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264
Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
133
“Well,
sir----”
“Jeeves!”
“I
beg
your
pardon,
sir.
The
expression
escaped
me
inadvertently.
What
I
intended
to
say,
since
you
press
me,
was
that
the
action
which
you
propose
does
seem
to
me
somewhat
injudicious.”
“Injudicious?
I
don’t
follow
you,
Jeeves.”
“A
certain
amount
of
risk
would
enter
into
it,
in
my
opinion,
sir.
It
is
not
always
a
simple
matter
to
gauge
the
effect
of
alcohol
on
a
subject
unaccustomed
to
such
stimulant.
I
have
known
it
to
have
distressing
results
in
the
case
of
parrots.”
“Parrots?”
“I
was
thinking
of
an
incident
of
my
earlier
life,
sir,
before
I
entered
your
employment.
I
was
in
the
service
of
the
late
Lord
Brancaster
at
the
time,
a
gentleman
who
owned
a
parrot
to
which
he
was
greatly
devoted,
and
one
day
the
bird
chanced
to
be
lethargic,
and
his
lordship,
with
the
kindly
intention
of
restoring
it
to
its
customary
animation,
offered
it
a
portion
of
seed
cake
steeped
in
the
’84
port.
The
bird
accepted
the
morsel
gratefully
and
consumed
it
with
every
indication
of
satisfaction.
Almost
immediately
afterwards,
however,
its
manner
became
markedly
feverish.
Having
bitten
his
lordship
in
the
thumb
and
sung
part
of
a
sea-chanty,
it
fell
to
the
bottom
of
the
cage
and
remained
there
for
a
considerable
period
of
time
with
its
legs
in
the
air,
unable
to
move.
I
merely
mention
this,
sir,
in
order
to----”
I
put
my
finger
on
the
flaw.
I
had
spotted
it
all
along.
“But
Gussie
isn’t
a
parrot.”
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