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264
Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
41
“Well,
Gussie.”
“Hullo,
Bertie.”
“What
ho.”
“What
ho.”
These
civilities
concluded,
I
felt
that
the
moment
had
come
to
touch
delicately
on
the
past.
“I
hear
you’ve
been
through
it
a
bit.”
“Yes.”
“Thanks
to
Jeeves.”
“It
wasn’t
Jeeves’s
fault.”
“Entirely
Jeeves’s
fault.”
“I
don’t
see
that.
I
forgot
my
money
and
latchkey----”
“And
now
you’d
better
forget
Jeeves.
For
you
will
be
interested
to
hear,
Gussie,”
I
said,
deeming
it
best
to
put
him
in
touch
with
the
position
of
affairs
right
away,
“that
he
is
no
longer
handling
your
little
problem.”
This
seemed
to
slip
it
across
him
properly.
The
jaws
fell,
the
ears
drooped
more
limply.
He
had
been
looking
like
a
dead
fish.
He
now
looked
like
a
deader
fish,
one
of
last
year’s,
cast
up
on
some
lonely
beach
and
left
there
at
the
mercy
of
the
wind
and
tides.
“What!”
“Yes.”
“You
don’t
mean
that
Jeeves
isn’t
going
to----”
“No.”
“But,
dash
it----”
I
was
kind,
but
firm.
“You
will
be
much
better
off
without
him.
Surely
your
terrible
experiences
of
that
awful
night
have
told
you
that
Jeeves
needs
a
rest.
The
keenest
of
thinkers
strikes
a
bad
patch
occasionally.
That
is
what
has
happened
to
Jeeves.
I
have
seen
it
coming
on
for
some
time.
He
has
lost
his
form.
He
wants
his
plugs
decarbonized.
No
doubt
this
is
a
shock
to
you.
I
suppose
you
came
here
this
morning
to
seek
his
advice?”
“Of
course
I
did.”
“On
what
point?”
“Madeline
Bassett
has
gone
to
stay
with
these
people
in
the
country,
and
I
want
to
know
what
he
thinks
I
ought
to
do.”
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