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264
Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
26
“These
things
are
matters
of
opinion,
sir.”
“When
I
wore
it
at
the
Casino
at
Cannes,
beautiful
women
nudged
one
another
and
whispered:
‘Who
is
he?’”
“The
code
at
Continental
casinos
is
notoriously
lax,
sir.”
“And
when
I
described
it
to
Pongo
last
night,
he
was
fascinated.”
“Indeed,
sir?”
“So
were
all
the
rest
of
those
present.
One
and
all
admitted
that
I
had
got
hold
of
a
good
thing.
Not
a
dissentient
voice.”
“Indeed,
sir?”
“I
am
convinced
that
you
will
eventually
learn
to
love
this
mess-jacket,
Jeeves.”
“I
fear
not,
sir.”
I
gave
it
up.
It
is
never
any
use
trying
to
reason
with
Jeeves
on
these
occasions.
“Pig-headed”
is
the
word
that
springs
to
the
lips.
One
sighs
and
passes
on.
“Well,
anyway,
returning
to
the
agenda,
I
can’t
go
down
to
Brinkley
Court
or
anywhere
else
yet
awhile.
That’s
final.
I’ll
tell
you
what,
Jeeves.
Give
me
form
and
pencil,
and
I’ll
wire
her
that
I’ll
be
with
her
some
time
next
week
or
the
week
after.
Dash
it
all,
she
ought
to
be
able
to
hold
out
without
me
for
a
few
days.
It
only
requires
will
power.”
“Yes,
sir.”
“Right
ho,
then.
I’ll
wire
‘Expect
me
tomorrow
fortnight’
or
words
to
some
such
effect.
That
ought
to
meet
the
case.
Then
if
you
will
toddle
round
the
corner
and
send
it
off,
that
will
be
that.”
“Very
good,
sir.”
And
so
the
long
day
wore
on
till
it
was
time
for
me
to
dress
for
Pongo’s
party.
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