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264
Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
23
“Elaborate,
sir?”
“That
is
the
exact
word
I
was
after.
Too
elaborate,
Jeeves--that
is
what
you
are
frequently
prone
to
become.
Your
methods
are
not
simple,
not
straightforward.
You
cloud
the
issue
with
a
lot
of
fancy
stuff
that
is
not
of
the
essence.
All
that
Gussie
needs
is
the
elder-brotherly
advice
of
a
seasoned
man
of
the
world.
So
what
I
suggest
is
that
from
now
onward
you
leave
this
case
to
me.”
“Very
good,
sir.”
“You
lay
off
and
devote
yourself
to
your
duties
about
the
home.”
“Very
good,
sir.”
“I
shall
no
doubt
think
of
something
quite
simple
and
straightforward
yet
perfectly
effective
ere
long.
I
will
make
a
point
of
seeing
Gussie
tomorrow.”
“Very
good,
sir.”
“Right
ho,
Jeeves.”
But
on
the
morrow
all
those
telegrams
started
coming
in,
and
I
confess
that
for
twenty-four
hours
I
didn’t
give
the
poor
chap
a
thought,
having
problems
of
my
own
to
contend
with.
-3-
The
first
of
the
telegrams
arrived
shortly
after
noon,
and
Jeeves
brought
it
in
with
the
before-luncheon
snifter.
It
was
from
my
Aunt
Dahlia,
operating
from
Market
Snodsbury,
a
small
town
of
sorts
a
mile
or
two
along
the
main
road
as
you
leave
her
country
seat.
It
ran
as
follows:
Come
at
once.
Travers.
And
when
I
say
it
puzzled
me
like
the
dickens,
I
am
understating
it;
if
anything.
As
mysterious
a
communication,
I
considered,
as
was
ever
flashed
over
the
wires.
I
studied
it
in
a
profound
reverie
for
the
best
part
of
two
dry
Martinis
and
a
dividend.
I
read
it
backwards.
I
read
it
forwards.
As
a
matter
of
fact,
I
have
a
sort
of
recollection
of
even
smelling
it.
But
it
still
baffled
me.
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