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264
Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
123
“‘What
sort
of
noises?’
said
your
aunt.
‘Funny
noises,’
said
your
uncle.
Whereupon
Angela--with
a
nasty,
steely
tinkle
in
her
voice,
the
little
buzzard--observed,
‘I
expect
it
was
Mr.
Glossop
eating.’
And
then
she
did
give
me
a
look.
It
was
the
sort
of
wondering,
revolted
look
a
very
spiritual
woman
would
give
a
fat
man
gulping
soup
in
a
restaurant.
The
kind
of
look
that
makes
a
fellow
feel
he’s
forty-six
round
the
waist
and
has
great
rolls
of
superfluous
flesh
pouring
down
over
the
back
of
his
collar.
And,
still
speaking
in
the
same
unpleasant
tone,
she
added,
‘I
ought
to
have
told
you,
father,
that
Mr.
Glossop
always
likes
to
have
a
good
meal
three
or
four
times
during
the
night.
It
helps
to
keep
him
going
till
breakfast.
He
has
the
most
amazing
appetite.
See,
he
has
practically
finished
a
large
steak-and-kidney
pie
already’.”
As
he
spoke
these
words,
a
feverish
animation
swept
over
Tuppy.
His
eyes
glittered
with
a
strange
light,
and
he
thumped
the
bed
violently
with
his
fist,
nearly
catching
me
a
juicy
one
on
the
leg.
“That
was
what
hurt,
Bertie.
That
was
what
stung.
I
hadn’t
so
much
as
started
on
that
pie.
But
that’s
a
woman
all
over.”
“The
eternal
feminine.”
“She
continued
her
remarks.
‘You’ve
no
idea,’
she
said,
‘how
Mr.
Glossop
loves
food.
He
just
lives
for
it.
He
always
eats
six
or
seven
meals
a
day,
and
then
starts
in
again
after
bedtime.
I
think
it’s
rather
wonderful.’
Your
aunt
seemed
interested,
and
said
it
reminded
her
of
a
boa
constrictor.
Angela
said,
didn’t
she
mean
a
python?
And
then
they
argued
as
to
which
of
the
two
it
was.
Your
uncle,
meanwhile,
poking
about
with
that
damned
pistol
of
his
till
human
life
wasn’t
safe
in
the
vicinity.
And
the
pie
lying
there
on
the
table,
and
me
unable
to
touch
it.
You
begin
to
understand
why
I
said
I
had
been
through
hell.”
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