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264
Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
1
RIGHT
HO,
JEEVES
By
P.
G.
WODEHOUSE
To
RAYMOND
NEEDHAM,
K.C.
WITH
AFFECTION
AND
ADMIRATION
-1-
“Jeeves,”
I
said,
“may
I
speak
frankly?”
“Certainly,
sir.”
“What
I
have
to
say
may
wound
you.”
“Not
at
all,
sir.”
“Well,
then----”
No--wait.
Hold
the
line
a
minute.
I’ve
gone
off
the
rails.
I
don’t
know
if
you
have
had
the
same
experience,
but
the
snag
I
always
come
up
against
when
I’m
telling
a
story
is
this
dashed
difficult
problem
of
where
to
begin
it.
It’s
a
thing
you
don’t
want
to
go
wrong
over,
because
one
false
step
and
you’re
sunk.
I
mean,
if
you
fool
about
too
long
at
the
start,
trying
to
establish
atmosphere,
as
they
call
it,
and
all
that
sort
of
rot,
you
fail
to
grip
and
the
customers
walk
out
on
you.
Get
off
the
mark,
on
the
other
hand,
like
a
scalded
cat,
and
your
public
is
at
a
loss.
It
simply
raises
its
eyebrows,
and
can’t
make
out
what
you’re
talking
about.
And
in
opening
my
report
of
the
complex
case
of
Gussie
Fink-Nottle,
Madeline
Bassett,
my
Cousin
Angela,
my
Aunt
Dahlia,
my
Uncle
Thomas,
young
Tuppy
Glossop
and
the
cook,
Anatole,
with
the
above
spot
of
dialogue,
I
see
that
I
have
made
the
second
of
these
two
floaters.
I
shall
have
to
hark
back
a
bit.
And
taking
it
for
all
in
all
and
weighing
this
against
that,
I
suppose
the
affair
may
be
said
to
have
had
its
inception,
if
inception
is
the
word
I
want,
with
that
visit
of
mine
to
Cannes.
If
I
hadn’t
gone
to
Cannes,
I
shouldn’t
have
met
the
Bassett
or
bought
that
white
mess
jacket,
and
Angela
wouldn’t
have
met
her
shark,
and
Aunt
Dahlia
wouldn’t
have
played
baccarat.
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