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264
Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
6
It
wasn’t
as
if
he
and
I
were
in
any
way
bosom.
We
had
seen
a
lot
of
each
other
at
one
time,
of
course,
but
in
the
last
two
years
I
hadn’t
had
so
much
as
a
post
card
from
him.
I
put
all
this
to
Jeeves:
“Odd,
his
coming
to
me.
Still,
if
he
did,
he
did.
No
argument
about
that.
It
must
have
been
a
nasty
jar
for
the
poor
perisher
when
he
found
I
wasn’t
here.”
“No,
sir.
Mr.
Fink-Nottle
did
not
call
to
see
you,
sir.”
“Pull
yourself
together,
Jeeves.
You’ve
just
told
me
that
this
is
what
he
has
been
doing,
and
assiduously,
at
that.”
“It
was
I
with
whom
he
was
desirous
of
establishing
communication,
sir.”
“You?
But
I
didn’t
know
you
had
ever
met
him.”
“I
had
not
had
that
pleasure
until
he
called
here,
sir.
But
it
appears
that
Mr.
Sipperley,
a
fellow
student
with
whom
Mr.
Fink-Nottle
had
been
at
the
university,
recommended
him
to
place
his
affairs
in
my
hands.”
The
mystery
had
conked.
I
saw
all.
As
I
dare
say
you
know,
Jeeves’s
reputation
as
a
counsellor
has
long
been
established
among
the
cognoscenti,
and
the
first
move
of
any
of
my
little
circle
on
discovering
themselves
in
any
form
of
soup
is
always
to
roll
round
and
put
the
thing
up
to
him.
And
when
he’s
got
A
out
of
a
bad
spot,
A
puts
B
on
to
him.
And
then,
when
he
has
fixed
up
B,
B
sends
C
along.
And
so
on,
if
you
get
my
drift,
and
so
forth.
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