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264
Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
205
“I
certainly
am.”
“Just
to
make
Tuppy
look
silly.”
“Do
you
think
he
looks
silly?”
“I
do.”
“So
he
ought
to.”
I
began
to
get
the
idea
that
I
wasn’t
making
real
headway.
I
remember
when
I
won
that
Scripture-knowledge
prize,
having
to
go
into
the
facts
about
Balaam’s
ass.
I
can’t
quite
recall
what
they
were,
but
I
still
retain
a
sort
of
general
impression
of
something
digging
its
feet
in
and
putting
its
ears
back
and
refusing
to
co-operate;
and
it
seemed
to
me
that
this
was
what
Angela
was
doing
now.
She
and
Balaam’s
ass
were,
so
to
speak,
sisters
under
the
skin.
There’s
a
word
beginning
with
r----“re”
something----“recal”
something--No,
it’s
gone.
But
what
I
am
driving
at
is
that
is
what
this
Angela
was
showing
herself.
“Silly
young
geezer,”
I
said.
She
pinkened.
“I’m
not
a
silly
young
geezer.”
“You
are
a
silly
young
geezer.
And,
what’s
more,
you
know
it.”
“I
don’t
know
anything
of
the
kind.”
“Here
you
are,
wrecking
Tuppy’s
life,
wrecking
Gussie’s
life,
all
for
the
sake
of
a
cheap
score.”
“Well,
it’s
no
business
of
yours.”
I
sat
on
this
promptly:
“No
business
of
mine
when
I
see
two
lives
I
used
to
go
to
school
with
wrecked?
Ha!
Besides,
you
know
you’re
potty
about
Tuppy.”
“I’m
not!”
“Is
that
so?
If
I
had
a
quid
for
every
time
I’ve
seen
you
gaze
at
him
with
the
lovelight
in
your
eyes----”
She
gazed
at
me,
but
without
the
lovelight.
“Oh,
for
goodness
sake,
go
away
and
boil
your
head,
Bertie!”
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