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264
Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
150
“Ah!”
I
said.
“Your
beetle,”
I
explained.
“No
doubt
you
were
unaware
of
it,
but
all
this
while
there
has
been
a
beetle
of
sorts
parked
on
the
side
of
your
head.
You
have
now
dislodged
it.”
He
snorted.
“Beetles!”
“Not
beetles.
One
beetle
only.”
“I
like
your
crust!”
cried
Tuppy,
vibrating
like
one
of
Gussie’s
newts
during
the
courting
season.
“Talking
of
beetles,
when
all
the
time
you
know
you’re
a
treacherous,
sneaking
hound.”
It
was
a
debatable
point,
of
course,
why
treacherous,
sneaking
hounds
should
be
considered
ineligible
to
talk
about
beetles,
and
I
dare
say
a
good
cross-examining
counsel
would
have
made
quite
a
lot
of
it.
But
I
let
it
go.
“That’s
the
second
time
you’ve
called
me
that.
And,”
I
said
firmly,
“I
insist
on
an
explanation.
I
have
told
you
that
I
acted
throughout
from
the
best
and
kindliest
motives
in
roasting
you
to
Angela.
It
cut
me
to
the
quick
to
have
to
speak
like
that,
and
only
the
recollection
of
our
lifelong
friendship
would
have
made
me
do
it.
And
now
you
say
you
don’t
believe
me
and
call
me
names
for
which
I
am
not
sure
I
couldn’t
have
you
up
before
a
beak
and
jury
and
mulct
you
in
very
substantial
damages.
I
should
have
to
consult
my
solicitor,
of
course,
but
it
would
surprise
me
very
much
if
an
action
did
not
lie.
Be
reasonable,
Tuppy.
Suggest
another
motive
I
could
have
had.
Just
one.”
“I
will.
Do
you
think
I
don’t
know?
You’re
in
love
with
Angela
yourself.”
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