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264
Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
260
“But----”
“Sorry,
Bertie.
Can’t
stop
chatting
with
you
all
night.
There
is
a
rather
impressive
beano
in
progress
in
the
dining-room,
and
they
are
waiting
for
supplies.”
Endorsement
was
given
to
this
statement
by
a
sudden
shout
from
the
apartment
named.
I
recognized--as
who
would
not--Aunt
Dahlia’s
voice:
“Glossop!”
“Hullo?”
“Hurry
up
with
that
stuff.”
“Coming,
coming.”
“Well,
come,
then.
Yoicks!
Hard
for-rard!”
“Tallyho,
not
to
mention
tantivy.
Your
aunt,”
said
Tuppy,
“is
a
bit
above
herself.
I
don’t
know
all
the
facts
of
the
case,
but
it
appears
that
Anatole
gave
notice
and
has
now
consented
to
stay
on,
and
also
your
uncle
has
given
her
a
cheque
for
that
paper
of
hers.
I
didn’t
get
the
details,
but
she
is
much
braced.
See
you
later.
I
must
rush.”
To
say
that
Bertram
was
now
definitely
nonplussed
would
be
but
to
state
the
simple
truth.
I
could
make
nothing
of
this.
I
had
left
Brinkley
Court
a
stricken
home,
with
hearts
bleeding
wherever
you
looked,
and
I
had
returned
to
find
it
a
sort
of
earthly
paradise.
It
baffled
me.
I
bathed
bewilderedly.
The
toy
duck
was
still
in
the
soap-dish,
but
I
was
too
preoccupied
to
give
it
a
thought.
Still
at
a
loss,
I
returned
to
my
room,
and
there
was
Jeeves.
And
it
is
proof
of
my
fogged
condish
that
my
first
words
to
him
were
words
not
of
reproach
and
stern
recrimination
but
of
inquiry:
“I
say,
Jeeves!”
“Good
evening,
sir.
I
was
informed
that
you
had
returned.
I
trust
you
had
an
enjoyable
ride.”
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