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 daysago I was compelled to take him off a case because his handling of it wasso footling. And, anyway, I resent this assumption, if assumption is theword I want, that Jeeves is the only fellow with brain. I object to theway everybody puts things up to him without consulting me and letting mehave 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'sadvice. It is possible that in the future I may seek it again. But Iclaim the right to have a pop at these problems, as they arise, inperson, without having everybody behave as if Jeeves was the only onionin the hash. I sometimes feel that Jeeves, though admittedly notunsuccessful 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 tellyou why.

  You remember that he caught that 12.45 train with the luggage, while Iremained on in order to keep a luncheon engagement. Well, just before Istarted out to the tryst, I was pottering about the flat, and suddenly--Idon't know what put the suspicion into my head, possibly the fellow'smanner had been furtive--something seemed to whisper to me to go and havea look in the wardrobe.

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

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

  "There has been no breach," I said. "You might describe it as a passingcoolness, but no more. We did not happen to see eye to eye with regard tomy white mess-jacket with the brass buttons and I was compelled to assertmy personality. But----"

  "Well, it doesn't matter, anyway. The thing that matters is that you aretalking piffle, you poor fish. Jeeves lost his grip? Absurd. Why, I sawhim for a moment when he arrived, and his eyes were absolutely glitteringwith 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 mattersworse."

  "On the contrary, it may interest you to know that while driving here Iconcentrated deeply on this trouble of Angela's and was successful informulating a plan, based on the psychology of the individual, which I amproposing to put into effect at an early moment."

  "Oh, my God!"

  "My knowledge of human nature tells me it will work."

  "Bertie," said Aunt Dahlia, and her manner struck me as febrile, "layoff, lay off! For pity's sake, lay off. I know these plans of yours. Isuppose you want to shove Angela into the lake and push young Glossop inafter her to save her life, or something like that."

  "Nothing of the kind."

  "It's the sort of thing you would do."

  "My scheme is far more subtle. Let me outline it for you."

  "No, thanks."

  "I say to myself----"

  "But not to me."

  "Do listen for a second."

  "I won't."

  "Right ho, then. I am dumb."

  "And have been from a child."

  I perceived that little good could result from continuing the discussion.I waved a hand and shrugged a shoulder.

  "Very well, Aunt Dahlia," I said, with dignity, "if you don't want to bein on the ground floor, that is your affair. But you are missing anintellectual treat. And, anyway, no matter how much you may behave likethe deaf adder of Scripture which, as you are doubtless aware, the moreone piped, the less it danced, or words to that effect, I shall carry onas planned. I am extremely fond of Angela, and I shall spare no effort tobring the sunshine back into her heart."

  "Bertie, you abysmal chump, I appeal to you once more. Will you pleaselay off? You'll only make things ten times as bad as they are already."

  I remember reading in one of those historical novels once about a chap--abuck he would have been, no doubt, or a macaroni or some such bird asthat--who, when people said the wrong thing, merely laughed down fromlazy eyelids and flicked a speck of dust from the irreproachable Mechlinlace at his wrists. This was practically what I did now. At least, Istraightened my tie and smiled one of those inscrutable smiles of mine. Ithen withdrew and went out for a saunter in the garden.
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br />   And the first chap I ran into was young Tuppy. His brow was furrowed, andhe was moodily bunging stones at a flowerpot.