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264
Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
25
Yes,
yes,
yes,
yes,
yes,
yes,
yes.
It
doesn’t
matter
whether
you
understand
or
not.
You
just
come
at
once,
as
I
tell
you,
and
for
heaven’s
sake
stop
this
back-chat.
Do
you
think
I
am
made
of
money
that
I
can
afford
to
send
you
telegrams
every
ten
minutes.
Stop
being
a
fathead
and
come
immediately.
Love.
Travers.
It
was
at
this
point
that
I
felt
the
need
of
getting
a
second
opinion.
I
pressed
the
bell.
“Jeeves,”
I
said,
“a
V-shaped
rumminess
has
manifested
itself
from
the
direction
of
Worcestershire.
Read
these,”
I
said,
handing
him
the
papers
in
the
case.
He
scanned
them.
“What
do
you
make
of
it,
Jeeves?”
“I
think
Mrs.
Travers
wishes
you
to
come
at
once,
sir.”
“You
gather
that
too,
do
you?”
“Yes,
sir.”
“I
put
the
same
construction
on
the
thing.
But
why,
Jeeves?
Dash
it
all,
she’s
just
had
nearly
two
months
of
me.”
“Yes,
sir.”
“And
many
people
consider
the
medium
dose
for
an
adult
two
days.”
“Yes,
sir.
I
appreciate
the
point
you
raise.
Nevertheless,
Mrs.
Travers
appears
very
insistent.
I
think
it
would
be
well
to
acquiesce
in
her
wishes.”
“Pop
down,
you
mean?”
“Yes,
sir.”
“Well,
I
certainly
can’t
go
at
once.
I’ve
an
important
conference
on
at
the
Drones
tonight.
Pongo
Twistleton’s
birthday
party,
you
remember.”
“Yes,
sir.”
There
was
a
slight
pause.
We
were
both
recalling
the
little
unpleasantness
that
had
arisen.
I
felt
obliged
to
allude
to
it.
“You’re
all
wrong
about
that
mess
jacket,
Jeeves.”
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