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264
Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
188
G.G.
Simmons
was
an
unpleasant,
perky-looking
stripling,
mostly
front
teeth
and
spectacles,
but
I
gave
him
a
big
hand.
We
Scripture-knowledge
sharks
stick
together.
Gussie,
I
was
sorry
to
see,
didn’t
like
him.
There
was
in
his
manner,
as
he
regarded
G.G.
Simmons,
none
of
the
chumminess
which
had
marked
it
during
his
interview
with
P.K.
Purvis
or,
in
a
somewhat
lesser
degree,
with
R.V.
Smethurst.
He
was
cold
and
distant.
“Well,
G.G.
Simmons.”
“Sir,
yes,
sir.”
“What
do
you
mean--sir,
yes,
sir?
Dashed
silly
thing
to
say.
So
you’ve
won
the
Scripture-knowledge
prize,
have
you?”
“Sir,
yes,
sir.”
“Yes,”
said
Gussie,
“you
look
just
the
sort
of
little
tick
who
would.
And
yet,”
he
said,
pausing
and
eyeing
the
child
keenly,
“how
are
we
to
know
that
this
has
all
been
open
and
above
board?
Let
me
test
you,
G.G.
Simmons.
What
was
What’s-His-Name--the
chap
who
begat
Thingummy?
Can
you
answer
me
that,
Simmons?”
“Sir,
no,
sir.”
Gussie
turned
to
the
bearded
bloke.
“Fishy,”
he
said.
“Very
fishy.
This
boy
appears
to
be
totally
lacking
in
Scripture
knowledge.”
The
bearded
bloke
passed
a
hand
across
his
forehead.
“I
can
assure
you,
Mr.
Fink-Nottle,
that
every
care
was
taken
to
ensure
a
correct
marking
and
that
Simmons
outdistanced
his
competitors
by
a
wide
margin.”
“Well,
if
you
say
so,”
said
Gussie
doubtfully.
“All
right,
G.G.
Simmons,
take
your
prize.”
“Sir,
thank
you,
sir.”
“But
let
me
tell
you
that
there’s
nothing
to
stick
on
side
about
in
winning
a
prize
for
Scripture
knowledge.
Bertie
Wooster----”
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