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Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
59
She
seemed
about
to
speak,
but
I
checked
her
with
a
gesture.
“It
is
true
that
in
the
past
I
have
sometimes
seen
fit
to
seek
Jeeves’s
advice.
It
is
possible
that
in
the
future
I
may
seek
it
again.
But
I
claim
the
right
to
have
a
pop
at
these
problems,
as
they
arise,
in
person,
without
having
everybody
behave
as
if
Jeeves
was
the
only
onion
in
the
hash.
I
sometimes
feel
that
Jeeves,
though
admittedly
not
unsuccessful
in
the
past,
has
been
lucky
rather
than
gifted.”
“Have
you
and
Jeeves
had
a
row?”
“Nothing
of
the
kind.”
“You
seem
to
have
it
in
for
him.”
“Not
at
all.”
And
yet
I
must
admit
that
there
was
a
modicum
of
truth
in
what
she
said.
I
had
been
feeling
pretty
austere
about
the
man
all
day,
and
I’ll
tell
you
why.
You
remember
that
he
caught
that
12.45
train
with
the
luggage,
while
I
remained
on
in
order
to
keep
a
luncheon
engagement.
Well,
just
before
I
started
out
to
the
tryst,
I
was
pottering
about
the
flat,
and
suddenly--I
don’t
know
what
put
the
suspicion
into
my
head,
possibly
the
fellow’s
manner
had
been
furtive--something
seemed
to
whisper
to
me
to
go
and
have
a
look
in
the
wardrobe.
And
it
was
as
I
had
suspected.
There
was
the
mess-jacket
still
on
its
hanger.
The
hound
hadn’t
packed
it.
Well,
as
anybody
at
the
Drones
will
tell
you,
Bertram
Wooster
is
a
pretty
hard
chap
to
outgeneral.
I
shoved
the
thing
in
a
brown-paper
parcel
and
put
it
in
the
back
of
the
car,
and
it
was
on
a
chair
in
the
hall
now.
But
that
didn’t
alter
the
fact
that
Jeeves
had
attempted
to
do
the
dirty
on
me,
and
I
suppose
a
certain
what-d’you-call-it
had
crept
into
my
manner
during
the
above
remarks.
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