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Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
146
“No,
thanks,
old
man.
I
like
leaning
on
it.
It
seems
to
rest
the
spine.”
“In
about
two
seconds,”
said
Tuppy,
“I’m
going
to
kick
your
spine
up
through
the
top
of
your
head.”
I
raised
the
eyebrows.
Not
much
good,
of
course,
in
that
light,
but
it
seemed
to
help
the
general
composition.
“Is
this
Hildebrand
Glossop
speaking?”
I
said.
He
replied
that
it
was,
adding
that
if
I
wanted
to
make
sure
I
might
move
a
few
feet
over
in
his
direction.
He
also
called
me
an
opprobrious
name.
I
raised
the
eyebrows
again.
“Come,
come,
Tuppy,
don’t
let
us
let
this
little
chat
become
acrid.
Is
‘acrid’
the
word
I
want?”
“I
couldn’t
say,”
he
replied,
beginning
to
sidle
round
the
bench.
I
saw
that
anything
I
might
wish
to
say
must
be
said
quickly.
Already
he
had
sidled
some
six
feet.
And
though,
by
dint
of
sidling,
too,
I
had
managed
to
keep
the
bench
between
us,
who
could
predict
how
long
this
happy
state
of
affairs
would
last?
I
came
to
the
point,
therefore.
“I
think
I
know
what’s
on
your
mind,
Tuppy,”
I
said.
“If
you
were
in
those
bushes
during
my
conversation
with
the
recent
Angela,
I
dare
say
you
heard
what
I
was
saying
about
you.”
“I
did.”
“I
see.
Well,
we
won’t
go
into
the
ethics
of
the
thing.
Eavesdropping,
some
people
might
call
it,
and
I
can
imagine
stern
critics
drawing
in
the
breath
to
some
extent.
Considering
it--I
don’t
want
to
hurt
your
feelings,
Tuppy--but
considering
it
un-English.
A
bit
un-English,
Tuppy,
old
man,
you
must
admit.”
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