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264
Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
16
“Well,
Gussie,
old
leper,”
I
said,
“I’ve
been
hearing
all
about
you.”
“Eh?”
“This
little
trouble
of
yours.
Jeeves
has
told
me
everything.”
He
didn’t
seem
any
too
braced.
It’s
always
difficult
to
be
sure,
of
course,
when
a
chap
has
dug
himself
in
behind
a
Mephistopheles
beard,
but
I
fancy
he
flushed
a
trifle.
“I
wish
Jeeves
wouldn’t
go
gassing
all
over
the
place.
It
was
supposed
to
be
confidential.”
I
could
not
permit
this
tone.
“Dishing
up
the
dirt
to
the
young
master
can
scarcely
be
described
as
gassing
all
over
the
place,”
I
said,
with
a
touch
of
rebuke.
“Anyway,
there
it
is.
I
know
all.
And
I
should
like
to
begin,”
I
said,
sinking
my
personal
opinion
that
the
female
in
question
was
a
sloppy
pest
in
my
desire
to
buck
and
encourage,
“by
saying
that
Madeline
Bassett
is
a
charming
girl.
A
winner,
and
just
the
sort
for
you.”
“You
don’t
know
her?”
“Certainly
I
know
her.
What
beats
me
is
how
you
ever
got
in
touch.
Where
did
you
meet?”
“She
was
staying
at
a
place
near
mine
in
Lincolnshire
the
week
before
last.”
“Yes,
but
even
so.
I
didn’t
know
you
called
on
the
neighbours.”
“I
don’t.
I
met
her
out
for
a
walk
with
her
dog.
The
dog
had
got
a
thorn
in
its
foot,
and
when
she
tried
to
take
it
out,
it
snapped
at
her.
So,
of
course,
I
had
to
rally
round.”
“You
extracted
the
thorn?”
“Yes.”
“And
fell
in
love
at
first
sight?”
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