Lab
Library
Journal
Shop
Sign in
to keep
Share image
1
264
Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
120
“Stap
my
vitals,
Tuppy,
old
corpse,”
I
said,
concerned,
“you’re
looking
pretty
blue
round
the
rims.”
Jeeves
slid
from
the
presence
in
that
tactful,
eel-like
way
of
his,
and
I
motioned
the
remains
to
take
a
seat.
“What’s
the
matter?”
I
said.
He
came
to
anchor
on
the
bed,
and
for
awhile
sat
picking
at
the
coverlet
in
silence.
“I’ve
been
through
hell,
Bertie.”
“Through
where?”
“Hell.”
“Oh,
hell?
And
what
took
you
there?”
Once
more
he
became
silent,
staring
before
him
with
sombre
eyes.
Following
his
gaze,
I
saw
that
he
was
looking
at
an
enlarged
photograph
of
my
Uncle
Tom
in
some
sort
of
Masonic
uniform
which
stood
on
the
mantelpiece.
I’ve
tried
to
reason
with
Aunt
Dahlia
about
this
photograph
for
years,
placing
before
her
two
alternative
suggestions:
(a)
To
burn
the
beastly
thing;
or
(b)
if
she
must
preserve
it,
to
shove
me
in
another
room
when
I
come
to
stay.
But
she
declines
to
accede.
She
says
it’s
good
for
me.
A
useful
discipline,
she
maintains,
teaching
me
that
there
is
a
darker
side
to
life
and
that
we
were
not
put
into
this
world
for
pleasure
only.
“Turn
it
to
the
wall,
if
it
hurts
you,
Tuppy,”
I
said
gently.
“Eh?”
“That
photograph
of
Uncle
Tom
as
the
bandmaster.”
“I
didn’t
come
here
to
talk
about
photographs.
I
came
for
sympathy.”
“And
you
shall
have
it.
What’s
the
trouble?
Worrying
about
Angela,
I
suppose?
Well,
have
no
fear.
I
have
another
well-laid
plan
for
encompassing
that
young
shrimp.
I’ll
guarantee
that
she
will
be
weeping
on
your
neck
before
yonder
sun
has
set.”
Marker
Marker
Fine marker
White-out
Fine white-out
Circle
Paint
Unmarker
Hand
Scalpel
Dice
Sieve
Purify
Undo
Redo
Start over
