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264
Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
13
“Yes,
Jeeves?”
I
said.
“Something
on
your
mind,
Jeeves?”
“I
fear
that
you
inadvertently
left
Cannes
in
the
possession
of
a
coat
belonging
to
some
other
gentleman,
sir.”
I
switched
on
the
steely
a
bit
more.
“No,
Jeeves,”
I
said,
in
a
level
tone,
“the
object
under
advisement
is
mine.
I
bought
it
out
there.”
“You
wore
it,
sir?”
“Every
night.”
“But
surely
you
are
not
proposing
to
wear
it
in
England,
sir?”
I
saw
that
we
had
arrived
at
the
nub.
“Yes,
Jeeves.”
“But,
sir----”
“You
were
saying,
Jeeves?”
“It
is
quite
unsuitable,
sir.”
“I
do
not
agree
with
you,
Jeeves.
I
anticipate
a
great
popular
success
for
this
jacket.
It
is
my
intention
to
spring
it
on
the
public
tomorrow
at
Pongo
Twistleton’s
birthday
party,
where
I
confidently
expect
it
to
be
one
long
scream
from
start
to
finish.
No
argument,
Jeeves.
No
discussion.
Whatever
fantastic
objection
you
may
have
taken
to
it,
I
wear
this
jacket.”
“Very
good,
sir.”
He
went
on
with
his
unpacking.
I
said
no
more
on
the
subject.
I
had
won
the
victory,
and
we
Woosters
do
not
triumph
over
a
beaten
foe.
Presently,
having
completed
my
toilet,
I
bade
the
man
a
cheery
farewell
and
in
generous
mood
suggested
that,
as
I
was
dining
out,
why
didn’t
he
take
the
evening
off
and
go
to
some
improving
picture
or
something.
Sort
of
olive
branch,
if
you
see
what
I
mean.
He
didn’t
seem
to
think
much
of
it.
“Thank
you,
sir,
I
will
remain
in.”
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