This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, visit LibriVox.org. My Man Jeeves by PG Wodehouse. 1. Leave it to Jeeves. Jeeves, my man, you know, is really a most extraordinary chap. So capable. Honestly, I shouldn't know what to do without him. On broader lines, he's like those chapies who sit peering sadly over the marble battlements at the Pennsylvania station in the place marked Inquiries. You know the Johnny's, I mean. You go up to them and say, When's the next train for Mellon Squashville, Tennessee? And they reply, without stopping to think, 243, track 10, change at San Francisco. And they're right every time. Well, Jeeves gives you just the same impression of omniscience. As an instance of what I mean, I remember meeting Monty Bing in Bond Street one morning, looking the last word in a gray check suit, and I felt I should never be happy till I had one like it. I dug the address of the tailors out of him and had them working on the thing inside the hour. Jeeves, I said that evening, I'm getting a check suit like that one of Mr. Bing's. Injudicious, sir, he said firmly, it will not become you. What absolute rot! It's the soundest thing I've struck for years. Unsuitable for you, sir. Well, the long and the short of it was that the confounded thing came home and I put it on, and when I caught sight of myself in the glass, I nearly swooned. Jeeves was perfectly right. I looked across between a music hall comedian and a cheap bookie. Yet Monty had looked fine and absolutely the same stuff. These things are just life's mysteries, and that's all there is to it. But it isn't only that Jeeves' judgment about clothes is infallible, though, of course, that's really the main thing. The man knows everything. There was the matter of that tip on the Lincolnshire. I forgot now how I got it, but it had the aspect of being the real red-hot Tabasco. Jeeves, I said, for I'm fond of the man and I like to do him a good turn when I can. If you want to make a bit of money, have something on Wonder Child for the Lincolnshire. He shook his head. I'd rather not, sir. But it's the straight goods. I'm going to put my shirt on him. I do not recommend it, sir. The animal is not intended to win. Second place is what the stable is after. Perfect piffle, I thought, of course. How the deuce could Jeeves know anything about it? Still, you know what happened. Wonder Child led till he was breathing on the wire and then Banana Fritter came along and nosed him out. I went straight home and rang for Jeeves. After this I said, not another step for me without your advice. From now on, consider yourself the brains of the establishment. Very good, sir. I shall endeavour to give satisfaction. And he has, by Jove. I'm a bit short on brain myself. The old bean would appear to have been constructed more for ornament than for use, don't you know? But give me five minutes to talk the thing over with Jeeves and I'm game to advise anyone about anything. And that's why, when Bruce Corcoran came to me with his troubles, my first act was to ring the bell and put it up to the lad with the bulging forehead. Leave it to Jeeves, I said. I first got to know Corky when I came to New York. He was a pal of my cousin, Gussie, who was in with a lot of people down Washington Squareway. I don't know if I ever told you about it, but the reason why I left England was because I was sent over by my aunt Agatha to try and stop young Gussie marrying a girl on the vaudeville stage, and I got the whole thing so mixed up that I decided that it would be a sound scheme for me to stop on in America for a bit instead of going back and having long cozy chats about the thing with aunt. So I sent Jeeves out to find a decent apartment and settle down for a bit of exile. I'm bound to say that New York's a topping place to be exiled in. Everybody was awfully good to me and there seemed to be plenty of things going on and I'm a wealthy bird so everything was fine. Chappies introduced me to other chappies and so on and so forth and it wasn't long before I knew squads of the right sort, some who rolled in dollars and houses up by the park and others who lived with the gas turned down mostly around Washington Square. Artists and writers and so forth. Brainy coves. Corky was one of the artists. A portrait painter he called himself but he hadn't painted any portraits. He was sitting on the sidelines with a blanket over his shoulders waiting for a chance to get in the game. You see, the catch about portrait painting I've looked into the thing a bit is that you can't start painting portraits till people come along and ask you to and they won't come and ask you until you've painted a lot first. This makes it kind of difficult for a chappy. Corky managed to get along by drawing an occasional picture for the comic papers. He had a rather gift for the funny stuff when he got a good idea and doing bedsteads and chairs and things for the advertisements. His principal source of income, however, was derived from biting the ear of a rich uncle, one Alexander Warpole, who was in the jute business. I'm a bit foggy as to what jute is but it's apparently something the populace is pretty keen on for Mr. Warpole had made quite an indecently large stack out of it. Now, a great many fellows think that having a rich uncle is a pretty soft snap but according to Corky such is not the case. Corky's uncle was a robust sort of cove who looked like living forever. He was fifty-one, but it seemed as if he might go to par. It was not this, however, that distressed poor old Corky for he was not bigoted and had no objection to the man going on living. What Corky kicked at was the way the above warple used to harry him. Corky's uncle, you see, didn't want him to be an artist. He didn't think he had any talent in that direction. He was always urging him to chuck art and go into the jute business and start at the bottom and work his way up. Jute had apparently become a sort of obsession with him. He seemed to attach an almost spiritual importance to it and what Corky said was that while he didn't know what they did at the bottom of the jute business, Instinct told him it was something too beastly for words. Corky, moreover, believed in his future as an artist. Some day he said he was going to make a hit. Meanwhile, by using the utmost tact and persuasiveness, he was inducing his uncle to cough up very grudgingly a small quarterly allowance. He wouldn't have gotten this if his uncle hadn't had a hobby. Mr. Warple was peculiar in this respect. As a rule, from what I've observed, the American captain of industry doesn't do anything out of business hours. When he has put the cat out and locked up the office for the night, he just relapses into a state of coma from which he emerges only to start being a captain of industry again. But Mr. Warple in his spare time was what is known as an ornithologist. He had written a book called American Birds and was writing another to be called More American Birds. When he'd finished that, the presumption was that he would begin a third and keep on till the supply of American birds gave out. Corky used to go to him about once every three months and let him talk about American birds. Apparently, you could do what you liked with old Warple if you gave him his head first on his pet subject, so these little chats used to make Corky's allowance all right for the time being. But it was pretty rotten for the poor chap. There was the frightful suspense, you see, and, apart from that, birds, except when broiled and in the society the bottle bored him stiff. To complete the character study of Mr. Warple, he was a man of extremely uncertain temper and his general tendency was to think that Corky was a poor chump and that whatever step he took in any direction on his own account was just another proof of his innate idiocy. I should imagine Jeeves feels very much the same about me. So when Corky trickled into my apartment one afternoon, shooing in a girl in front of him and said, Bertie, I want you to meet my fiancée, Miss Singer. The aspect of the matter which hit me first was precisely the one which he had come to consult me about. The very first words I spoke were, Corky, what about your uncle? The poor chap gave one of those mirthless laughs. He was looking anxious and worried, like a man who has done the murder all right, but can't think what the deuce to do with the body. We're so scared, Mr. Wooster, said the girl. We were hoping that you might suggest a way of breaking it to him. Muriel Singer was one of those very quiet, appealing girls who gave a way of looking at you with their big eyes as if they thought you were the greatest thing on earth and wondered that you hadn't got on to it yet yourself. She sat there in a sort of shrinking way, looking at me as if she were saying to herself, Oh, I do hope this great strong man isn't going to hurt me. She gave a fellow a protective kind of feeling, made him want to stroke her hand and say, There, there, little one, or words to that effect. She made me feel that there was nothing I wouldn't do for her. She was rather like one of those innocent-tasting American drinks which creep in perceptively into your system so that before you know what you're doing, you're starting out to reform the world by force if necessary and pausing on your way to tell the large man in the corner that if he looks at you like that, you will knock his head off. What I mean is, she made me feel alert and dashing, like a jolly old knight errant or something of that kind. I felt that I was with her in this thing to the limit. I don't see why your uncle shouldn't be most awfully bucked, you know what I mean to Corky? He will think Miss Singer is the ideal wife for you. Corky declined to cheer up. You don't know him. Even if he did like Muriel, he wouldn't admit it. That's the sort of pig-headed guy he is. It would be a matter of principle with him to kick. All he would consider would be that I had gone and taken an important step without asking his advice, and he would raise Cain automatically. He's done it. I strained the old being to meet this emergency. You want to work it so that he makes Miss Singer's acquaintance without knowing that you know her. Then you come along. But how can I work it that way? I saw his point. That was the catch. There's only one thing to do, I said. What's that? Leave it to Jeeves. And I rang the bell. Sir, said Jeeves, kind of manifesting himself. One of the rummy things about Jeeves is that, unless you watch like a hawk, you very seldom see him come into a room. He's like one of those weird chapies in India who dissolve themselves into thin air and nip through space in a sort of disembodied way and assemble the parts again just where they want them. I've got a cousin who's what they call a Theosophist, and he says he's often nearly worked the thing himself, but couldn't quite bring it off, probably owing to having fed in his boyhood on the flesh of animals slain in anger and pie. The moment I saw the man standing there, registering respectful attention, a weight seemed to roll off my mind. I felt like a lost child who spots his father in the offing. There was something about him that gave me confidence. Jeeves is a tallish man with one of those dark shrewd faces. His eye gleams with a light of pure intelligence. Jeeves, we want your advice. Very good, sir. I boiled down Corky's painful case into a few well-chosen words. So you see what it amount to, Jeeves. We want you to suggest some way by which Mr. Warpel can make Miss Singer's acquaintance without getting on to the fact that Mr. Corcoran already knows her. Understand? Perfectly, sir. Well, try to think of something. I have thought of something already, sir. You have. The scheme I would suggest cannot fail of success, but it has what may seem to you a drawback, sir, in that it requires a certain financial outlay. He means, I translated to Corky, that he has got a pippin' of an idea, but it's gonna cost a bit. Naturally the poor chap's face dropped, for this seemed to dish the whole thing. But I was still under the influence of the girl's melting gaze, and I saw that this was where I started in as Night Errant. You can count on me for all that sort of thing, Corky, I said, only too glad. Carry on, Jeeves. I would suggest, sir, that Mr. Corcoran take advantage of Mr. Warple's attachment to ornithology. How on earth did you know that he was fond of birds? It is the way these New York apartments are constructed, sir, quite unlike our London houses. The partitions between the rooms are of the flimsiest nature. With no wish to overhear, I have sometimes heard Mr. Corcoran express himself with a generous strength on the subject I have mentioned. Oh, well... Why should not the young lady write a small volume to be entitled, let us say, the Children's Book of American Birds, and dedicate it to Mr. Warple? A limited edition could be published at your expense, sir, and a great deal of the book would, of course, be given over to eulogistic remarks concerning Mr. Warple's own larger treatise on the same subject. I should recommend the dispatching of a presentation copy to Mr. Warple immediately on publication, accompanied by a letter in which the young lady asks to be allowed to make the acquaintance of one to whom she owes so much. This would, I fancy, produce the desired result, but, as I say, the expense involved would be considerable. I felt like the proprietor of a performing dog on the vaudeville stage when the tyke has just pulled off his trick without a hitch. I had bedded on Jeeves all along and I had known that he wouldn't let me down. It beats me sometimes why a man with his genius is satisfied to hang around pressing my clothes and what not. If I had half Jeeves' brain, I should have a stab at being Prime Minister or something. Jeeves, I said, that is absolutely ripping, one of your very best efforts. Thank you, sir. The girl made an objection. But I'm sure I couldn't write a book about anything. I can't even write good letters. Muriel's talents, said Corky with a little cough, lie more in the direction of the drama, Bertie. I didn't mention it before, but one of our reasons for being a trifle nervous as to how Uncle Alexander will receive the news is that Muriel is in the chorus of that show, Choose Your Exit at the Manhattan. It's absurdly unreasonable, but we both feel that that fact might increase Uncle Alexander's natural tendency to kick like a steer. I saw what he meant. Goodness knows there was fuss enough in our family when I tried to marry into musical comedy a few years ago, and the recollection of my aunt Agatha's attitude to the matter of Gussie and the vaudeville girl was still fresh in my mind. I didn't know why it is. One of these psychology sharps could explain it, I suppose, but uncles and aunts, as a class, are always dead against the drama, legitimate or otherwise. They don't seem able to stick it at any price. But Jeeves had a solution, of course. I fancy it would be a simple matter, sir, to find some impiccunious author who would be glad to do the actual composition of the volume for a small fee. It is only necessary that the young lady's name should appear on the title page. That's true, said Corky. Sam Patterson would do it for a hundred dollars. He writes a novelette, three short stories, and ten thousand words of a serial for one of those all-fiction magazines under different names every month. A little thing like this would be nothing to him. I'll get after him right away. Fine. Will that be all, sir, said Jeeves? A very good sir. Thank you, sir. I always used to think that publishers had to be devilish intelligent fellows loaded down with the gray matter. But I've got their number now. All a publisher has to do is write checks at intervals, while a lot of deserving and industrious chapies would rally round and do the real work. I know, because I've been one myself. I simply sat tight in the old apartment with a fountain pen, and in due season a topping shiny book came along. I happened to be down at Corky's place when the first copies of The Children's Book of American Birds bobbed up. Muriel Singer was there, and we were talking of things in general when there was a bang at the door and the parcel was delivered. It was certainly some book. It had a red cover with a fowl of some species on it and underneath the girl's name in gold letters. I opened a copy at random. Often of a spring morning, it said at the top of page 21, as you wander through the fields, you will hear the sweet-toned, carelessly flowing warble of the purple-finched linnet. When you're older, you must read all about him in Mr. Alexander Warple's wonderful book, American Birds. You see, a boost for the uncle right away. And only a few pages later there he was in the limelight again in connection with the yellow-billed cuckoo. It was great stuff. The more I read, the more I admired the chap who had written it, and G. was genius in putting us on to the wheeze. I didn't see how the uncle could fail to drop. You can't call a chap the world's greatest authority on the yellow-billed cuckoo without rousing a certain disposition towards chumminess in him. It's a cert, I said. An absolute cinch, said Corky. And a day or two later he meandered up the avenue to my apartment to tell me that all was well. The uncle had written Muriel a letter so dripping with the milk of human kindness that if he had known Mr. Warple's handwriting, Corky would have refused to believe him the author of it. Any time it suited Miss Singer to call, said the uncle, he would be delighted to make her acquaintance. Shortly after this I had to go out of town. Divers' sound sportsmen had invited me to pay visits to their country places, and it wasn't for a several months that I settled down in the city again. I had been wondering a lot, of course, about Corky, whether it all turned out all right and so forth, and my first evening in New York happened to pop into a quiet sort of little restaurant, which I go to when I don't feel inclined for the bright lights. I found Muriel Singer there, sitting by herself at a table near the door. Corky, I took it, was out telephoning. I went up and passed the time of day. Well, well, well, what? I said. Why, Mr. Wooster, how do you do? Corky around? I beg your pardon. You are waiting for Corky, aren't you? Oh, I didn't understand. No, I'm not waiting for him. It seemed to row that there was a sort of something in her voice, a kind of thing on me, you know. I say, you haven't had a row with Corky, have you? A row?  Why, whatever makes you think that? Oh, well, as it were, what? What I mean is, I thought you usually dined with him before you went to the theatre. I've left the stage now. Suddenly the whole thing dawned on me. I had forgotten what a long time I'd been away. Why, of course, I see now. You're married. Yes. How perfectly topping. I wish you all kinds of happiness. Thank you so much. Oh, Alexander, she said, looking past me. This is a friend of mine, Mr. Wooster. I spun around, a chappy with a lot of stiff grey hair and a red sort of healthy face was standing there. Rather a formidable Johnny, he looked, though quite peaceful at the moment. I want you to meet my husband, Mr. Wooster. Mr. Wooster is a friend of Bruce's, Alexander. The old boy grasped my hand warmly, and that was all that kept me from hitting the floor in a heap. The place was rocking. Absolutely. So you know my nephew, Mr. Wooster, I heard him say. I wish you would try to knock a little sense into him and make him quit this playing at painting. But I have an idea that he is steadying down. I noticed at first that night he came to dinner with us. My dear, to be introduced to you. He seemed altogether quieter and more serious. Something seemed to have sobered him. Perhaps you will give us the pleasure of your company after dinner tonight, Mr. Wooster, or have you dined? I said I had. What I needed then was air, not dinner. I felt that I wanted to get into the open and think this thing out. When I reached my apartment, I heard Jeeves moving about in his lair. I called him. Jeeves, I said, now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of the party. A stiff B&S, first of all. Then I've got a bit of news for you. He came back with a tray and a long glass. Better have one yourself, Jeeves. You'll need it. Later on, perhaps. Thank you, sir. All right, please yourself. But you're going to get a shock. You remember my friend, Mr. Corcoran? Yes, sir. And the girl who was to slide gracefully into his uncle's esteem by writing the book on birds? Perfectly, sir. Well, she's slid. She's married the uncle. He took it without blinking. You can't rattle Jeeves. That was always a development to be feared, sir. You don't mean to tell me you were expecting it. It crossed my mind as a possibility. Did it, by Jove? Well, I think you might have warned us. I hardly liked to take the liberty, sir. Of course, as I saw after I had had a bite to eat and was in a calmer frame of mind, what had happened wasn't my fault if it came down to it. I couldn't be expected to foresee that the scheme, in itself a crackerjack, would skid into the ditch as it had done. But all the same, I'm bound to admit that I didn't realize the idea of meeting Corky again until time, the great healer, had been able to get in a bit of soothing work. I cut Washington Square out absolutely for the next few months. I gave it the complete miss-in-bock. And then, just when I was beginning to think I might safely pop down in that direction and gather up the dropped threads, so to speak, time, instead of working the healing wheeze, went and pulled the most awful bone and put the lid on it. Opening the paper one morning, I read that Mrs. Alexander Warpel had presented her husband with a son and heir. I was so darned sorry for poor old Corky and the heart to touch my breakfast. I told Jeeves to drink it himself. I was bowled over, absolutely. It was the limit. I hardly knew what to do. I wanted, of course, to rush down to Washington Square and grip the poor blighter silently by the hand. And then, thinking it over, I hathened the nerve. Absent treatment seemed the touch. I gave it to him in waves. But, after a month or so, I began to hesitate again. It struck me that it was playing it a bit low down on the poor chap, avoiding him like this, just when he probably wanted his pals to surge around him most. I pictured him sitting in his lonely studio with no company but his bitter thoughts and the pathos of it got to me to such an extent that I bounded straight into a taxi and told the driver to go all out for the studio. I rushed in and there was Corky, hunched up at the easel, painting away, while on the model throne sat a severe-looking woman of middle age holding a baby. A fellow has to be ready for that sort of thing. Oh, ah, I said, and started to back out. Corky looked over his shoulder. Hello, Bertie. Don't go. We're just finishing for the day. That will be all this afternoon, he said to the nurse, who got up with the baby and decanted it into a perambulator, which was standing in the fairway. At the same time tomorrow, Mr. Corcoran? Yes, please. Good afternoon. Good afternoon. Corky stood there, looking at the door, and then he turned to me and began to get it off his chest. Fortunately, he seemed to take it for granted because he knew all about what had happened, so it wasn't as awkward as it might have been. It's my uncle's idea, he said. Muriel doesn't know about it yet. The portrait's to be a surprise for her birthday party. The nurse takes the kid out, ostensibly to get a breather, and they beat it down here. If you want to get an instance of the irony of fate, Bertie, get acquainted with this. Here's the first commission I have ever had to paint a portrait, and the sitter is that human poached egg that has butted in and bounced me out of my inheritance. Can you beat it?  I can't refuse to paint the portrait because if I did, my uncle would stop my allowance. Yet, every time I look up and catch that kid's vacant eye, I suffer agonies. I tell you, Bertie, sometimes when he gives me a patronizing glance and then turns away and is sick, as if it revolted him to look at me, I come within an ace of occupying the entire front page of the evening papers as the latest murder sensation. There are moments when I can almost see the headlines. Promising young artist beans baby with axe. I padded his shoulder silently. My sympathy for the poor old scout was too deep for words. I kept away from the studio for some time after that because it didn't seem right to me to intrude on the poor chappy sorrow. Besides, I'm bound to say that nurse intimidated me. She reminded me so infernally of Aunt Agatha. She was the same gimlet-eyed type. But one afternoon Corky called me on the phone. Bertie, hello? Are you doing anything this afternoon? Nothing special? You couldn't come down here, could you? What's the trouble? Anything up? I finished the portrait. Good boy, stout work. Yes. His voice sounded rather doubtful. The fact is, Bertie, it doesn't look quite right to me. There's something about it. My uncle's coming in half an hour to inspect it, and I don't know why it is, but I kind of feel I'd like your moral support. I began to see that I was letting myself in for something. The sympathetic cooperation of G seemed to me to be indicated. You think you'll cut up rough? He may. I threw my mind back to the red-faced chappy I'd met at the restaurant and tried to picture him cutting up rough. It was only too easy. I spoke to Corky firmly on the telephone. I'll come, I said. Good. But only if I may bring Jeeves. Why Jeeves? What's Jeeves got to do with it? Who wants Jeeves? Jeeves is the fool who suggested the scheme that is led. Listen, Corky, old top.  I'd sooner go into a den of wild beasts and bite a lion on the back of the neck. Oh, all right, said Corky. Not cordially, but he said it. So I rang for Jeeves and explained the situation. Very good, sir, said Jeeves. That's the sort of chap he is. You can't rattle him. We found Corky near the door looking at the picture with one hand up in a defensive sort of way as if he thought it might swing on him. Stand right where you are, birdie, he said, without moving. Now tell me honestly, how does it strike you? The light from the big window fell right on the picture. I took a good look at it. Then I shifted a bit nearer and took another look. Then I went back to where I'd been at first because it hadn't seen quite so bad from there. Well, said Corky anxiously. I hesitated a bit. Of course, old man, I only saw the kid once and then only for a moment, but, but... it was an ugly sort of kid, wasn't it, if I remember rightly? As ugly as that? I looked again and honesty compelled me to be frank. I don't see how it could have been, old chap. Poor old Corky ran his fingers through his hair in a temperamental sort of way. He groaned. You're all right, birdie. Something's gone wrong with the darn thing. My private impression is that, without knowing it, I've worked that stunt that Sergeant and those fellows pull, painting the soul of the sitter. I've got through the mere outward appearance and I've put the child's soul on canvas. But could a child of that age have a soul like that? I don't see how he could have managed it in the time. What do you think, Jeeves? I doubt it, sir. It, it sort of leers at you, doesn't it? You've noticed that too, said Corky. I don't see how one could help noticing. All I tried to do was give the little brood a cheerful expression, but as it turned out he looks positively dissipated. Just what I was going to suggest, old man, he looks as if he were in the middle of a colossal spree and enjoying every minute of it. Don't you think so, Jeeves? He has decided the inebriated air, sir. Corky was starting to say something when the door opened and the uncle came in. For about three seconds all was joy, jollity and goodwill. The old boy shook hands with me, slapped Corky on the back, said that he didn't think he had ever seen such a fine day and whacked his leg with his stick. Jeeves had projected himself into the background and he didn't notice him. Well, Bruce, my boy. So the portrait is finally finished, is it? Really finished. Well, bring it out. Let's have a look at it. This will be a wonderful surprise for your aunt. Well, where is it? Let's... And then he got it. Suddenly when he wasn't set for the punch and he rocked back on his heels. Oosh! he exclaimed. And for perhaps a minute there was one of the scaly assailances I have ever run up against. Is this a practical joke, he said at last, in a way that set about sixteen drafts cutting through the room at once? I thought it was up to me to rally round old Corky. You want to stand a bit farther away from it, I said.  I do. I want to stand so far away from it I can't see the thing with a telescope. He turned on Corky like an untamed tiger of the jungle who has just located a chunk of meat. And this, this is what you have been wasting your time and my money for all these years. A painter, I would let you paint a house of mine. I gave you this commission thinking that you were a competent worker and this, this, this extract from a comic colored supplement is the result. He swung towards the door, lashing his tail and growling to himself. This ends it. If you wish to continue this foolery of pretending to be an artist because you want an excuse for idleness, please yourself. But let me tell you this. Unless you report at my office on Monday morning prepared to abandon all this idiocy and start at the bottom of the business to work your way up as you should have a half dozen years ago not another cent. Not another cent. Not another. Then the door closed and he was no longer with us and I crawled out of the bomb-proof shelter. Corky all top, I whispered faintly. Corky was standing staring at the picture. His face was set. There was a hunted look in his eye. Well, that finishes it, muttered brokenly. What are you going to do? Do what can I do? I can't stick on here if he cuts off supplies. You heard what he said. I shall have to go to the office on Monday. I couldn't think of a thing to say. I knew exactly how he felt about the office. I don't know when I've been so infernally uncomfortable. It was just like hanging round trying to make conversation to a pal who's just been sentenced to twenty years in quad. And then a soothing voice broke the silence. If I might make a suggestion, sir. It was Jeeves. He had slid from the shadows and was gazing gravely at the picture. Upon my word I can't give you a better idea of the shattering effect of Corky's Uncle Alexander when in action than by say that he had absolutely made me forget for the moment that Jeeves was there. I wonder if I have ever happened to mention to you, sir, Mr. Digby Thysselton with whom I was once in service. Perhaps you have met him. He was a financier. He is now Lord Bridge North. It was a favorite saying of his that there is always a way. The first time I heard him use the expression was after the failure of a patent depilatory which he promoted. Jeeves, I said, what on earth are you talking about? I mentioned Mr. Thysselton, sir, because his was in some respects a parallel case to the present one. His depilatory failed, but he did not despair. He put it on the market again under the name of Harrow, guaranteed to produce a full crop of hair in a few months. It was advertised, if you remember, sir, by a humorous picture of a billiard ball before and after taking, and made such a substantial fortune that Mr. Thysselton was soon afterwards elevated to the peerage for services to his party. It seems to me that if Mr. Corcoran looks into the matter, he will find that, like Mr. Thysselton, there is always a way. Mr. Warpel himself suggested the solution of the difficulty. In the heat of the moment he compared the portrait to an extract from a colored comic supplement. I consider the suggestion a very valuable one, sir. Mr. Corcoran's portrait may not have pleased Mr. Warpel as a likeness of his only child, but I have no doubt that editors would gladly consider it as a foundation for a series of humorous drawings. If Mr. Corcoran will allow me to make the suggestion, his talent has always been for the humorous. There is something about this picture, something bold and vigorous which arrests the attention. I feel sure it would be highly popular.  He seemed completely overwrought. And then suddenly he began to laugh in a wild way. Corky, old man, I said, dodging him tenderly, I feared the poor blight was hysterical. He began to stagger about all over the floor. He's right. The man's absolutely right.  You've hit on the greatest idea of the age. Report at the office on Monday, start at the bottom of the business. I'll buy the business if I feel like it. I know the man who runs the comic section of the Sunday Star. He'll eat this thing. He was telling me only the other day how hard it was to get a good new series. He'll give me anything I ask for a real winner like this. I've got a gold mine. Where's my hat? I've got an income for life. Where's that confounded hat? Lend me a fiver, Bertie. I want to take a taxi down to Park Row. Jeeves smiled paternally. Or rather, he had a kind of paternal muscular spasm about the mouth, which is the nearest he ever gets to smiling. If I might make the suggestion, Mr. Corcoran, for a title of the series which you have in mind. The Adventures of Baby Blobs. Corky and I looked at the picture, then at each other in an odd way. Jeeves was right. There could be no other title. Jeeves, I said. It was a few weeks later, and I had just finished looking at the comic section of the Sunday Star. I'm an optimist. I always have been. The older I get, the more I agree with Shakespeare and those poet-johnies about it always being darkest before the dawn and there's a silver lining and what you lose on the swings you make up on the roundabouts. Look at Mr. Corcoran, for instance. There was a fellow, one would have said, clear up to the eyebrows in the soup. To all appearances he had got it right in the neck. Yet look at him now. Have you seen these pictures?  Extremely diverting. They have made a big hit, you know. I anticipated it, sir. I leaned back against the pillows.  You ought to be drawing a commission on these things. I have nothing to complain of in that respect, sir. Mr. Corcoran has been most generous. I am putting up the brown suit, sir. No, I think I'll wear the blue with the faint red stripe. Not the blue with the faint red stripe, sir. But I'd rather fancy myself in it. Not the blue with the faint red stripe, sir. Oh, all right. Have it your own way. Very good, sir. Thank you, sir. Of course I know it's as bad as being henpecked, but then Jeeves is always right. You have to consider that, you know, what? End of Leave it to Jeeves. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, visit LibriVox.org. My Man Jeeves by P.G. Wothouse Two. Jeeves and the Unbidden Guest. I'm not absolutely certain of my facts, but I'd rather fancy its Shakespeare, or if not, its some equally brainy lad who says that it's always just when a chappy is feeling particularly top-hole and more than usually braced with things in general that fate sneaks up behind him with a bit of lead piping. There's no doubt the man's right. It's absolutely that way with me. Take, for instance, the fairly rummy matter of Lady Malvern and her son, Wilmot. A moment before they turned up, I was thinking how thoroughly alright everything was. It was one of those topping mornings, and I had just climbed out from under the cold shower, feeling like a two-year-old. As a matter of fact, I was especially bucked just then, because the day before I had asserted myself with Jeeves. Absolutely asserted myself, don't you know? You see, the way things have been going on, I was rapidly becoming a dash at surf. But Jolly well oppressed me. I didn't so much mind when he made me give up one of my new suits, because, Jeeves' judgment about suits is sound, but I as near as a toucher rebelled when he wouldn't let me wear a pair of cloth-topped boots, which I loved like a couple of brothers. And when he tried to tread on me like a worm in the matter of a hat, I Jolly well put my foot down and showed him who was who. It's a long story, and I haven't time to tell you now, but the point is that he wanted me to wear the long-acre, as worn by John Drew, when I had set my heart on the country gentleman, as worn by another famous actor-chappy. And the end of the matter was that, after a rather painful scene, I bought the country gentleman. So that's how things stood on this particular morning, and I was feeling kind of manly and independent. Well, I was in the bathroom, wondering what there was going to be for breakfast while I massaged the good old spine with a rough towel and sang slightly when there was a tap at the door. I stopped singing and opened the door an inch. What ho without there? Lady Malvern wishes to see you, sir, said Jeeves. Eh? Lady Malvern, sir. She is waiting in the sitting-room. Pull yourself together, Jeeves, my man, I said rather severely, for I bar practical jokes before breakfast. You know perfectly well there is no one waiting for me in the sitting-room. How could there be when it's barely ten o'clock yet? I gather from her ladyship, sir, that she had landed from an ocean liner at an early hour this morning. This made the thing a bit more plausible. I remembered that, when I had arrived in America about a year before, the proceedings had begun at some ghastly hour like six, and I'd been shot out on to a foreign shore considerably before eight. Who the deuce is Lady Malvern, Jeeves? Her ladyship did not confide in me, sir. Is she alone? Her ladyship is accompanied by a lord per sure, sir. I fancy that his lordship would be her ladyship's son. Oh well, put out rich remit of sorts, and I'll be dressing. Our heather-mixture lounge is in readiness, sir. Then lead me to it. While I was dressing, I kept trying to think who on earth Lady Malvern could be. It was until I had climbed through the top of my shirt and was reaching out for the studs that I remembered. I've placed her, Jeeves. She's a pal of my aunt Agatha. Indeed, sir. Yes, I met her at lunch one Sunday before I left London. A very vicious specimen writes books. She wrote a book on social conditions in India when she came back from the Derber. Yes, sir? Pardon me, sir, but not that tie. Eh? Not that tie with the heather-mixture lounge, sir. It was a shock to me. I thought I had quelled the fellow. It was rather a solemn moment. What I mean is, if I weakened now, all my good work the night before would be thrown away. I braced myself. What's wrong with this tie? I've seen you give it a nasty look before. Speak out like a man. What's the matter with it? Two ornate, sir. Nonsense. A cheerful pink. Nothing more. Unsuitable, sir. Jeeves, this is the tie I wear. Very good, sir. Dash it, unpleasant. I could see that the man was wounded, but I was firm. I tied the tie, got into the coat and waistcoat, and went into the sitting-room. Hello, hello, hello, I said, what? Ah, how do you do, Mr. Wooster? You have never met my son, Wilmot. I think, Mati, darling, this is Mr. Wooster. Lady Malvern was a hearty, happy, healthy, overpowering sort of dashed female, not so very tall, but making up for it by measuring about six feet from the OP to the prompt side. She fitted into my biggest armchair as if it had been built round her by someone who knew they were wearing armchairs tight about the hips that season. She had bright, bulging eyes, and a lot of yellow hair, and when she spoke she showed about 57 front teeth. She was one of those women who kind of numb a fellow's faculties. She made me feel as if I were ten years old and had been brought into the drawing-room in my Sunday clothes to say, how do you do? Altogether, by no means the sort of a thing a chappy would wish to find in his sitting-room before breakfast. Mati, the son, was about 23, tall and thin and meek-looking. He had the same yellow hair as his mother, but he wore it plastered down and parted in the middle. His eyes bulged too, but they weren't bright. They were of dull gray with pink rims. His chin gave up the struggle about halfway down and he didn't appear to have any eyelashes. A mild, furtive, sheepish sort of blighter in short. Awfully glad to see you, I said. So you've popped over, eh? Making a long stay in America?  I was glad to hear this, as it showed that Aunt Agatha was beginning to come round a bit. There had been some unpleasantness a year before when she had sent me over to New York to disentangle my cousin, Gussie, from the clutches of a girl on the music-hall stage. When I tell you that by the time I had finished my operations Gussie had not only married the girl, but had gone on the stage himself and was doing well, you'll understand that Aunt Agatha was upset to no small extent. I simply hadn't dared to go back and face her and it was a relief to find that time had healed the wound and all that sort of thing enough to make her tell her pals to look me up. What I mean is, much as I'd liked America, I didn't want to have England barred to me for the rest of my natural and believe me, England is a jolly sight too small for anyone to live in with Aunt Agatha if she's really on the warpath. So I braced on hearing these kind words and smiled keenly on the assemblage. Your aunt said that you would do anything that was in your power to be of assistance to us. Rather? Oh, rather, absolutely. Thank you so much. I want you to put Dear Muddy up for a little while. I didn't get this for a moment. Put him up? For my clubs? No, no. Darling Muddy is essentially a home bird. Aren't you Muddy, darling?  Yes, mother, he said, and corked himself up again. I should not like him to belong to clubs. I mean put him up here. Have him to live with you while I'm away. These frightful words trickled out of her like honey. The woman simply didn't seem to understand the ghastly nature of her proposal. I gave Muddy the swift east to west.  The thought of having this planted on me for an indefinite period appalled me. Absolutely appalled me, don't you know? I was just starting to say that the shot wasn't on the board at any price, and that the first sign Muddy gave of trying to nestle into my little home I would yell for the police when she went on, rolling placidly over me, as it were. There was something about this woman that sapped a chappy's willpower. I am leaving New York by the midday train as I have to pay a visit to Sing Sing Prison. I am extremely interested in prison conditions in America. After that I work my way gradually across to the coast, visiting the points of interest on the journey. You see, Mr. Wooster, I am in America principally on business. No doubt you read my book, India and the Indians. My publishers are anxious for me to write a companion volume on the United States. I shall not be able to spend more than a month in the country as I have to get back for the season, but a month should be ample. I was less than a month in India, and my dear friend Sir Roger Cremor wrote his America from within after a stay of only two weeks. I should love to take dear Madi with me, but the poor boy gets so sick when he travels by train. I shall have to pick him up on my return. For where I sat I could see Jeeves in the dining room, laying the breakfast table. I wished I could have had a minute with him alone. I felt certain that he would have been able to think of some way of putting a stop to this woman. It will be such a relief to know that Madi is safe with you, Mr. Wooster. I know what the temptations of a great city are. Hitherto dear Madi has been sheltered from them. He has lived quietly with me in the country. I know that you will look after him carefully, Mr. Wooster. He will give very little trouble. She talked about the poor blighter as if he wasn't there. Not that Madi seemed a mind.  He is a vegetarian and a tea-totaler and is devoted to reading. Give him a nice book and he will be quite contented. She got up. Thank you so much, Mr. Wooster. I don't know what I should have done without your help. Come, Madi. We have just time to see a few of the sights before my train goes. But I shall have to rely on you for most of my information about New York, darling. Be sure to keep your eyes open and take notes of your impressions. It will be such a help. Goodbye, Mr. Wooster. I will send Madi back early in the afternoon. They went out and I howled for Jeeves. Jeeves, what about it? Sir, what's to be done? You heard it all, didn't you? You were in the dining-room most of the time. That pill is coming to stay here. Pill, sir? The excrescence. I beg your pardon, sir? I looked at Jeeves sharply. This sort of thing wasn't like him. It was if he was deliberately trying to give me the pip. Then I understood. The man was really upset about that tie. He was trying to get his own back. Lord Pershor will be staying from here tonight, Jeeves, I said, coldly. Very good, sir. Breakfast is ready, sir. I could have sobbed into the bacon and eggs that there wasn't any sympathy to be got out of Jeeves was what put the lid on it. For a moment I almost weakened and told him to destroy the hat and tie if he didn't like them, but I pulled myself together again. I was dashed if I was going to let Jeeves treat me like a ballet one-man chain gang. But with brooding on Jeeves and brooding on Madi I was in a pretty reduced sort of state. The more I examined the situation the more blighted it became. There was nothing I could do. If I slung Madi out he would report to his mother and she would pass it on to Aunt Agatha and I didn't like to think what would happen then. Sooner or later I should be wanting to go back to England and I didn't want to get there and find Aunt Agatha waiting on the key for me with a stuffed eel-skin. There was absolutely nothing for it but to put the fellow up and make the best of it. About mid-day Madi's luggage arrived and soon afterwards a large parcel of what I took to be nice books. I brightened up a little when I saw it. It was one of those massive parcels and looked as if it had enough in it to keep the chappy busy for a year. I felt a trifle more cheerful and I got my country gentleman hat and stuck it on my head and gave that pink tie a twist and reeled out to take a bite of lunch to one or two of the lads at a neighboring hostelry and what with excellent browsing and sleucing and cheery conversation and what not the afternoon passed quite happily. By dinner time I had almost forgotten Blighted Madi's existence. I dined at the club and looked in at a show afterwards and it wasn't till fairly late that I got back to the flat. There were no signs of Madi and I took it that he had gone to bed. It seemed rummy to me though and the parcel of nice books was still there with a string and paper on it. It looked as if Madi, after seeing mother off at the station I decided to call it a day. Jeeves came in with the nightly whiskey and soda. I could tell by the chappy's manner that he was still upset. Lord Pershoor gone to bed, Jeeves, I asked with reserved haughtier and what not. No, sir. His lordship has not yet returned. Not returned, what do you mean? His lordship came in shortly after 6.30 and, having dressed, went out again. At this moment there was a noise outside the front door, a sort of scrabbling noise as if somebody were trying to paw his way through the woodwork, then a sort of thud. Better go and see what that is, Jeeves. Very good, sir. He went out and came back in again. If you would not mind stepping this way, sir, I think we might be able to carry him in. Carry him in? His lordship is lying on the mat, sir. I went to the front door. The man was right. There was Madi huddled up outside on the floor. He was moaning a bit. He's had some sort of dashed fit, I said. I took another look. Jeeves, someone's been feeding him meat. Sir? He's a vegetarian, you know. He must have been digging into a steak or something. Call up a doctor. I hardly think it will be necessary, sir. If you will take his lordship's legs while I grate Scott, Jeeves, you don't think he can't be. I am inclined to think so, sir. And by Jove he was right. Once on the right track you couldn't mistake it. Madi was under the surface. It was the deuce of a shock. You never can tell, Jeeves. Very seldom, sir. Remove the eye of authority and where are you? Precisely, sir. Where is my wandering boy tonight and all that sort of thing? What? It would seem so, sir. Well, we had better bring him in, eh? Yes, sir. So we lugged him in and Jeeves put him to bed and I lit a cigarette and sat down to think the thing over. I had a kind of foreboding. It seemed to me that I had let myself in for something pretty rocky. Next morning, after I had sucked down a thoughtful cup of tea, I went into Madi's room to investigate. I expected to find the fellow a wreck, but there he was, sitting up in bed, quite chirpy, reading gingery stories. What-ho, I said. What-ho, said Madi. What-ho, what-ho. What-ho, what-ho, what-ho. After that it seemed rather difficult to go on with the conversation. How are you feeling this morning, I asked. Topping replied Madi, blithely and with abandon. I say, you know that fellow of yours, Jeeves, you know, is a corker. I had a most frightful headache when I woke up and he brought me a sort of rummy, dark drink and it put me right again at once. Said it was his own invention. I must see more of that lad. He seems to me distinctly one of the ones. I couldn't believe that this was the same blighter who had sat and sucked his stick the day before. You ate something that disagreed with you last night, didn't you? I said, by way of giving him a chance to slide out of it if he wanted to. But he wouldn't have it at any price. No, he replied firmly. I didn't do anything of the kind. I drank too much. Much too much. Lots and lots too much. And what's more, I'm going to do it again. I'm going to do it every night. If ever you see me sober old top, he said, and with a kind of holy exaltation, tap me on the shoulder and say, tut tut, and I'll apologize and remedy the defect. But I say, you know, what about me? What about you? Well, I'm so to speak, as it were, kind of responsible for you. What I mean to say is, if you go doing this sort of thing, I'm apt to get in the soup somewhat. I can't help your trouble, said Marty firmly. Listen to me, old thing. This is the first time in my life that I've had a real chance to yield to the temptations of a great city. What's the use of a great city having temptations if fellows don't yield to them? Makes it so bolly discouraging for a great city. Besides, mother told me to keep my eyes open and collect impressions. I sat on the edge of the bed. I felt dizzy. I know just how you feel, old dear, said Marty consolingly, and if my principles would permit it, I would simmer down for your sake. But duty first. This is the first time I've been let out alone, and I mean to make the most of it. We're only young once. Why interfere with life's mourning? Young man, rejoice in thy youth. Tra-la-wat-ho. Put like that, it did seem reasonable. All my bally life, dear boy, Marty went on. I've been cooped up in the ancestral home in much Middlefold in Shropshire. Until you've been cooped up in much Middlefold, you don't know what cooping is. The only time we get any excitement is when one of the choir boys gets a chocolate during the sermon. When that happens, we talk about it for days. I've got about a month of New York, and I mean to store up a few happy memories for the long winter evenings. This is my only chance to collect a past, and I'm going to do it. Now tell me, old sport, as man to man, how does one get in touch with that very decent chappy jeeves? Does one ring the bell or shout a bit? I should like to discuss the subject of a good Steph B&S with him. I had had a sort of vague idea, don't you know, that if I stuck close to Marty and went about the place with him, I might act as a bit of a damper on the gaiety. What I mean is, I thought that if, when he was being the life and soul of the party, he were to catch my reproving eye, he might ease up a trifle on the revelry. So the next night I took him along to supper with me. It was the last time. I'm a quiet, peaceful sort of chappy who has lived all his life in London, and I can't stand the pace these swift sportsmen from the rural district set. What I mean to say is this, I'm all for rational enjoyment and so forth, but I think a chappy makes himself conspicuous when he throws soft-boiled eggs at the electric fan. And decent mirth and all that sort of thing are all right, but I do bar dancing on tables and having to dash all over the place dodging waiters, managers, and chuckers out just when you want to sit still and digest. Directly I managed to tear myself away that night and get home. I made up my mind that this was Jollywell the last time I went about with Muddy. The only time I met him late at night after that was once when I passed the door of a fairly low-down sort of restaurant and had to step aside to dodge him as he sailed through the air en route for the opposite pavement, with a muscular sort of looking chappy staring out after him with a kind of gloomy satisfaction. In a way, I couldn't help sympathizing with the fellow. He had about four weeks to have the good time that ought to have been spread over about ten years, and I didn't wonder at his wanting to be pretty busy. I should have been just the same in his place. Still, there was no denying that it was a bit thick. If it hadn't been for the thought of Lady Malvern and Aunt Agatha in the background, I should have regarded Muddy's rapid work with an indulgent smile. But I couldn't get rid of the feeling that sooner or later I was the lad who was scheduled to get it behind the ear. And what, with brooding on this prospect and sitting up in the old flat waiting for the familiar footstep and putting it to bed when it got there and stealing it to the sick chamber the next morning to contemplate the wreckage, I was beginning to lose weight. Absolutely becoming the good old shadow. I give you my honest word. Starting at sudden noises and what not. And no sympathy from Jeeves. That was what cut me to the quick. The man was still thoroughly pipped about the hat and tie and simply wouldn't rally round. One morning I wanted comforting so much that I sank the pride of the Woosters and appealed to the fellow direct. Jeeves, I said, this is getting a bit thick. Sir? Business and cold respectfulness. You know what I mean. This lad seems to have chucked all the principles of a well spent boyhood. He's got it up his nose. Yes, sir. Well, I shall get blamed, don't you know? You know what my aunt Agatha is. Yes, sir. Very well then. I waited a moment, but he wouldn't unbend. Jeeves, I said, haven't you any scheme up your sleeve for coping with this blighter? No, sir. And he shimmered off to his lair. Obstinate devil. So dash it absurd, don't you know? It wasn't as if there was anything wrong with that country gentleman hat. It was a remarkably priceless effort and much admired by the lads. But just because he preferred the long acre, he left me flat. It was shortly after this that young Muddy got the idea of bringing pals back in the small hours to continue the gay revels in the home. This was where I began to crack under the strain. You see, the part of town where I was living wasn't the right place for that sort of thing. I knew lots of chapies down Washington Square way who started the evening at about 2 a.m., artists and writers and what not, who frolicked considerably till checked by the rival of the morning milk. That was all right. They liked that sort of thing down there. The neighbors can't get to sleep unless there's someone dancing away and dances over their heads. But on 57th Street, the atmosphere wasn't right. And when Muddy turned up at 3 in the morning with a collection of hardy lads who only stopped singing their college song when they started singing The Old Oaken Bucket, there was a marked peevishness among the old settlers in the flats. The management was extremely terse and took a lot of soothing. The next night I came home early. After a lonely dinner at a place which I'd chosen because there didn't seem any chance of meeting Muddy there. The sitting room was quite dark and I was just moving to switch on the light when there was a sort of explosion and something collared hold of my trouser leg. Living with Muddy had reduced me to such an extent that I was simply unable to cope with this thing. I jumped backward with a loud yell of anguish and tumbled out into the hall just as Jeeves came out of his den to see what the matter was. Did you call, sir? Jeeves, there's something in there that grabs you by the leg. That would be Rallo, sir. Eh? I would have warned you of his presence but I did not hear you come in. His temper is a little uncertain at present as he has not yet settled down. Who the deuce is Rallo? His lordship's pool terrier, sir. His lordship won him in a raffle and tied him to the leg of the table. If you will allow me, sir, I will go in and switch on the light. There really is nobody like Jeeves. He walked straight into the sitting room the biggest feet since Daniel and the lion's den without a quiver. What's more, his magnetism or whatever they call it was such that the dashed animal, instead of pinning him by the leg, calmed down as if it had had a bromide and rolled over on his back with all of his paws in the air. If Jeeves had been his rich uncle he couldn't have been more chummy. Yet directly he caught sight of me again. He got all worked up and seemed to have only one idea in life to start chewing me where he had left off. Rallo is not used to you yet, sir, said Jeeves, regarding the ballet quadruped in an admiring sort of way. He is an excellent watchdog. I don't want a watchdog to keep me out of my rooms. No, sir. Well, what am I to do? No doubt in time the animal will learn to discriminate, sir. He will learn to distinguish your peculiar scent. What do you mean my peculiar scent? Correct the impression that I intend to hang about in the hall while life slips by in the hope that one of these days that dashed animal will decide that I smell all right. I thought for a bit. Jeeves, sir? I'm going away. Tomorrow morning by the first train. I shall go and stop with Mr. Todd in the country. Do you wish me to accompany you, sir? No. Very good, sir. I don't know when I shall be back forward my letters. Yes, sir. As a matter of fact, I was back within the week. Rucky Todd, who I went to stay with, is a rummy sort of a chap who lives all alone in the wilds of Long Island and likes it. But a little of that sort of thing goes a long way with me. Dear old Rucky is one of the best, but after a few days in his cottage in the woods miles away from anywhere, New York, even with Maddie on the premises, began to look pretty good to me. The days down on Long Island have forty-eight hours in them. You have to get to sleep at night because of the bellowing of the crickets and you have to walk two miles for a drink and six for an evening paper. I thanked Rucky for his kind hospitality and caught the only train they have down in those parts. It landed me in New York about dinner time. I went straight to the old flat. Jeeves came out of his lair. I looked round cautiously for Rallo. Where's that dog Jeeves? Have you got him tied up? The animal is no longer here, sir. His lordship gave him to the porter who sold him. His lordship took a prejudice against the animal on account of being bitten by him in the calf of the leg. I don't think I've ever been so bucked by a bit of news. I felt I had misjudged Rallo. Evidently, when you got to know him better, he had a lot of intelligence in him. Ripping, I said. Is Lord Pershor in, Jeeves? No, sir. Do you expect him back to dinner? No, sir. Where is he? In prison, sir.  That's how I felt then. In prison? Yes, sir. You don't mean in prison? Yes, sir. I lowered myself into a chair. Why, I said, he assaulted a constable, sir. Lord Pershor assaulted a constable? Yes, sir. I digested this. But, Jeeves, I say, this is frightful, sir. What will Lady Malvern say when she finds out? I do not fancy that her ladyship will find out, sir. But she'll come back and want to know where he is. I don't know where he is. I don't know where he is. I want to know where he is. I rather fancy, sir, that his lordship's bit of time will have run out by then. But supposing it hasn't. In that event, sir, it may be judicious to prevaricate a little. How? If I might make the suggestion, sir, I should inform her ladyship that his lordship has left for a short visit to Boston. Why Boston? Very interesting and respectable center, sir. Jeeves, I believe you've hit it. I fancy so, sir. Why? This is really the best thing that could have happened. If this hadn't turned up to prevent him, young Maddie would have been in a sanatorium by the time Lady Malvern got back. Exactly, sir. The more I looked at it that way, the sound of this prison wee seemed to me. There was no doubt in the world just what the doctor ordered for Maddie. It was the only thing that could have pulled him up. I was sorry for the poor blighter, but after all I reflected a chappy who had lived all his life with Lady Malvern in a small village in the interior of Shropshire wouldn't have much to kick at in a prison. Altogether I began to feel absolutely braced again. Life became like what that poet says, one grand sweet song. Things went on so comfortably and peaceably for a couple of weeks that I give you my word that I had almost forgotten such a person as Maddie existed. The only flaw in the scheme of things was that Jeeves was still pained and distant. It wasn't anything he said or did, mind you, but there was a rummy something about him all the time. Once, when I was tying the pink tie, I caught sight of him looking glass. There was a kind of grieved look in his eye. And then Lady Malvern came back, a good bid ahead of schedule. I hadn't been expecting her for days. I'd forgotten how time had been slipping along. She turned up one morning while I was still in bed sipping tea and thinking of this and that. Jeeves flowed in with the announcement that he had just loosed her into the sitting-room. I draped around me and went in. There she was, sitting in the same armchair looking as massive as ever. The only difference was that she didn't uncover the teeth as she had done the first time. Good morning, I said. So you've got back, what? I have got back. There was something sort of bleak about her tone, rather as if she had swallowed an east wind. This I took to be due to the fact that she probably hadn't breakfasted. It's only after a bit of breakfast that I'm able to regard the world with that sunny cheeriness which makes a fellow the universal favorite. I'm never much of a lad till I've engulfed an egg or two and a beaker of coffee. I suppose you haven't breakfasted? I have not yet breakfasted. Won't you have an egg or something? Or a sausage or something? No, thank you. She spoke as if she belonged to an anti-sauce society or a league for the suppression of eggs. There was a bit of silence. I called on you last night, she said, but you were out. Awfully sorry. Had a pleasant trip. Extremely thank you. See everything? Niagara Falls, Yellowstone Park, under the jolly old Grand Canyon and what not? I saw a great deal. There was another slightly frappé silence. Jeeps floated silently into the dining room and began to lay the breakfast table. I hope Wilmot was not in your way, Mr. Wooster. I'd been wondering when she was going to mention Matty. Rather not, great pals, hit it off splendidly. You were his constant companion then? Absolutely. We were always together. Saw all the sights, don't you know? We'd taken the museum of art in the morning and have a bit of lunch at some good vegetarian place and then toddle along to a sacred concert in the afternoon and home to an early dinner. We usually played dominoes after dinner and then the early bed and the refreshing sleep. We had a great time. I was awfully sorry when he went to Boston. Oh, Wilmot isn't Boston? Yes, I ought to have let you know but of course we didn't know where you were.   Yes, Matty went off to Boston. You were sure he went to Boston? Oh, absolutely. I called out to Jeeps who was now messing about in the next room with forks and so forth. But Wilmot didn't change his mind about going to Boston, did he? No, sir. I thought I was right. Yes, Matty went to Boston. Then how do you account, Mr. Booster, for the fact that when I went yesterday afternoon to Blackwell's Island Prison to secure material for my book, I saw poor, dear Wilmot there dressed in a striped suit seated beside a pile of stones with a hammer in his hands. I tried to think of something to say, but nothing came. A chapie has to be a lot broader about the forehead than I am to handle a jolt like this. I strained the old bean till it creaked. But between the collar and the hair parting, nothing stirred. I was dumb. Which was lucky because I wouldn't have had a chance to get any persiflage out of my system. Lady Malvern collared the conversation. She had been bottling it up and came out with a rush. So this is how you have looked after my poor, dear boy, Mr. Wooster. So this is how you have abused my trust. I left him in your charge, thinking that I could rely on you to shield him from evil. He came to you innocent, unversed in the ways of the world, confiding, unused to the temptations of a large city, and you let him astray. I hadn't any remarks to make. All I could think of was the picture of Aunt Agatha drinking all this in and reaching out to sharpen the hatchet against my return. You deliberately, far away in the misty distance, a soft voice spoke. If I might explain your ladyship. Jeeves had projected himself in from the dining-room and materialized on the rug. Lady Malvern tried to freeze him with a look, but you can't do that sort of thing He is look-proof. I fancy your ladyship that you have misunderstood Mr. Wooster and that he may have given you the impression that he was in New York when his lordship was removed. When Mr. Wooster informed your ladyship that his lordship had gone to Boston, he was relying on the version I had given him of his lordship's movements. Mr. Wooster was away visiting a friend in the country at the time and knew nothing matter till your ladyship informed him. Lady Malvern gave a kind of grunt. It didn't rattle Jeeves. I feared Mr. Wooster might be disturbed if he knew the truth, as he is so attached to his lordship and has taken such pains to look after him.  It might have been hard for Mr. Wooster to believe that his lordship had gone to prison voluntarily and from the best motives. But your ladyship, knowing him better, will readily understand. What? Lady Malvern goggled at him. Did you say that Lord Pershoor went to prison voluntarily? If I might explain your ladyship, I think that your ladyship's parting words made a deep impression on his lordship. I have frequently heard him speak to Mr. Wooster of his desire to do something to follow your ladyship's instructions and collect material for your ladyship's book on America. Mr. Wooster will bear me out when I say that his lordship was frequently extremely depressed at the thought that he was doing so little to help. Absolutely, by Jove, quite pipped about it, I said. The idea of making a personal examination into the prison system of the country, from within, occurred to his lordship very suddenly one night. But eagerly there was no restraining him. Lady Malvern looked at Jeeves. Then at me. Then at Jeeves again. I could see her struggling with the thing. Surely your ladyship said Jeeves. It is more reasonable to suppose that a gentleman of his lordship's character went to prison of his own volition than that he committed some breach of the law which necessitated his arrest. Lady Malvern blinked. Then she got up. Mr. Wooster, she said. I apologize. I have done you an injustice. I should have known Wilmot better. I should have had more faith in his pure, fine spirit. Absolutely, I said. Your breakfast is ready, sir, said Jeeves. I sat down and dalled in a dazed sort of way with a poached egg. I said to myself, Jeeves, I said. You are certainly a lifesaver. Thank you, sir. Nothing would have convinced my aunt Agatha that I had lured that blighter into riotous living. I fancy you are right, sir. I champed on my egg for a bit. I was most awfully moved, don't you know, by the way Jeeves had rallied round. Something seemed to tell me that this was an occasion that called for rich rewards. For a moment, I hesitated. Then, I made up my mind. Jeeves, sir. That pink tie? Yes, sir. Burn it. Thank you, sir. And Jeeves, yes, sir. Take a taxi and get me that long-acre hat as worn by John Drew. Thank you very much, sir. I fell asleep in the last chapter. I felt most awfully braced. I felt as if the clouds had rolled away and all was as it used to be. I felt like one of those chapies in the novels who calls off the fight with his wife in the last chapter and decides to forget and forgive. I felt I wanted to do all sorts of other things to show Jeeves that I appreciated him. Jeeves, I said. It isn't enough. Anything else you would like? Yes, sir. If I may make the suggestion fifty dollars. Fifty dollars? It will help me enable to pay a debt of honor, sir. I owe it to his lordship. You owe Lord Pershor fifty dollars? Yes, sir. I happened to meet him in the street that night. His lordship was arrested. I had been thinking a good deal about the most suitable method to abandon his mode of living, sir. His lordship was a little overexcited at the time and I fancy that he mistook me for a friend of his. At any rate, when I took the liberty of wagering him fifty dollars that he would not punch a passing policeman in the eye, he accepted the bet very cordially and won it. I produced my pocketbook and counted out a hundred. Take this, Jeeves, I said. And enough.  I endeavor to give satisfaction, sir, said Jeeves. End of Jeeves and the Unbidden Guests. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, visit LibriVox.org. My Man Jeeves by PG Wote House 3. Jeeves and the Hard Boiled Egg Sometimes of a morning, as I've sat in bed sucking down the early cup of tea and watched my man Jeeves flitting about the room and putting out the remit for the day, I've wondered what the deuce I should do if the fellow ever took it into his head to leave me. It's not so bad now I'm in New York, but in London my anxiety was frightful. There used to be all sorts of attempts on the part of low-bliders to sneak him away from me. Young Reggie Foljam, to my certain knowledge offered him double what I was giving him, and Alastair Bingham Reeves, who's got a valet who had been known to press his trousers sideways, used to look at him when he came to see me with a kind of glittery hungry eye that disturbed me deucidly. Bally pirates. The thing you see is that Jeeves is so dashed competent you can spot it even in the way he shoves studs into a shirt. I rely on him absolutely in every crisis and he never lets me down. And what's more he can always be counted on to extend himself on behalf of any pal of mine who happens to be to all appearances knee-deep in the bullion. Take the rather rummy case, for instance, of dear old Bicky and his uncle the hard-boiled egg. It happened after I had been in America for a few months. I got back to the flat, latest one night, and when Jeeves brought me the final drink he said, Mr. Bickersteth called to see you this evening, sir, while you were out. Oh, I said. Twice, sir. He appeared a trifle agitated. What, pipped? He gave that impression, sir. I sipped the whiskey. I was sorry if Bicky was in trouble, but as a matter of fact I was rather glad to have something I could discuss freely with Jeeves just then, because things had been a bit strained between us for some time and it had been rather difficult to hit on something to talk about that wasn't apt to take a personal turn. You see, I had decided, rightly or wrongly, to grow a mustache and this had cut Jeeves to the quick. He couldn't stick the thing at any price, and I had been living ever since in an atmosphere of bally disapproval till I was getting jolly well fed up with it. What I mean is, while there is no doubt that in certain matters of dress Jeeves's judgment is absolutely sound and should be followed. It seemed to me that it was getting a bit too thick if he was going to edit my face as well as my costume. No one can call me an unreasonable chappy, and many's the time I've given in like a lamb when Jeeves has voted against one of my pet suits or ties, but when it comes to a valet staking out a claim on your upper lip you've simply got to have a bit of a good old bulldog pluck and defy the blighter. He said that he would call again later, sir. Something must be up, Jeeves. Yes, sir. I gave the mustache a thoughtful twirl. It seemed to hurt Jeeves a good deal, so I chucked it. I see by the paper, sir, that Mr. Bickersteth's uncle is arriving on the Carmantic. Yes. His grace the Duke of Chiswick, sir. This was news to me that Bicky's uncle was a Duke. Rum, how little one knows about one's pals. I had met Bicky for the first time at a speices of Bino or Jamboree down in Washington Square, not long after my arrival in New York. I suppose I was a bit homesick at the time, and I rather took to Bicky when I found out he was an Englishman and had, in fact, been up at Oxford with me. Besides, he was a frightful chump, so he naturally drifted together, and while we were taking a quiet snort in a corner that wasn't all cluttered up with artists and sculptors and what not, he furthermore endeared himself to me by a most extraordinarily gifted imitation of a terrier chasing a cat up a tree. But, though we had subsequently become extremely pally, all I really knew about him was that he was generally hard up, and had an uncle who relieved the strain a bit from time to time by sending him monthly remittances. If the Duke of Chiswick is his uncle, I said, why hasn't he a title? Why isn't he Lord what not? Mr. Bickerstead is the son of his grace's late sister, sir, who married Captain Rallo Bickerstead of the Coldstream Guards. Jeves knows everything. Is Mr. Bickerstead's father dead too? Yes, sir. Leave any money? No, sir. I began to understand why poor old Bicky was always more or less on the rocks. To the casual and irreflective observer, if you know him, it may sound a pretty good wheeze having a Duke for an uncle, but the trouble about old Chiswick was that, though an extremely wealthy old buster, owning half London and about five counties up north, he was notoriously the most prudent spender in England. He was what American chapies would call a hard-boiled egg. If Bicky's people hadn't left him anything and he depended on what he could prize out of the old Duke, he was in a pretty bad way. Not that that explained why he was hunting me like this because he was a chap who never borrowed money. He said he wanted to keep his pals so never bit anyone's ear on principle. At this juncture the doorbell rang. Jeves floated out to answer it. Yes, sir. Mr. Wooster has just returned, I heard him say. And Bicky came trickling in, looking pretty sorry for himself. Hello, Bicky, I said. Jeves told me you had been trying to get me. Jeves, bring another glass and let the revels commence. What's the trouble, Bicky? I'm in a hole, Bertie. I want your advice. Say on, old lad. My uncle's turning up tomorrow, Bertie. So Jeves told me. The Duke of Chiswick, you know. So Jeves told me. Bicky seemed a bit surprised. Jeves seems to know everything. Rather rumbly, that's exactly what I was thinking just now myself. Well, I wish, said Bicky gloomily, that he knew a way to get me out of the hole I'm in. Jeves shimmered in with the glass and stuck it competently on the table. Mr. Bickersteth is in a bit of a hole, Jeves, I said, and wants you to rally round. Very good, sir. Bicky looked a bit doubtful. Well, of course you know, Bertie. This thing is by way of being a bit private and all that. I shouldn't worry about that, old top. I bet Jeves knows all about it already. Don't you, Jeves? Yes, sir. Eh? Said Bicky, rattled. I am open to correction, sir, but is not your dilemma due to the fact that you are at a loss to explain to his grace why you are in New York instead of Colorado? Bicky rocked like a jelly in a high wind. How the deuce do you know anything about it? I chanced to meet his grace's butler before he left England. He informed me that he happened to overhear his grace speaking to you on the matter, sir, as he passed the library door. Bicky gave a hollow sort of laugh. Well, as everybody seems to know all about it, I need to try to keep it dark. The old boy turfed me out, Bertie, because he said I was a brainless nincompoop. The idea was that he would give me a remittance on condition that I dashed out to some blighted locality of the name of Colorado and learned farming or ranching or whatever they call it at some valley ranch or farm or whatever it's called. I didn't fancy the idea a bit. I should have had to ride horses and pursue cows and so forth.  They bite at you. I was all against the scheme. At the same time, don't you know, I had to have that remittance.  Well, when I got to New York it looked like a decent sort of place to me so I thought it would be pretty sound notion to stop here. So I cabled to my uncle telling him that I had dropped into a good business wheeze and wanted to chuck the ranch idea. He wrote back that it was all right and here I've been ever since. He thinks I'm doing well at something or other over here. I never dreamed, don't you know, that he would ever come out here. What on earth am I to do? Jeeves, I said, what on earth is Mr. Bickerstaff to do? You see, said Bicky, I had a wireless from him to say that he was coming to stay with me to save hotel bills, I suppose. I've always given him the impression that I was living in pretty good style.  Thought of anything, Jeeves, I said. To what extent, sir, if the question is not a delicate one, are you prepared to assist Mr. Bickerstaff? I'll do anything I can for you, of course, Bicky old man. Then, if I might make the suggestion, sir, you might lend Mr. Bickerstaff No, by Jove, said Bicky, firmly. I never have touched you, Bertie, and I'm not going to start now. I may be a chump, but it's my boast that I don't owe a penny to a single soul. Not counting tradesmen, of course. I was about to suggest, sir, that you might lend Mr. Bickerstaff this flat. Mr. Bickerstaff could give his grace the impression that he was the owner of it. With your permission, sir, I'll do anything I can for you. With your permission, I could convey the notion that I was in Mr. Bickerstaff's employment and not in yours. You would be residing here temporarily as Mr. Bickerstaff's guest. His grace would occupy the second spare bedroom. I fancy that you would find this answer satisfactorily, sir. Bicky had stopped rocking himself and was staring at you in an odd sort of way. I would advocate the dispatching message to his grace on board the vessel, notifying him of the change of address. Mr. Bickerstaff could meet his grace at the dock and proceed directly here. Would that meet the situation, sir? Absolutely. Thank you, sir. Bicky followed him with his eye to the door closed. How does he do it, Bertie, he said? I'll tell you what I think it is. I believe it's something to do with the shape of his head. Have you ever noticed his head, Bertie, old man? It sort of sticks out at the back. I hopped out of bed early next morning so as to be among those present when the old boy should arrive. I knew from experience that these ocean liners fetch up at the dock at a deucidly ungodly hour. It was a munch after nine by the time I'd dressed and had my morning tea and was leaning out of the window, watching the street for Bicky and his uncle. It was one of those jolly, peaceful mornings that make a chappy wish he'd got a soul or something and I was just brooding on life in general when I became aware of the dickens of a spade in progress down below. A taxi had driven up and an old boy in a top hat had got out and was kicking up a frightful row about the fare. As far as I could make out he was trying to get the cab chappy to switch from New York to London and the cab chappy had apparently never heard of London before and didn't seem to think a lot of it now. The old boy said that in London the trip would have set him back eight pence and the cabby said he should worry. I called to Jeeves. The old duke has arrived, Jeeves. Yes, sir. That'll be him at the door now. Jeeves made a long arm and opened the front door and the old boy crawled in looking licked to a splinter. How do you do, sir? I said, bustling up and being the ray of sunshine. Your nephew went down to the dock to meet you but you must have missed him. My name's Wooster, don't you know. Great pal of biggies and all that sort of thing. I'm staying with him, you know. Would you like a cup of tea? Jeeves, bring a cup of tea. Old Chiswick had sunk into an armchair and was looking about the room. Does this luxury flat belong to my nephew Francis? Absolutely. It must be terribly expensive. Pretty well, of course. Everything costs a lot over here, you know. He moaned. Jeeves filtered in with the tea. Old Chiswick took a stab at it to restore his tissues and nodded. A terrible country, Mr. Wooster. A terrible country. Nearly eight shillings for a short cab drive. Iniquitous. He took another look around the room. It seemed to fascinate him. Have you any idea how much my nephew pays for this flat, Mr. Wooster? About two hundred dollars a month, I believe. What? Forty pounds a month? I began to see that, unless I made the thing a bit more plausible, the scheme might turn out a frost. I could guess what the old boy was thinking. He was trying to square all the things he had to do with what he knew of poor old Bickey. And one had to admit that it took a lot of squaring. For dear old Bickey, though a stout fellow and absolutely unrivaled as an imitator of bull terriers and cats, was in many ways one of the most pronounced fat heads that ever pulled on a suit of Jantz underwear. I suppose it seems rummy to you, I said, but the fact is New York often bucks chappies up and makes them show a flash of speed that you wouldn't have imagined them capable of. It sort of develops them. Something in the air, don't you know? I imagine that Bickey in the past, when you knew him, may have been something of a chump. But it's quite different now. Devilish efficient sort of chappy and looked in on commercial circles as quite the nib. I'm amazed. What is the nature of my nephew's business, for sure? Oh, just business, don't you know? The same sort of thing Carnegie and Rockefeller and all those coves do, you know. I slid for the door. Awfully sorry to leave you, but I've got to meet some of the lads elsewhere. Coming out of the lift I met Bickey bustling in from the street. Hello, Bertie. I missed him, as he turned up. He's upstairs now, having some tea. What does he think of it all? He's absolutely rattled. Ripping. I'll be toddling up, then. Toodle-oo, Bertie, old man. See you later. Pip-pip, Bickey, dear boy.  It was latest in the evening when I looked in at the flat to dress for dinner. Where's everybody, Jeeves? I said, finding no little feet pattering about the place. Gone out? His grace desired to see some of the sights of the city, sir. Mr. Bickersteth is acting as his escort. I fancy their immediate objective was Grant's tomb. I suppose Mr. Bickersteth is a bit braced up the way things are going. What? Sir? I say, I take it that Mr. Bickersteth is tolerably full of beans. Not altogether, sir. What's his trouble now? The scheme which I took the liberty of suggesting to Mr. Bickersteth and yourself has, unfortunately, not answered entirely satisfactorily, sir. Surely that Duke believes that Mr. Bickersteth is doing well in business and all that sort of thing? Exactly, sir. With the result that he has decided to cancel Mr. Bickersteth's monthly allowance on the ground that, as Mr. Bickersteth is doing so well on his own account, he no longer requires pecuniary assistance. Great! Scott, Jeeves, this is awful. Somewhat disturbing, sir. I never expected anything like this. I confess, I scarcely anticipated the contingency myself, sir. I suppose it bold the poor blighter over, absolutely. Mr. Bickersteth appeared somewhat taken aback, sir. My heart bled for Bicky. We must do something, Jeeves. Yes, sir. Can you think of anything? Not at the moment, sir. There must be something we can do. It was a maxim of one of my former employers, sir, as I believe I mentioned to you once before at the present Lord Bridge North that there is always a way. I remember his lordship using the expression on the occasion he was then a business gentleman and had not yet received his title, when a patent hair-restorer which he chanced to be promoting failed to attract the public. He put it on the market under another name as a depilatory and amassed a substantial fortune. I have generally found his lordship's aphorism based on sound foundations. No doubt we shall be able to discover some solution of Mr. Bickersteth's difficulty, sir. Well, have a stab at it, Jeeves. I will spare no pains, sir. I went and dressed sadly. It will show you pretty well how pipped I was when I tell you that I near as toucher put on a white tie with a dinner jacket. I thought for a bit of food more to pass the time than because I wanted it. It seemed brutal to be waiting into the bill of fair with poor old Bicky headed for the bread-line. When I got back old Chiswick had gone to bed, but Bicky was there, hunched up in an armchair, brooding pretty intensely, with a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth and a more or less glassy stare in his eyes. He had the aspect of one who had been soaked with what the police called some blunt instrument. This is a bit thick, old thing, what, I said. He picked up his glass and drained it feverishly, overlooking the fact that it hadn't anything in it. I'm done, Bertie, he said. He had another go at the glass. It didn't seem to do him any good. If only this had happened a week later, Bertie. My next month's money was due to roll in on Saturday. On Saturdays I've been reading about in the magazine advertisements. It seems that you can make a dash at amount of money if you can only collect a few dollars and start a chicken farm. Jolly sound scheme, Bertie. Say you buy a hen. Call it one hen for the sake of argument. It lays an egg every day of the week. You sell the eggs, seven for twenty-five cents. Keep of hen costs nothing. Or look at it another way. Suppose you have a dozen eggs. Each of the hens has a dozen chickens. The chickens grow up and have more chickens. Why, in no time, you'd have the place covered knee-deep in hens, all laying eggs at twenty-five cents for every seven. You'd make a fortune. Jolly life, too, keeping hens. He began to get quite worked up at the thought of it, but he slopped back in his chair at this juncture for a while. But, of course, it's no good, he said, because I haven't got the cash. You've only got to say the word, you know, biggy old top. Thanks awfully, Bertie, but I'm not going to sponge on you. That's always the way of this world. The chapies you'd like to lend money to won't let you, whereas the chapies you don't want to lend it to will do everything except pockets. As a lad who's always rolled tolerably free in the right stuff, I've had lots of experience of the second class. Many's the time, back in London, I've hurried along Piccadilly and felt the hot breath of a toucher on the back of my neck and heard his sharp, excited yapping as he closed in on me. I've simply spent my life scattering largesse to blighters I didn't care a hang for. Well, there's only one hope then. What's that? Jeeves? Sir?  In this matter of shimmering into rooms the chapie is rummy to a degree. You're sitting in the old arm chair, thinking of this and that, and then you're sitting in the old armchair, thinking of this and that, and then you're sitting thinking of this and that, and then suddenly you look up and there he is. He moves from point to point with as little uproar as a jellyfish. The thing startled poor old Bicky considerably. He rose from his seat like a rocketing pheasant. I'm used to Jeeves now, but often in the days when he first came into me I've bitten my tongue freely on finding him unexpectedly in my midst. Sir? Oh, there you are, Jeeves. Precisely, sir. Jeeves, Mr. Brickerstaff is still up the pole. Any ideas? Why, yes, sir. Since we had our recent conversation I fancy I have found what may prove a solution. I do not wish to appear to be taking in liberty, sir, but I think that we have overlooked his grace's potentialities as laughed, what I have sometimes seen described as a hollow mocking-laugh, a sort of bitter cackle from the back of the throat, rather like a gargle. I do not elude, sir, explains Jeeves to the possibility of inducing his grace to part with money. I am taking the liberty of regarding his grace in the light of an at-present, if I may say so, useless property which is capable of being developed. Bicky looked at me in a helpless kind of way. I am bound to say I didn't get it myself. Could you make it a bit easier, Jeeves? In a nutshell, sir, what I mean is this. His grace is, in a sense, a prominent personage. The inhabitants of this country, as no doubt you are aware, sir, are peculiarly addicted to shaking hands with prominent personages. Do you mean to me that Mr. Bickesteth or yourself might know of persons who would be willing to pay a small fee, but to say, two dollars or three, for the privilege of an introduction, including handshake to his grace? Bicky didn't seem to think much of it. Do you mean to say that anyone would be mug enough to part with solid cash just to shake hands with my uncle? I have an aunt, sir, who paid five shillings to a young fellow for bringing a moving picture actor to tea at her house one Sunday. It gave her social standing among the neighbors. Bicky wavered. If you think it could be done, I feel convinced of it, sir. What do you think, Bertie? I'm for it, old boy. Absolutely. A very brainy wheeze. Thank you, sir. Is there anything further? Good night, sir. And he floated out, leaving us to discuss the details. Until we started this business of floating old chiswick as a money-making proposition, I had never realized what a perfectly foul time those stock exchange chappies must have when the public isn't biting freely. Nowadays I read that bit they put in the financial reports about the market open quietly in the pathetic eye. For, by Jove, it certainly opened quietly for us. You'd hardly believe how difficult it was to interest the public and make them take a flutter on the old boy. By the end of the week, the only name we had on our list was a delicatessen storekeeper down in Bicky's part of the town, and, as he wanted us to take it out in sliced ham instead of cash, that didn't help much. There was a gleam of light that the pawnbroker offered ten dollars, money down, for an introduction to old chiswick, but the deal fell through, owing to its turning out that the chap was an anarchist and intended to kick the old boy instead of shaking hands with him. At that it took me the deuce of a time to persuade Bicky not to grab the cash and let things take their course. He seemed to regard the pawnbroker's brother rather as a sportsman The whole thing I'm inclined to think would have been off if it hadn't been for jeevs. There is no doubt that jeevs is in a class of his own.  He trickled into my room one morning with a good old cup of tea and intimated that there was something doing. Might I speak to you with regard to the matter of his grace, sir? It's all off. We've decided to chuck it. Sir? It won't work. We can't get anybody to come. I fancy I can arrange that aspect of the matter, sir. Do you mean to say you've managed to get anybody? Yes, sir. Eighty-seven gentlemen from Birdsburg, sir. I sat up in bed and spilt the tea. Birdsburg? Birdsburg, Missouri, sir. How did you get them? I happened last night, sir, as you had intimated that you would be absent from home to attend a theatrical performance and entered into conversation between the acts with the occupant of the adjoining seat. I had observed that he was wearing a somewhat ornate decoration in his buttonhole, sir, a large blue button with the words Boost for Birdsburg on it in red letters, scarcely a judicious addition to a gentleman's evening costume. To my surprise I noticed that the auditorium was full of persons similarly decorated. I ventured to inquire the explanation and was informed that these gentlemen, forming a party of eighty-seven, are a convention from a town of the name of Birdsburg. I ventured to inquire the explanation and was informed that these gentlemen, forming a party of eighty-seven, are a convention from a town of the name of Birdsburg in the state of Missouri. Their visit I gathered was purely of a social and pleasurable nature and my informant spoke at some length of the entertainments arranged for their stay in the city. It was when he related with a considerable amount of satisfaction and pride that a deputation of their number had been introduced to and had shaken hands with a well-known prize fighter that it occurred to me to broach his grace. To make a long story short, sir, I have arranged subject to your approval that the entire convention shall be presented to his grace tomorrow afternoon. I was amazed. This chap was a Napoleon. Eighty-seven jeeps at how much ahead? I was obliged to agree to a reduction for a quantity, sir. The terms finally arrived at were one hundred and fifty dollars for the party. I thought a bit. Payable in advance? No, sir. I endeavored to obtain payment in advance but was not successful. Well, anyway, when we get it I'll make it up to five hundred. Bicky you'll never know. Do you suspect Mr. Bickersteth would suspect anything jeeves if I made it up to five hundred? I fancy not, sir. Mr. Bickersteth is an agreeable gentleman but not bright. All right then, after breakfast run down to the bank and get me some money. Yes, sir.  Thank you, sir. Righto, very good, sir. When I took dear old Bicky aside in the course of the morning and told him what had happened he nearly broke down. He tottered into the sitting-room and button-hold old Chiswick who was reading the comic section of Grimm Resolution. Uncle, he said, are you doing anything special tomorrow afternoon? I mean to say I've asked a few of my pals in to meet you, don't you know? The old boy cocked a speculative eye at him. There will be no reporters among them. Reporters? Rather not. Why? I refuse to be badgered by reporters. There were a number of adhesive young men who said from me my views on America while the boat was approaching the dock I will not be subjected to this persecution again. That'll be absolutely all right, Uncle. There won't be a newspaper man in the place. In that case I shall be glad to make the acquaintance of your friends. You'll shake hands with them and so forth? I shall naturally order my behavior according to the accepted rules of civilized intercourse. Bicky thanked him heartily and came off to lunch with me at the club, where he babbled freely of hens, incubators and other rotten things. After mature consideration we had decided to unleash the Birdsburg contingent on the old boy ten at a time. Jeeves brought his theater pal round to see us and we arranged the whole thing with him. A very decent chappy but rather inclined to color the conversation and turn it into the direction of his hometown's new water supply system. We settled that as an hour was about all he would be likely to stand each gang should consider itself entitled to seven minutes of the Duke's Society by Jeeves' stopwatch and that when their time was up Jeeves would slide into the room and cough meaningfully. Then we parted with what I believe are called mutual expressions of goodwill. The Birdsburg chappy extending a cordial invitation to us all to pop out some day and take a look at the new water supply system for which we thanked him. Next day the reputation rolled in. The first shift consisted of the cove we had met and nine others almost exactly like him in every respect. They all looked duly keen and business-like as if from youth up they had been working in the office and catching the boss's eye and what not. They shook hands with the old boy with a good deal of apparent satisfaction all except one chappy who seemed to be brooding about something and then they stood off and became chatty. What message have you for Birdsburg, Duke? asked our pal. The old boy seemed a bit rattled. I have never been to Birdsburg. Chappy seemed pained. You should pay it a visit, he said. The most rapidly growing city in the country. Boost for Birdsburg. Boost for Birdsburg! said the other chappies reverently. The chappy who had been brooding suddenly gave tongue. Say! He was a stout sort of well-fed cove with one of those determined chins and a cold eye. The assemblage looked at him. As a matter of business, said the chappy, mind you, I'm not questioning anybody's good faith but as a matter of strict business I think this gentleman here ought to put himself on record before witnesses as stating that he really is a duke. What do you mean, sir? cried the old boy, getting purple. No offense, simply business. I'm not saying anything, mind you, but there's one thing that seems kind of funny to me. This gentleman here says his name's Mr. Bickersteth as I understand it. Well, if you're the duke of Chiswick, why isn't he Lord Percy something? I've read English novels and I know all about it. This is monstrous. Now don't get hot under the collar. I'm only asking. I have a right to know. You're going to take our money so it's only fair that we should see it. The water-supplied cove chipped in. You're quite right, Sims. I overlooked that when making the agreement. You see, gentlemen, as businessmen we have a right to reasonable guarantees of good faith. We're paying Mr. Bickersteth here $150 for this reception and we naturally want to know. Old Chiswick gave Bicky a searching look. Then he turned to the water-supplied chappy. He was frightfully calm. I can assure you that I know nothing of this, he said quite politely. I should be grateful if you would explain. Well, we arranged with Mr. Bickersteth that 87 citizens of Birdsburg should have the privilege of meeting and shaking hands with you for a financial consideration mutually arranged. And what my friend Sims here means, and I'm with him, is that we have only Mr. Bickersteth's word for it. And he is a stranger to us that he is not a chiswick at all. Old Chiswick gulped. Allow me to assure you, sir, you said in a rummy kind of voice that I am the Duke of Chiswick. The mat's all right, said the chappy hardly. That was all we wanted to know.  I am sorry to say, said Old Chiswick, that it cannot go on. I am feeling a little tired. I fear I must ask to be excused. But there are 87 of the boys waiting around the corner at this moment, Duke, to be introduced to you. I fear I must disappoint them. But in that case, the deal would have to be off. That is a matter for you and my nephew to discuss. The chappy seemed troubled. You really won't meet the rest of them? No. Well then, I guess we'll be going. I was out, and there was a pretty solid silence. Then Old Chiswick turned to Bicky. Well... Bicky didn't seem to have anything to say. Was it true what that man said? Yes, Uncle. What do you mean by playing this trick? Bicky seemed pretty well knocked out, so I put in a word. I think you better explain the whole thing, Bicky, old top. Bicky's Adam's apple jumped about a bit, then he started. You see, you had cut off my allowance, Uncle, and I wanted a bit of money to start a chicken farm. I mean to say it's an absolute cert if you once get a bit of capital. You buy a hen, and it lays an egg every day of the week, and you sell the eggs, say, seven for twenty-five cents. Keep of the hens cost nothing, profit practically.  You led me to suppose you were a substantial business man. Old Bicky rather exaggerated, sir, I said, helping the chappy out. The fact is, the poor old lad is absolutely dependent on that remittance of yours, and when you cut it off, don't you know, he was pretty solidly in the soup, and had to think of some way of closing in on a bit of the ready pretty quick. That's why we thought of this handshaking scheme. Old Chiswick foamed at the mouth. So you have lied to me. You have deliberately deceived me as to your financial status. Poor old Bicky didn't want to go to that ranch, I explained. He doesn't like cows and horses, but he rather thinks he would be hot stuff among the hens. All he wants is a bit of capital. Don't you think it would be rather a wheeze if you were to after what has happened? After this? This deceit and futtery? Not a penny! But not a penny! There was a respectful cough in the background. If I might make a suggestion, sir. Jeeves was standing on the horizon looking devilish-brainy. Go ahead, Jeeves, I said. I would merely suggest, sir, that if Mr. Bicker's death is in need of a little ready money and is at a loss to obtain it elsewhere, he might secure the sum he requires by describing the occurrences of this afternoon for the Sunday issue of one of the more spirited and enterprising newspapers. By Jove, I said. By George, said Bicky. Great heavens, said old Chiswick. Very good, sir, said Jeeves. Bicky turned to old Chiswick with a gleaming eye. Jeeves is right. I'll do it. The Chronicle would jump at it. Old Chiswick gave a kind of moaning howl.  That's all very well, said Bicky, wonderfully braced, but if I can't get the money any other way, wait. Er, wait, my boy. You are so impetuous. We might arrange something. I won't go to that ballet ranch. No, no, no, no, my boy. I would suggest it. I would not for a moment suggest it. I, I think he seemed to have a bit of a struggle with himself. I, I think that on the whole, it would be best if you returned with me to England. I, I might. In fact, I think I see my way to doing to, I might be able to utilize your services in some secretarial position. I shouldn't mind that. I should not be able to offer you a salary, but as you know in English political life, the unpaid secretary is a recognized figure. The only figure I'll recognize, said Bicky firmly, is 500 quid a year, paid quarterly. My dear boy, absolutely. But your recompensed, my dear Francis, would consist in the unrivaled opportunities you would have, as my secretary to gain experience, to accustom yourself to the intricacies of political life, to, in fact, you would be in an exceedingly advantageous position. 500 a year, said Bicky, rolling it round his tongue. Why, that would be nothing to what I could make if I started a chicken farm. It stands to reason. Suppose you have a dozen hens. Each of the hens has a dozen chickens. After a bit the chickens grow up and have a couple chickens each themselves. And then they all start laying eggs. There's a fortune in it. You can get anything you like for eggs in America. Chappies keep them on ice for years and years and don't sell them till they fetch about a dollar a whirl. You'd think I'm going to chuck a future like this for anything under 500 goblins a year. What? A look of anguish passed over old Chiswick's face. Then he seemed to be resigned to it. Very well, my boy, he said. What, oh, said Bicky. All right, then. Jeeves, I said. Bicky had taken the old boy off to dinner to celebrate, and we were alone. Jeeves, this has been one of your best efforts. Thank you, sir. It beats me how you do it. Yes, sir. The only trouble is you haven't got much out of it, what? I fancy Mr. Bickersteth intends, I judge from his remarks, to signify his appreciation of anything I have been fortunate enough to do to assist him at some later date when he is in a more favorable position to do so. It isn't enough, Jeeves, sir. It was a wrench, but I felt it was the only possible thing to be done. Bring my shaving things. A gleam of hope shown in the chap's eyes, mixed with doubt. Mean, sir, and shave off my mustache. There was a moment's silence. I could see the fellow was deeply moved. Thank you very much indeed, sir, he said in a low voice and popped off. End of Jeeves and the hard-boiled egg. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, visit LibriVox.org My Man Jeeves by PG Wodehouse 4. Absent Treatment I want to tell you all about my dear old Bobby Cardew. It's a most interesting story. I can't put in any literary style and all that, but I don't have to, don't you know? Because it goes on its moral lesson.   If you're a recent acquaintance of Bobby's, you'll probably be surprised to hear that there was a time when he was more remarkable for the weakness of his memory than anything else. Dozens of fellows who have only taken place have been surprised when I told them that. Yes, it's true. Believe me. In the days when I first knew him, Bobby Cardew was about the most pronounced young rotter inside the four-mile radius. People have called me a silly ass, but I was never in the same class with Bobby.  Why, if I wanted him to dine with me, I used to post him a letter at the beginning of the week, and then the day before sent him a telegram and a phone call on the day itself, and half an hour before the time we'd fixed, a messenger in a taxi whose business it was to see that he got in and that the chauffeur had the address all correct. By doing this, I generally managed to get him, unless he had left town before my messenger arrived. The funny thing was that he wasn't altogether a fool in other ways. Deep down in him, there was a kind of stratum of sense. I had known him once or twice, show an almost human intelligence. But to reach that stratum, mind you, you needed dynamite. At least that's what I thought. But there was another way which hadn't occurred to me. Marriage, I mean. Marriage, the dynamite of the soul. That was what hit Bobby. He married. Have you ever seen a bull pup chasing a bee? The pup sees the bee, it looks good to him, but he still doesn't know what's at the end of it till he gets there. It was like that with Bobby. He fell in love, got married with a sort of whoop, as if it were the greatest fun in the world and then began to find out things. She wasn't the sort of girl you would have expected Bobby to rave about. And yet, I don't know. What I mean is, she worked for her living. And to a fellow who has never done a hands turn in his life, there's undoubtedly a sort of fascination, a kind of romance about a girl who works for her living. Her name was Anthony. Mary Anthony. She was about five feet six. She had a ton and a half of red gold hair, gray eyes and one of those determined chins. She was a hospital nurse. When Bobby smashed himself up at Polo she was told off by the authorities to smooth his brow and rally round with cooling engines and all like that. And the old boy hadn't been up and about again for more than a week before they'd popped off to the red stars and fixed it up. Quite the romance. Bobby broke the news to me at the club one evening and the next day he introduced me to her. I admired her. I've never worked myself. My name's Pepper, by the way. Almost forgot to mention it. Reggie Pepper. My uncle Edward was Pepper Wells & Company, the colliery people. He left me a sizable chunk of bullion. I say I've never worked myself but I admire anyone who earns a living under difficulties, especially a girl.  Mary and I got along splendidly. We don't now, but we'll come to that later. I'm speaking of the past. She seemed to think Bobby the greatest thing on earth, judging by the way she had looked at him when she thought I wasn't noticing and Bobby seemed to think the same about her. So that I came to the conclusion that if only dear old Bobby didn't forget to go to the wedding they had a sporting chance of being quite happy. Well, let's brisk it up a bit here and jump a year. The story doesn't really start till then. They took a flat and settled down. I was in and out of the place quite a good deal. I kept my eyes open and everything seemed to me to be running along as smoothly as you could want. If this was marriage I thought I couldn't see why fellows were so frightened of it. There were a lot worse things that could happen to a man. But we now come to the incident of the quiet dinner and it's just here that Love's young dream hits a snag and things begin to occur. I happened to meet Bobby in Piccadilly and he asked me to come back to dinner at the flat and like a fool instead of bolting and putting myself under police protection I went. When we got to the flat Mrs. Bobby looking well I tell you it staggered me. Her gold hair was all piled up in waves and crinkles and things with a what you call it of diamonds in it and she was wearing the most perfectly ripping dress. I couldn't begin to describe it. I can only say it was the limit. It struck me that if this was how she was in the habit of looking every night when they were dining quietly at home together it was no wonder that Bobby liked domesticity. Here's old Reggie dear said Bobby I brought him home to have a bit of dinner I'll phone down to the kitchen and ask them to send it up now, what? She stared at him as if she had never seen him before then she turned scarlet then she turned white as a sheet then she gave a little laugh it was most interesting to watch made me wish I was up a tree a hundred miles away then she recovered herself I'm so glad you were able to come Mr. Pepper, she said smiling at me and after that she was all right at least you would have said so she talked a lot at dinner and chafed Bobby and played us ragtime on the piano afterwards as if she hadn't a care in the world quite a jolly little party it was not. She played sleuth and all that sort of thing but I had seen her face at the beginning and I knew that she was working the whole time and working hard to keep herself in hand and that she would have given that diamond what it's name in her hair and everything else she possessed to have one good scream just one I've sat through some pretty thick evenings in my time but that one had the rest beaten in a canter grabbed my hat and got away having seen what I did I wasn't particularly surprised to meet Bobby at the club next day looking about as merry and bright as a lonely gumdrop at an Eskimo Tea Party we started in straight away he seemed glad to have someone to talk about it do you know how long I've been married he said I didn't exactly about a year isn't it not about a year he said sadly exactly a year yesterday then I understood I saw a light a regular flash of light yesterday was the anniversary of the wedding I'd arranged to take Mary to the Savoy and on to Covent Garden she particularly wanted to hear Caruso I had the ticket for the box in my pocket do you know all through dinner I had a kind of rummy idea that there was something I'd forgotten but I couldn't think what till your wife mentioned it he nodded she mentioned it he said thoughtfully I didn't ask for details women with hair and chins like Mary's maybe angels most of the time but when they take off their wings for a bit they aren't half-hearted about it to be absolutely frank old top said poor old Bobby in a broken sort of way my stock's pretty low at home there didn't seem much to be done I just lit a cigarette and sat there he didn't want to talk presently he went out I stood at the window of our upper smoking room which looks out on to Piccadilly and watched him wait for a few yards stopped then walked on again and finally turned into a jeweler's which is an instant of what I mean when I say that deep down in him there was a certain stratum of sense it was from now on that I began to be really interested in this problem of Bobby's married life of course one's always mildly interested in one's friend's marriages hoping they'll turn out well and all that but they weren't the average man isn't like Bobby and the average girl isn't like Mary it was like that old business of the immovable mass and the irresistible force there was Bobby ambling gently through life a dear old chap in a hundred ways but undoubtedly a chump of the first water and there was Mary determined that he shouldn't be a chump and nature, mind you on Bobby's side when nature makes a chump like dear old Bobby she's proud of him and doesn't want her handiwork disturbed she gives him a sort of natural armor to protect him against outside interference and that armor is shortness of memory shortness of memory keeps a man a chump when, but for it, he might cease to be one take my case for instance I'm a chump one of the things people have tried to teach me during my life my size in hats would be about number nine but I didn't I forgot them and it was just the same with Bobby for about a week perhaps a bit more the recollection of that quiet little domestic evening bucked him up like a tonic elephants, I read somewhere are champions at the memory business but they were fools to Bobby during that week but, bless you the shock wasn't nearly big enough it had dented the armor but it hadn't made a hole in it pretty soon he was back at the old game it was pathetic, don't you know the poor girl loved him and she was frightened it was the thin edge of the wedge, you see and she knew it a man who forgets what day he was married, when he's been married one year, will forget at about the end of the fourth that he's married at all if she meant to get him in hand at all she had got to do it now before he began to drift away I saw that clearly enough and I tried to make Bobby see it when he was by way of pouring out his troubles to me one afternoon I can't remember what it was that he had forgotten the day before but it was something she had asked him to bring home for her it may have been a book it's such a little thing to fuss about, said Bobby and she knows it simply because I've got such an infernal memory about everything, I can't remember anything, never could he talked on for a while and just as he was going he pulled out a couple of sovereigns oh, by the way, he said what's this for, I asked though I knew I owe it to you how's that, I said why, that bed on Tuesday Murray and Brown were playing a hundred up and I gave you two to one that Brown would win and Murray beat him by twenty odd so you do remember some things, I said he got quite excited said that if I thought he was the sort of rotter who forgot to pay when he lost a bet it was pretty rotten of me after knowing him all these years and a lot more like that subside, laddie, I said then I spoke to him like a father what you've got to do my old college chum, I said is to pull yourself together and jolly quick too as things are shaping you're due for a nasty knock before you know what's hit you you've got to make an effort don't say you can't this two-quid business shows that even if your memory is rocky you can remember some things what you've got to do is to see that wedding anniversaries are included on the list it may be a brain strain but you can't get out of it I suppose you're right, said Bobby but it beats me why she thinks such a lot of these rotten little dates what's it matter if I forgot what day we were married on or what day she was born on or what day the cat had the measles she knows I love her just as much as if I were a memorizing freak at the halls that's not enough for a woman I said they want to be shown bear that in mind and you'll be all right forget it and there'll be trouble he chewed the knob of his stick women are frightfully rummy he said gloomily you should have thought of that before you married one, I said I don't see that I could have done anymore I'd put the whole thing in a nutshell for him you would have thought he would have seen the point and that it would have made him brace up and get a hold of himself but no off he went again in the same old way I gave up arguing with him I had a good deal of time on my hands but not enough to amount to anything when it was a question of reforming dear old Bobby by argument if you see a man asking for trouble and insisting on getting it the only thing to do is to stand by and wait till it comes to him after that you may get a chance but till then there's nothing to be done but I thought a lot about him Bobby didn't get into the soup all at once weeks went by and months and still nothing happened now and then he'd come into the club with a kind of cloud on his shiny morning face and I'd known that there had been doings in the home but it wasn't till well on in the spring that he got the thunderbolt just where he'd been asking for it in the thorax I was smoking a quiet cigarette one morning on the window looking out over Piccadilly and watching the buses and motors going up one way and down the other most interesting it is I often do it when in rushed Bobby with his eyes bulging and his face the color of an oyster waving a piece of paper in his hand Reggie he said the old top she's gone gone I said who Mary of course gone left me gone where I said silly question perhaps you're right anyhow dear old Bobby nearly foamed at the mouth where how should I know where here read this he pushed the paper into my hand it was a letter go on said Bobby read it so I did it certainly was quite a letter there was not much of it but it was all to the point this is what it said my dear Bobby I am going away when you care enough about me to remember to wish me many happy returns on my birthday I will come back my address will be box 341 London morning news I read it twice then I said why don't you why don't I what why don't you wish her many happy returns it doesn't seem much to ask but she says on her birthday well when is her birthday can't you understand said Bobby I've forgotten forgotten I said yes said Bobby forgotten what do you mean forgotten I said forgotten whether it's the 21st or what how near do you get to it I know it came somewhere between the 1st of January and the 31st of December that's how near I get to it think think what's the use of saying think think I haven't thought I've been knocking sparks out of my brain ever since I opened that letter and you can't remember no well Bobby I said it's a pretty hard case to spring on an untrained amateur like me suppose someone had come to Sherlock Ohms and said Mr. Holmes here's a case for you when is my wife's birthday wouldn't that have given Sherlock a jolt however I know enough about the game to understand that a fellow can't shoot off his deductive theories unless you start him with a clue rouse yourself out of that Popeye trance and come across with two or three for instance can't you remember the last time she had a birthday what sort of weather was it that might fix the month Bobby shook his head it was just ordinary weather as near as I can recollect warm warmish or cold well fairly cold I perhaps I can't remember I ordered two more of the same they seemed indicated in the young detective's manual you're a great help Bobby I said an invaluable assistant one of those indispensable adjuncts without which no home is complete Bobby seemed to be thinking I've got it he said suddenly look here I gave her a present on her last birthday all we have to do is go to the shop find up the date when it was bought and the things done absolutely what did you give her he sagged I can't remember he said getting ideas is like golf some days you're right off others it's as easy as falling off a log I don't suppose dear old Bobby had ever had two ideas in the same morning before in his life but now he did it without an effort he just loosed another dry martini into the undergrowth and before you could turn around it had fleshed quite a brain wave do you know those little books called when you were born there's one for each month they tell you your character your talents your strong points and your weak points at four pence half penny a go Bobby's idea was to buy the whole 12 and go through them till we found out which month hit off Mary's character that would give us the month and there were down a whole lot a pretty hot idea for a non-thinker like dear old Bobby we salad out at once he took half and I took half and we settled down to work as I say it sounded good but when we came into the thing we saw that there was a flaw there was plenty of information all right but there wasn't a single month that didn't have something that exactly hit off Mary for instance in the December book it said December people are apt to keep their own secrets they are extensive travelers well Mary had certainly kept her secret and she had traveled quite extensively enough for Bobby's needs then October people were born with original ideas and loved moving you couldn't have summed up Mary's little jaunt more neatly February people had wonderful memories Mary's speciality we took a bit of a rest then had another go at the thing Bobby was all for May because the book said that women born in that month were inclined to be capricious which is always a barrier to a happy married life but I plumped for February because February women are unusually determined to have their own way are very earnest and expect a full return in their companion or mates which he owned was about as like Mary as anything could be in the end he tore the books up stamped on them, burnt them and went home it was wonderful what a change the next few days made in dear old Bobby have you ever seen that picture the soul's awakening it represents a flapper of sorts gazing in a startled sort of way into the middle distance with a look in her eyes that seems to say surely that is George's step I hear on the mat can this be love well Bobby had a soul's awakening too I don't suppose he had ever trouble to think in his life before, not really think but now he was wearing his brain to the bone it was painful in a way of course to see a fellow human being so thoroughly in the soup and I felt strongly that it was all for the best I could see as plainly as possible that all these brainstorms were improving Bobby out of knowledge when it was all over he might possibly become a rotter again of a sort but it would only be a pale reflection of the rotter he had been it bore out the idea I had always had that what he needed was a really good jolt I saw a great deal of him these days I was his best friend and he came to me for sympathy for him too with both hands but I never failed to hand him the moral lesson when I had him weak one day he came to me as I was sitting in the club and I could see that he had had an idea he looked happier than he'd done in weeks Reggie he said I'm on the trail this time I'm convinced that I shall pull it off I've remembered something of vital importance yes I said I remember distinctly he said that on Mary's last birthday we went together to the Coliseum how does that hit you it's a fine bit of memorizing I said but how does it help why they change the program every week there I said now you're talking and the week we went one of the turns was Professor someone's Terpsichorean cats I recollect them distinctly now are we narrowing it down or aren't we Reggie I'm going round to the Coliseum this minute and I'm going to dig the date of those Terpsichorean cats out of them if I have to use a crowbar so that got him within six days for the management treated us like brothers brought out the archives and ran agile fingers over the pages till they treat the cats in the middle of May I told you it was May said Bobby maybe you'll listen to me another time if you've any sense I said there won't be another time and Bobby said that there wouldn't once you get your money on the run it parts as if it enjoyed doing it I had just got off to sleep that night when my telephone bell rang it was Bobby of course he didn't apologize Reggie he said I've got it now for certain it's just come to me we saw those Terpsichorean cats in a old man yes I said well don't you see that that brings it down to two days it must have been either Wednesday the 7th or Saturday the 10th yes I said if they didn't have Daddy Matinees at the Coliseum I heard him give a sort of howl Bobby I said my feet were freezing but I was fond of him well I've remembered something too it's this when you went to the Coliseum I'd lunched with you both at the Ritz you had forgotten to bring any money with you so you wrote a check but I'm always writing checks you are but this was for a tenner and made out to the hotel hunt up your checkbook and see how many checks for ten pounds payable to the Ritz hotel you wrote out between May the 5th and May the 10th he gave a kind of gulp Reggie he said I've always said so I believe you've got it hold the line presently he came back again hello he said I'm here I said it was the 8th Reggie old man I topping I said good night it was working along into the small hours now but I thought I might as well make a night of it and finish the thing up so I rang up and hotel near the Strand put me through to Mrs. Cardew I said it's late said the man at the other end and getting later every minute I said buck along laddie I waited patiently I had missed my beauty sleep and my feet had frozen hard but I was past regrets what is the matter said Mary's voice my feet are cold I said but I didn't call you up to tell you that particularly I've just been chatting with Bobby Mrs. Cardew oh is that Mr. Pepper yes he's remembered it Mrs. Cardew she gave a sort of scream I've often thought how interesting it must be to be one of those exchange girls the things they must hear don't you know Bobby's howl and gulp and Mrs. Bobby's scream and all about my feet and all that most interesting it must be he's remembered it she gasped did you tell him no well I hadn't Mr. Pepper yes has he been was he very worried I chuckled this was where I was billed to be the life and soul of the party worried he was about the most worried man between here and Edinburgh he has been worrying as if he was paid to do it by the nation he has started out to worry after breakfast and oh well you can never tell with women my idea was that we should pass the rest of the night slapping each other on the back across the wire and telling each other what ballet brainy conspirators we were don't you know and all that but I got just as far as this when she bit at me absolutely I heard the snap and then she said oh in that choked kind o