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264
Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
237
I
rather
enjoy
a
bit
of
noise,
as
a
general
rule.
I
remember
Cats-meat
Potter-Pirbright
bringing
a
police
rattle
into
the
Drones
one
night
and
loosing
it
off
behind
my
chair,
and
I
just
lay
back
and
closed
my
eyes
with
a
pleasant
smile,
like
someone
in
a
box
at
the
opera.
And
the
same
applies
to
the
time
when
my
Aunt
Agatha’s
son,
young
Thos.,
put
a
match
to
the
parcel
of
Guy
Fawkes
Day
fireworks
to
see
what
would
happen.
But
the
Brinkley
Court
fire
bell
was
too
much
for
me.
I
gave
about
half
a
dozen
tugs,
and
then,
feeling
that
enough
was
enough,
sauntered
round
to
the
front
lawn
to
ascertain
what
solid
results
had
been
achieved.
Brinkley
Court
had
given
of
its
best.
A
glance
told
me
that
we
were
playing
to
capacity.
The
eye,
roving
to
and
fro,
noted
here
Uncle
Tom
in
a
purple
dressing
gown,
there
Aunt
Dahlia
in
the
old
blue
and
yellow.
It
also
fell
upon
Anatole,
Tuppy,
Gussie,
Angela,
the
Bassett
and
Jeeves,
in
the
order
named.
There
they
all
were,
present
and
correct.
But--and
this
was
what
caused
me
immediate
concern--I
could
detect
no
sign
whatever
that
there
had
been
any
rescue
work
going
on.
What
I
had
been
hoping,
of
course,
was
to
see
Tuppy
bending
solicitously
over
Angela
in
one
corner,
while
Gussie
fanned
the
Bassett
with
a
towel
in
the
other.
Instead
of
which,
the
Bassett
was
one
of
the
group
which
included
Aunt
Dahlia
and
Uncle
Tom
and
seemed
to
be
busy
trying
to
make
Anatole
see
the
bright
side,
while
Angela
and
Gussie
were,
respectively,
leaning
against
the
sundial
with
a
peeved
look
and
sitting
on
the
grass
rubbing
a
barked
shin.
Tuppy
was
walking
up
and
down
the
path,
all
by
himself.
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