The Essential Works of P. G. Wodehouse. P. G. Wodehouse
Читать онлайн книгу.
"The rift between Tuppy Glossop and my cousin Angela would appear to be serious."
"Yes, sir. Opinion in the servants' hall is inclined to take a grave view of the situation."
"And the thought that springs to your mind, no doubt, is that I shall have my work cut out to fix things up?"
"Yes, sir."
"You are wrong, Jeeves. I have the thing well in hand."
"You surprise me, sir."
"I thought I should. Yes, Jeeves, I pondered on the matter most of the way down here, and with the happiest results. I have just been in conference with Mr. Glossop, and everything is taped out."
"Indeed, sir? Might I inquire——"
"You know my methods, Jeeves. Apply them. Have you," I asked, slipping into the shirt and starting to adjust the cravat, "been gnawing on the thing at all?"
"Oh, yes, sir. I have always been much attached to Miss Angela, and I felt that it would afford me great pleasure were I to be able to be of service to her."
"A laudable sentiment. But I suppose you drew blank?"
"No, sir. I was rewarded with an idea."
"What was it?"
"It occurred to me that a reconciliation might be effected between Mr. Glossop and Miss Angela by appealing to that instinct which prompts gentlemen in time of peril to hasten to the rescue of——"
I had to let go of the cravat in order to raise a hand. I was shocked.
"Don't tell me you were contemplating descending to that old he-saved-her-from-drowning gag? I am surprised, Jeeves. Surprised and pained. When I was discussing the matter with Aunt Dahlia on my arrival, she said in a sniffy sort of way that she supposed I was going to shove my Cousin Angela into the lake and push Tuppy in to haul her out, and I let her see pretty clearly that I considered the suggestion an insult to my intelligence. And now, if your words have the meaning I read into them, you are mooting precisely the same drivelling scheme. Really, Jeeves!"
"No, sir. Not that. But the thought did cross my mind, as I walked in the grounds and passed the building where the fire-bell hangs, that a sudden alarm of fire in the night might result in Mr. Glossop endeavouring to assist Miss Angela to safety."
I shivered.
"Rotten, Jeeves."
"Well, sir——"
"No good. Not a bit like it."
"I fancy, sir——"
"No, Jeeves. No more. Enough has been said. Let us drop the subj."
I finished tying the tie in silence. My emotions were too deep for speech. I knew, of course, that this man had for the time being lost his grip, but I had never suspected that he had gone absolutely to pieces like this. Remembering some of the swift ones he had pulled in the past, I shrank with horror from the spectacle of his present ineptitude. Or is it ineptness? I mean this frightful disposition of his to stick straws in his hair and talk like a perfect ass. It was the old, old story, I supposed. A man's brain whizzes along for years exceeding the speed limit, and something suddenly goes wrong with the steering-gear and it skids and comes a smeller in the ditch.
"A bit elaborate," I said, trying to put the thing in as kindly a light as possible. "Your old failing. You can see that it's a bit elaborate?"
"Possibly the plan I suggested might be considered open to that criticism, sir, but faute de mieux——"
"I don't get you, Jeeves."
"A French expression, sir, signifying 'for want of anything better'."
A moment before, I had been feeling for this wreck of a once fine thinker nothing but a gentle pity. These words jarred the Wooster pride, inducing asperity.
"I understand perfectly well what faute de mieux means, Jeeves. I did not recently spend two months among our Gallic neighbours for nothing. Besides, I remember that one from school. What caused my bewilderment was that you should be employing the expression, well knowing that there is no bally faute de mieux about it at all. Where do you get that faute-de-mieux stuff? Didn't I tell you I had everything taped out?"
"Yes, sir, but——"
"What do you mean—but?"
"Well, sir——"
"Push on, Jeeves. I am ready, even anxious, to hear your views."
"Well, sir, if I may take the liberty of reminding you of it, your plans in the past have not always been uniformly successful."
There was a silence—rather a throbbing one—during which I put on my waistcoat in a marked manner. Not till I had got the buckle at the back satisfactorily adjusted did I speak.
"It is true, Jeeves," I said formally, "that once or twice in the past I may have missed the bus. This, however, I attribute purely to bad luck."
"Indeed, sir?"
"On the present occasion I shall not fail, and I'll tell you why I shall not fail. Because my scheme is rooted in human nature."
"Indeed, sir?"
"It is simple. Not elaborate. And, furthermore, based on the psychology of the individual."
"Indeed, sir?"
"Jeeves," I said, "don't keep saying 'Indeed, sir?' No doubt nothing is further from your mind than to convey such a suggestion, but you have a way of stressing the 'in' and then coming down with a thud on the 'deed' which makes it virtually tantamount to 'Oh, yeah?' Correct this, Jeeves."
"Very good, sir."
"I tell you I have everything nicely lined up. Would you care to hear what steps I have taken?"
"Very much, sir."
"Then listen. Tonight at dinner I have recommended Tuppy to lay off the food."
"Sir?"
"Tut, Jeeves, surely you can follow the idea, even though it is one that would never have occurred to yourself. Have you forgotten that telegram I sent to Gussie Fink-Nottle, steering him away from the sausages and ham? This is the same thing. Pushing the food away untasted is a universally recognized sign of love. It cannot fail to bring home the gravy. You must see that?"
"Well, sir——"
I frowned.
"I don't want to seem always to be criticizing your methods of voice production, Jeeves," I said, "but I must inform you that that 'Well, sir' of yours is in many respects fully as unpleasant as your 'Indeed, sir?' Like the latter, it seems to be tinged with a definite scepticism. It suggests a lack of faith in my vision. The impression I retain after hearing you shoot it at me a couple of times is that you consider me to be talking through the back of my neck, and that only a feudal sense of what is fitting restrains you from substituting for it the words 'Says you!'"
"Oh, no, sir."
"Well, that's what it sounds like. Why don't you think this scheme will work?"
"I fear Miss Angela will merely attribute Mr. Glossop's abstinence to indigestion, sir."
I hadn't thought of that, and I must confess it shook me for a moment. Then I recovered myself. I saw what was at the bottom of all this. Mortified by the consciousness of his own ineptness—or ineptitude—the fellow was simply trying to hamper and obstruct. I decided to knock the stuffing out of him without further preamble.
"Oh?" I said. "You do, do you? Well, be that as it may, it doesn't alter the fact that you've put out the wrong coat. Be so good, Jeeves," I said, indicating with a gesture the gent's ordinary dinner jacket or smoking, as we call it on the Côte d'Azur, which was suspended from the hanger on the knob of the wardrobe, "as to shove that bally black thing in the cupboard and bring out my white mess-jacket with the brass buttons."
He looked at me in a