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264
Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
189
I
don’t
know
when
I’ve
had
a
nastier
shock.
I
had
been
going
on
the
assumption
that,
now
that
they
had
stopped
him
making
his
speech,
Gussie’s
fangs
had
been
drawn,
as
you
might
say.
To
duck
my
head
down
and
resume
my
edging
toward
the
door
was
with
me
the
work
of
a
moment.
“Bertie
Wooster
won
the
Scripture-knowledge
prize
at
a
kids’
school
we
were
at
together,
and
you
know
what
he’s
like.
But,
of
course,
Bertie
frankly
cheated.
He
succeeded
in
scrounging
that
Scripture-knowledge
trophy
over
the
heads
of
better
men
by
means
of
some
of
the
rawest
and
most
brazen
swindling
methods
ever
witnessed
even
at
a
school
where
such
things
were
common.
If
that
man’s
pockets,
as
he
entered
the
examination-room,
were
not
stuffed
to
bursting-point
with
lists
of
the
kings
of
Judah----”
I
heard
no
more.
A
moment
later
I
was
out
in
God’s
air,
fumbling
with
a
fevered
foot
at
the
self-starter
of
the
old
car.
The
engine
raced.
The
clutch
slid
into
position.
I
tooted
and
drove
off.
My
ganglions
were
still
vibrating
as
I
ran
the
car
into
the
stables
of
Brinkley
Court,
and
it
was
a
much
shaken
Bertram
who
tottered
up
to
his
room
to
change
into
something
loose.
Having
donned
flannels,
I
lay
down
on
the
bed
for
a
bit,
and
I
suppose
I
must
have
dozed
off,
for
the
next
thing
I
remember
is
finding
Jeeves
at
my
side.
I
sat
up.
“My
tea,
Jeeves?”
“No,
sir.
It
is
nearly
dinner-time.”
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