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264
Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
39
“Well,
if
he
hadn’t
been
one
before,
I’ll
bet
he
started
being
one
shortly
afterwards.
I
expect
he
could
scarcely
wait
for
the
pubs
to
open.”
“Very
possibly,
in
the
circumstances
he
might
have
found
a
restorative
agreeable,
sir.”
“And
so,
in
the
circumstances,
might
Gussie
too,
I
should
think.
What
on
earth
did
he
do
after
that?
London
late
at
night--or
even
in
the
daytime,
for
that
matter--is
no
place
for
a
man
in
scarlet
tights.”
“No,
sir.”
“He
invites
comment.”
“Yes,
sir.”
“I
can
see
the
poor
old
bird
ducking
down
side-streets,
skulking
in
alley-ways,
diving
into
dust-bins.”
“I
gathered
from
Mr.
Fink-Nottle’s
remarks,
sir,
that
something
very
much
on
those
lines
was
what
occurred.
Eventually,
after
a
trying
night,
he
found
his
way
to
Mr.
Sipperley’s
residence,
where
he
was
able
to
secure
lodging
and
a
change
of
costume
in
the
morning.”
I
nestled
against
the
pillows,
the
brow
a
bit
drawn.
It
is
all
very
well
to
try
to
do
old
school
friends
a
spot
of
good,
but
I
could
not
but
feel
that
in
espousing
the
cause
of
a
lunkhead
capable
of
mucking
things
up
as
Gussie
had
done,
I
had
taken
on
a
contract
almost
too
big
for
human
consumption.
It
seemed
to
me
that
what
Gussie
needed
was
not
so
much
the
advice
of
a
seasoned
man
of
the
world
as
a
padded
cell
in
Colney
Hatch
and
a
couple
of
good
keepers
to
see
that
he
did
not
set
the
place
on
fire.
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