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Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
136
“I
am
sorry,
sir.”
“It
is
quite
all
right,
Jeeves,
quite
all
right.
I
am
not
angry,
only
a
little
hurt.”
“Very
good,
sir.”
“Right
ho,
Jeeves.”
-14-
Investigation
proved
that
the
friends
Angela
had
gone
to
spend
the
day
with
were
some
stately-home
owners
of
the
name
of
Stretchley-Budd,
hanging
out
in
a
joint
called
Kingham
Manor,
about
eight
miles
distant
in
the
direction
of
Pershore.
I
didn’t
know
these
birds,
but
their
fascination
must
have
been
considerable,
for
she
tore
herself
away
from
them
only
just
in
time
to
get
back
and
dress
for
dinner.
It
was,
accordingly,
not
until
coffee
had
been
consumed
that
I
was
able
to
get
matters
moving.
I
found
her
in
the
drawing-room
and
at
once
proceeded
to
put
things
in
train.
It
was
with
very
different
feelings
from
those
which
had
animated
the
bosom
when
approaching
the
Bassett
twenty-four
hours
before
in
the
same
manner
in
this
same
drawing-room
that
I
headed
for
where
she
sat.
As
I
had
told
Tuppy,
I
have
always
been
devoted
to
Angela,
and
there
is
nothing
I
like
better
than
a
ramble
in
her
company.
And
I
could
see
by
the
look
of
her
now
how
sorely
in
need
she
was
of
my
aid
and
comfort.
Frankly,
I
was
shocked
by
the
unfortunate
young
prune’s
appearance.
At
Cannes
she
had
been
a
happy,
smiling
English
girl
of
the
best
type,
full
of
beans
and
buck.
Her
face
now
was
pale
and
drawn,
like
that
of
a
hockey
centre-forward
at
a
girls’
school
who,
in
addition
to
getting
a
fruity
one
on
the
shin,
has
just
been
penalized
for
“sticks”.
In
any
normal
gathering,
her
demeanour
would
have
excited
instant
remark,
but
the
standard
of
gloom
at
Brinkley
Court
had
become
so
high
that
it
passed
unnoticed.
Indeed,
I
shouldn’t
wonder
if
Uncle
Tom,
crouched
in
his
corner
waiting
for
the
end,
didn’t
think
she
was
looking
indecently
cheerful.
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