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264
Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
194
-18-
I
eyed
him
narrowly.
I
didn’t
like
his
looks.
Mark
you,
I
don’t
say
I
ever
had,
much,
because
Nature,
when
planning
this
sterling
fellow,
shoved
in
a
lot
more
lower
jaw
than
was
absolutely
necessary
and
made
the
eyes
a
bit
too
keen
and
piercing
for
one
who
was
neither
an
Empire
builder
nor
a
traffic
policeman.
But
on
the
present
occasion,
in
addition
to
offending
the
aesthetic
sense,
this
Glossop
seemed
to
me
to
be
wearing
a
distinct
air
of
menace,
and
I
found
myself
wishing
that
Jeeves
wasn’t
always
so
dashed
tactful.
I
mean,
it’s
all
very
well
to
remove
yourself
like
an
eel
sliding
into
mud
when
the
employer
has
a
visitor,
but
there
are
moments--and
it
looked
to
me
as
if
this
was
going
to
be
one
of
them--when
the
truer
tact
is
to
stick
round
and
stand
ready
to
lend
a
hand
in
the
free-for-all.
For
Jeeves
was
no
longer
with
us.
I
hadn’t
seen
him
go,
and
I
hadn’t
heard
him
go,
but
he
had
gone.
As
far
as
the
eye
could
reach,
one
noted
nobody
but
Tuppy.
And
in
Tuppy’s
demeanour,
as
I
say,
there
was
a
certain
something
that
tended
to
disquiet.
He
looked
to
me
very
much
like
a
man
who
had
come
to
reopen
that
matter
of
my
tickling
Angela’s
ankles.
However,
his
opening
remark
told
me
that
I
had
been
alarming
myself
unduly.
It
was
of
a
pacific
nature,
and
came
as
a
great
relief.
“Bertie,”
he
said,
“I
owe
you
an
apology.
I
have
come
to
make
it.”
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