The Code of the Woosters

by P.G. Wodehouse

Oh, and give this to Jeeves, when you see him. It’s the “Husbands’ Corner” article. It’s full of deep stuff about braid on the side of men’s dress trousers, and I’d like him to vet it. For all I know, it may be Red propaganda.

It just shows you how true it is that one-half of the world doesn’t know how the other three-quarters lives.

We Woosters are pretty quick. I don’t suppose it was more than a couple of minutes before I figured out what she meant. I

Stiffy has gone to the Working Men’s Institute, and won’t be back for ages. It’s absurd to suppose that a gaggle of Village Mothers are going to be sated with coloured slides of the Holy Land, plus piano accompaniment, in anything under two hours. So now is the time to operate while the coast is clear. Gird up your loins, Jeeves, and accompany me.’

We climbed down, and I came forward with outstretched hand, anxious to get the reunion going. ‘What ho, Stinker.’ ‘Hullo, Bertie.’ ‘Long time since we met.’ ‘It is a bit, isn’t it?’ ‘I hear you’re a curate now.’ ‘Yes, that’s right.’ ‘How are the souls?’ ‘Oh, fine, thanks.’