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Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
118
“Yes,
sir.”
“Burnish
the
brain
a
bit
and
endeavour
to
find
the
way
out.”
“Yes,
sir.”
“Well,
good
night,
Jeeves.”
“Good
night,
sir.”
He
shimmered
off,
leaving
a
pensive
Bertram
Wooster
standing
motionless
in
the
shadows.
It
seemed
to
me
that
it
was
hard
to
know
what
to
do
for
the
best.
-12-
I
don’t
know
if
it
has
happened
to
you
at
all,
but
a
thing
I’ve
noticed
with
myself
is
that,
when
I’m
confronted
by
a
problem
which
seems
for
the
moment
to
stump
and
baffle,
a
good
sleep
will
often
bring
the
solution
in
the
morning.
It
was
so
on
the
present
occasion.
The
nibs
who
study
these
matters
claim,
I
believe,
that
this
has
got
something
to
do
with
the
subconscious
mind,
and
very
possibly
they
may
be
right.
I
wouldn’t
have
said
off-hand
that
I
had
a
subconscious
mind,
but
I
suppose
I
must
without
knowing
it,
and
no
doubt
it
was
there,
sweating
away
diligently
at
the
old
stand,
all
the
while
the
corporeal
Wooster
was
getting
his
eight
hours.
For
directly
I
opened
my
eyes
on
the
morrow,
I
saw
daylight.
Well,
I
don’t
mean
that
exactly,
because
naturally
I
did.
What
I
mean
is
that
I
found
I
had
the
thing
all
mapped
out.
The
good
old
subconscious
m.
had
delivered
the
goods,
and
I
perceived
exactly
what
steps
must
be
taken
in
order
to
put
Augustus
Fink-Nottle
among
the
practising
Romeos.
I
should
like
you,
if
you
can
spare
me
a
moment
of
your
valuable
time,
to
throw
your
mind
back
to
that
conversation
he
and
I
had
had
in
the
garden
on
the
previous
evening.
Not
the
glimmering
landscape
bit,
I
don’t
mean
that,
but
the
concluding
passages
of
it.
Having
done
so,
you
will
recall
that
when
he
informed
me
that
he
never
touched
alcoholic
liquor,
I
shook
the
head
a
bit,
feeling
that
this
must
inevitably
weaken
him
as
a
force
where
proposing
to
girls
was
concerned.
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