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Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
127
“Quite
correct,
sir.
The
poet
Scott----”
“Right
ho,
Jeeves.”
“Very
good,
sir.”
“And
in
order
to
bring
that
old
love
whizzing
to
the
surface
once
more,
all
that
is
required
is
the
proper
treatment.”
“By
‘proper
treatment,’
sir,
you
mean----”
“Clever
handling,
Jeeves.
A
spot
of
the
good
old
snaky
work.
I
see
what
must
be
done
to
jerk
my
Cousin
Angela
back
to
normalcy.
I’ll
tell
you,
shall
I?”
“If
you
would
be
so
kind,
sir.”
I
lit
a
cigarette,
and
eyed
him
keenly
through
the
smoke.
He
waited
respectfully
for
me
to
unleash
the
words
of
wisdom.
I
must
say
for
Jeeves
that--till,
as
he
is
so
apt
to
do,
he
starts
shoving
his
oar
in
and
cavilling
and
obstructing--he
makes
a
very
good
audience.
I
don’t
know
if
he
is
actually
agog,
but
he
looks
agog,
and
that’s
the
great
thing.
“Suppose
you
were
strolling
through
the
illimitable
jungle,
Jeeves,
and
happened
to
meet
a
tiger
cub.”
“The
contingency
is
a
remote
one,
sir.”
“Never
mind.
Let
us
suppose
it.”
“Very
good,
sir.”
“Let
us
now
suppose
that
you
sloshed
that
tiger
cub,
and
let
us
suppose
further
that
word
reached
its
mother
that
it
was
being
put
upon.
What
would
you
expect
the
attitude
of
that
mother
to
be?
In
what
frame
of
mind
do
you
consider
that
that
tigress
would
approach
you?”
“I
should
anticipate
a
certain
show
of
annoyance,
sir.”
“And
rightly.
Due
to
what
is
known
as
the
maternal
instinct,
what?”
“Yes,
sir.”
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