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He shimmered out, and I sat up in bed with that rather unpleasant feeling you get sometimes that you’re going to die in about five minutes.
I loosed it down the hatch, and after undergoing the passing discomfort, unavoidable when you drink Jeeves’s patent morning revivers, of having the top of the skull fly up to the ceiling and the eyes shoot out of their sockets and rebound from the opposite wall like racquet balls, felt better.
I threw my mind back to the binge in question. As far as I could recollect, Gussie had been the same fish-faced freak I had always known.
he had a grip like the bite of a horse.
“Too bad. Still, all flesh is as grass, what?” “Very true, sir.”
“Far from mutual, Jeeves, that desire. I will confess frankly that I am not looking forward to the séance.”
The pang of compash became more acute. I heaved a silent sigh. It was to be my mournful task to administer to this old friend a very substantial sock on the jaw, and I shrank from it.
“I do not propose to. It is for you, my suffering old martyr at the stake, that I require the stuff.” “I don’t drink brandy.”
It has often been said that disaster brings out the best in the Woosters. A strange calm descended on me. I patted his shoulder. “Courage, Gussie! Think of Archimedes.” “Why?” “He was killed by a common soldier.” “What of it?” “Well, it can’t have been pleasant for him, but I have no doubt he passed out smiling.”
You know what engaged couples are like in mixed company, as a rule. They put their heads together and converse in whispers. They slap and giggle. They pat and prod. I have even known the female member of the duo to feed her companion with a fork.
when he asked her to pass the salt, and she passed the pepper, and he said “I meant the salt,” and she said “Oh, really?” and passed the mustard.
and stap my vitals if the first thing I beheld on entering wasn’t the man in person. He was standing by the bed, knotting sheets.
He seemed to have grown a bit since our last meeting, being now about eight foot six, and had my advices in re getting the bulge on him proceeded from a less authoritative source, his aspect might have intimidated me quite a good deal.
I could not resist shooting a swift glance at Gussie, to see how he was taking all this, and was pleased to note on his face the burgeoning of a look of worshipping admiration, such as a distressed damsel of the Middle Ages might have directed at a knight on observing him getting down to brass
It was stupendous. I felt like one of those chaps who press buttons and explode mines.
Gird up your loins, Jeeves, and accompany me.”
looking at us from under his eyebrows like a Scottish elder rebuking sin from the pulpit.
Totleigh Towers is not far short of being a lazar house.”
“I assure you, Jeeves. You could wish no better weapon than a sheet. There are some on the bed.”
will meet you half-way and not drop salt into the wound by looking at you as if he were asking if you were saved. It was in
(Keeping it light, you notice. Always the best way on these occasions). “He took our entrance in the wrong spirit.”
“Yes. Would it be asking too much of you to attach a stout lead to his collar, thus making the world safe for democracy?” “Yes, it would.”
Reluctant as one always is to criticize the acts of an all-wise Providence, I was dashed if I could see why a dog of his size should have been fitted out with the jaws and teeth of a crocodile. Still, too late of course to do anything about it now.
These Scotties are philosophers, well able to adapt themselves to changing conditions. They can take it as well as dish it out.
“I hear you’re a curate now.” “Yes, that’s right.” “How are the souls?” “Oh, fine, thanks.”
They like to think of him as a chap who preaches about Hivites, Jebusites and what not, speaks the word in season to the backslider, conveys soup and blankets to the deserving bed-ridden, and all that sort of thing. When they find him de-helmeting policemen, they look at one another with the raised eyebrow of censure, and ask themselves if he is quite the right man for the job. That was what was bothering Stinker and preventing him being the old effervescent curate whose jolly laugh had made the last School Treat go with such a bang.
“of your underhanded skulduggery.” “I don’t see why you call it underhanded skullduggery.”
He eats it alive.
“It won’t be any worse than a visit to the dentist.” “It’ll be worse than six visits to six dentists.”
Well, God bless the clergy, say I. A fine body of men.
It was a most improper way of addressing Jeeves, but the faithful fellow did not appear to resent it. “Sir?”
