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264
Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
121
He
barked
sharply.
“A
fat
chance!”
“Tup,
Tushy!”
“Eh?”
“I
mean
‘Tush,
Tuppy.’
I
tell
you
I
will
do
it.
I
was
just
going
to
describe
this
plan
of
mine
to
Jeeves
when
you
came
in.
Care
to
hear
it?”
“I
don’t
want
to
hear
any
of
your
beastly
plans.
Plans
are
no
good.
She’s
gone
and
fallen
in
love
with
this
other
bloke,
and
now
hates
my
gizzard.”
“Rot.”
“It
isn’t
rot.”
“I
tell
you,
Tuppy,
as
one
who
can
read
the
female
heart,
that
this
Angela
loves
you
still.”
“Well,
it
didn’t
look
much
like
it
in
the
larder
last
night.”
“Oh,
you
went
to
the
larder
last
night?”
“I
did.”
“And
Angela
was
there?”
“She
was.
And
your
aunt.
Also
your
uncle.”
I
saw
that
I
should
require
foot-notes.
All
this
was
new
stuff
to
me.
I
had
stayed
at
Brinkley
Court
quite
a
lot
in
my
time,
but
I
had
no
idea
the
larder
was
such
a
social
vortex.
More
like
a
snack
bar
on
a
race-course
than
anything
else,
it
seemed
to
have
become.
“Tell
me
the
whole
story
in
your
own
words,”
I
said,
“omitting
no
detail,
however
apparently
slight,
for
one
never
knows
how
important
the
most
trivial
detail
may
be.”
He
inspected
the
photograph
for
a
moment
with
growing
gloom.
“All
right,”
he
said.
“This
is
what
happened.
You
know
my
views
about
that
steak-and-kidney
pie.”
“Quite.”
“Well,
round
about
one
a.m.
I
thought
the
time
was
ripe.
I
stole
from
my
room
and
went
downstairs.
The
pie
seemed
to
beckon
me.”
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