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264
Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
62
And
the
first
chap
I
ran
into
was
young
Tuppy.
His
brow
was
furrowed,
and
he
was
moodily
bunging
stones
at
a
flowerpot.
-8-
I
think
I
have
told
you
before
about
young
Tuppy
Glossop.
He
was
the
fellow,
if
you
remember,
who,
callously
ignoring
the
fact
that
we
had
been
friends
since
boyhood,
betted
me
one
night
at
the
Drones
that
I
could
swing
myself
across
the
swimming
bath
by
the
rings--a
childish
feat
for
one
of
my
lissomeness--and
then,
having
seen
me
well
on
the
way,
looped
back
the
last
ring,
thus
rendering
it
necessary
for
me
to
drop
into
the
deep
end
in
formal
evening
costume.
To
say
that
I
had
not
resented
this
foul
deed,
which
seemed
to
me
deserving
of
the
title
of
the
crime
of
the
century,
would
be
paltering
with
the
truth.
I
had
resented
it
profoundly,
chafing
not
a
little
at
the
time
and
continuing
to
chafe
for
some
weeks.
But
you
know
how
it
is
with
these
things.
The
wound
heals.
The
agony
abates.
I
am
not
saying,
mind
you,
that
had
the
opportunity
presented
itself
of
dropping
a
wet
sponge
on
Tuppy
from
some
high
spot
or
of
putting
an
eel
in
his
bed
or
finding
some
other
form
of
self-expression
of
a
like
nature,
I
would
not
have
embraced
it
eagerly;
but
that
let
me
out.
I
mean
to
say,
grievously
injured
though
I
had
been,
it
gave
me
no
pleasure
to
feel
that
the
fellow’s
bally
life
was
being
ruined
by
the
loss
of
a
girl
whom,
despite
all
that
had
passed,
I
was
convinced
he
still
loved
like
the
dickens.
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