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264
Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
101
“I
beg
your
pardon?”
she
said.
I
waved
a
jaunty
hand.
“Nothing,”
I
said.
“Nothing.
Just
remembered
there’s
a
letter
I
have
to
write
tonight
without
fail.
If
you
don’t
mind,
I
think
I’ll
be
going
in.
Here,”
I
said,
“comes
Gussie
Fink-Nottle.
He
will
look
after
you.”
And,
as
I
spoke,
Gussie
came
sidling
out
from
behind
a
tree.
I
passed
away
and
left
them
to
it.
As
regards
these
two,
everything
was
beyond
a
question
absolutely
in
order.
All
Gussie
had
to
do
was
keep
his
head
down
and
not
press.
Already,
I
felt,
as
I
legged
it
back
to
the
house,
the
happy
ending
must
have
begun
to
function.
I
mean
to
say,
when
you
leave
a
girl
and
a
man,
each
of
whom
has
admitted
in
set
terms
that
she
and
he
loves
him
and
her,
in
close
juxtaposition
in
the
twilight,
there
doesn’t
seem
much
more
to
do
but
start
pricing
fish
slices.
Something
attempted,
something
done,
seemed
to
me
to
have
earned
two-penn’orth
of
wassail
in
the
smoking-room.
I
proceeded
thither.
-11-
The
makings
were
neatly
laid
out
on
a
side-table,
and
to
pour
into
a
glass
an
inch
or
so
of
the
raw
spirit
and
shoosh
some
soda-water
on
top
of
it
was
with
me
the
work
of
a
moment.
This
done,
I
retired
to
an
arm-chair
and
put
my
feet
up,
sipping
the
mixture
with
carefree
enjoyment,
rather
like
Caesar
having
one
in
his
tent
the
day
he
overcame
the
Nervii.
As
I
let
the
mind
dwell
on
what
must
even
now
be
taking
place
in
that
peaceful
garden,
I
felt
bucked
and
uplifted.
Though
never
for
an
instant
faltering
in
my
opinion
that
Augustus
Fink-Nottle
was
Nature’s
final
word
in
cloth-headed
guffins,
I
liked
the
man,
wished
him
well,
and
could
not
have
felt
more
deeply
involved
in
the
success
of
his
wooing
if
I,
and
not
he,
had
been
under
the
ether.
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