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Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
66
“I
wouldn’t
dream
of
climbing
down.”
“But,
Tuppy----”
“No.
I
wouldn’t
do
it.”
“But
you
love
her,
don’t
you?”
This
touched
the
spot.
He
quivered
noticeably,
and
his
mouth
twisted.
Quite
the
tortured
soul.
“I’m
not
saying
I
don’t
love
the
little
blighter,”
he
said,
obviously
moved.
“I
love
her
passionately.
But
that
doesn’t
alter
the
fact
that
I
consider
that
what
she
needs
most
in
this
world
is
a
swift
kick
in
the
pants.”
A
Wooster
could
scarcely
pass
this.
“Tuppy,
old
man!”
“It’s
no
good
saying
‘Tuppy,
old
man’.”
“Well,
I
do
say
‘Tuppy,
old
man’.
Your
tone
shocks
me.
One
raises
the
eyebrows.
Where
is
the
fine,
old,
chivalrous
spirit
of
the
Glossops.”
“That’s
all
right
about
the
fine,
old,
chivalrous
spirit
of
the
Glossops.
Where
is
the
sweet,
gentle,
womanly
spirit
of
the
Angelas?
Telling
a
fellow
he
was
getting
a
double
chin!”
“Did
she
do
that?”
“She
did.”
“Oh,
well,
girls
will
be
girls.
Forget
it,
Tuppy.
Go
to
her
and
make
it
up.”
He
shook
his
head.
“No.
It
is
too
late.
Remarks
have
been
passed
about
my
tummy
which
it
is
impossible
to
overlook.”
“But,
Tummy--Tuppy,
I
mean--be
fair.
You
once
told
her
her
new
hat
made
her
look
like
a
Pekingese.”
“It
did
make
her
look
like
a
Pekingese.
That
was
not
vulgar
abuse.
It
was
sound,
constructive
criticism,
with
no
motive
behind
it
but
the
kindly
desire
to
keep
her
from
making
an
exhibition
of
herself
in
public.
Wantonly
to
accuse
a
man
of
puffing
when
he
goes
up
a
flight
of
stairs
is
something
very
different.”
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