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264
Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
33
“No,
I
say,
dash
it!”
“I
thought
that
would
rattle
you.
Greedy
young
pig.”
“Greedy
young
pigs
have
nothing
to
do
with
it,”
I
said
with
a
touch
of
hauteur.
“One
is
not
a
greedy
young
pig
because
one
appreciates
the
cooking
of
a
genius.”
“Well,
I
will
say
I
like
it
myself,”
conceded
the
relative.
“But
not
another
bite
of
it
do
you
get,
if
you
refuse
to
do
this
simple,
easy,
pleasant
job.
No,
not
so
much
as
another
sniff.
So
put
that
in
your
twelve-inch
cigarette-holder
and
smoke
it.”
I
began
to
feel
like
some
wild
thing
caught
in
a
snare.
“But
why
do
you
want
me?
I
mean,
what
am
I?
Ask
yourself
that.”
“I
often
have.”
“I
mean
to
say,
I’m
not
the
type.
You
have
to
have
some
terrific
nib
to
give
away
prizes.
I
seem
to
remember,
when
I
was
at
school,
it
was
generally
a
prime
minister
or
somebody.”
“Ah,
but
that
was
at
Eton.
At
Market
Snodsbury
we
aren’t
nearly
so
choosy.
Anybody
in
spats
impresses
us.”
“Why
don’t
you
get
Uncle
Tom?”
“Uncle
Tom!”
“Well,
why
not?
He’s
got
spats.”
“Bertie,”
she
said,
“I
will
tell
you
why
not
Uncle
Tom.
You
remember
me
losing
all
that
money
at
baccarat
at
Cannes?
Well,
very
shortly
I
shall
have
to
sidle
up
to
Tom
and
break
the
news
to
him.
If,
right
after
that,
I
ask
him
to
put
on
lavender
gloves
and
a
topper
and
distribute
the
prizes
at
Market
Snodsbury
Grammar
School,
there
will
be
a
divorce
in
the
family.
He
would
pin
a
note
to
the
pincushion
and
be
off
like
a
rabbit.
No,
my
lad,
you’re
for
it,
so
you
may
as
well
make
the
best
of
it.”
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