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264
Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
177
“Today,”
said
the
bearded
bloke,
“we
are
all
happy
to
welcome
as
the
guest
of
the
afternoon
Mr.
Fitz-Wattle----”
At
the
beginning
of
the
address,
Gussie
had
subsided
into
a
sort
of
daydream,
with
his
mouth
hanging
open.
About
half-way
through,
faint
signs
of
life
had
begun
to
show.
And
for
the
last
few
minutes
he
had
been
trying
to
cross
one
leg
over
the
other
and
failing
and
having
another
shot
and
failing
again.
But
only
now
did
he
exhibit
any
real
animation.
He
sat
up
with
a
jerk.
“Fink-Nottle,”
he
said,
opening
his
eyes.
“Fitz-Nottle.”
“Fink-Nottle.”
“I
should
say
Fink-Nottle.”
“Of
course
you
should,
you
silly
ass,”
said
Gussie
genially.
“All
right,
get
on
with
it.”
And
closing
his
eyes,
he
began
trying
to
cross
his
legs
again.
I
could
see
that
this
little
spot
of
friction
had
rattled
the
bearded
bloke
a
bit.
He
stood
for
a
moment
fumbling
at
the
fungus
with
a
hesitating
hand.
But
they
make
these
head
masters
of
tough
stuff.
The
weakness
passed.
He
came
back
nicely
and
carried
on.
“We
are
all
happy,
I
say,
to
welcome
as
the
guest
of
the
afternoon
Mr.
Fink-Nottle,
who
has
kindly
consented
to
award
the
prizes.
This
task,
as
you
know,
is
one
that
should
have
devolved
upon
that
well-beloved
and
vigorous
member
of
our
board
of
governors,
the
Rev.
William
Plomer,
and
we
are
all,
I
am
sure,
very
sorry
that
illness
at
the
last
moment
should
have
prevented
him
from
being
here
today.
But,
if
I
may
borrow
a
familiar
metaphor
from
the--if
I
may
employ
a
homely
metaphor
familiar
to
you
all--what
we
lose
on
the
swings
we
gain
on
the
roundabouts.”
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