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Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
168
“Well,
I’m
glad
you’re
feeling
braced,”
I
said.
He
moved
buoyantly
from
the
wash-hand
stand,
and
endeavoured
to
slosh
me
on
the
back
again.
Foiled
by
my
nimble
footwork,
he
staggered
to
the
bed
and
sat
down
upon
it.
“Braced?
Did
I
say
I
could
bite
a
tiger?”
“You
did.”
“Make
it
two
tigers.
I
could
chew
holes
in
a
steel
door.
What
an
ass
you
must
have
thought
me
out
there
in
the
garden.
I
see
now
you
were
laughing
in
your
sleeve.”
“No,
no.”
“Yes,”
insisted
Gussie.
“That
very
sleeve,”
he
said,
pointing.
“And
I
don’t
blame
you.
I
can’t
imagine
why
I
made
all
that
fuss
about
a
potty
job
like
distributing
prizes
at
a
rotten
little
country
grammar
school.
Can
you
imagine,
Bertie?”
“No.”
“Exactly.
Nor
can
I
imagine.
There’s
simply
nothing
to
it.
I
just
shin
up
on
the
platform,
drop
a
few
gracious
words,
hand
the
little
blighters
their
prizes,
and
hop
down
again,
admired
by
all.
Not
a
suggestion
of
split
trousers
from
start
to
finish.
I
mean,
why
should
anybody
split
his
trousers?
I
can’t
imagine.
Can
you
imagine?”
“No.”
“Nor
can
I
imagine.
I
shall
be
a
riot.
I
know
just
the
sort
of
stuff
that’s
needed--simple,
manly,
optimistic
stuff
straight
from
the
shoulder.
This
shoulder,”
said
Gussie,
tapping.
“Why
I
was
so
nervous
this
morning
I
can’t
imagine.
For
anything
simpler
than
distributing
a
few
footling
books
to
a
bunch
of
grimy-faced
kids
I
can’t
imagine.
Still,
for
some
reason
I
can’t
imagine,
I
was
feeling
a
little
nervous,
but
now
I
feel
fine,
Bertie--fine,
fine,
fine--and
I
say
this
to
you
as
an
old
friend.
Because
that’s
what
you
are,
old
man,
when
all
the
smoke
has
cleared
away--an
old
friend.
I
don’t
think
I’ve
ever
met
an
older
friend.
How
long
have
you
been
an
old
friend
of
mine,
Bertie?”
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