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264
Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
68
I
could
see
that
this
had
moved
him.
He
plainly
wavered.
He
did
a
sort
of
twiddly
on
the
turf
with
his
foot.
And,
when
he
spoke,
one
spotted
the
tremolo
in
the
voice:
“You
really
think
that?”
“Absolutely.”
“H’m.”
“If
you
were
to
go
to
her----”
He
shook
his
head.
“I
can’t
do
that.
It
would
be
fatal.
Bing,
instantly,
would
go
my
prestige.
I
know
girls.
Grovel,
and
the
best
of
them
get
uppish.”
He
mused.
“The
only
way
to
work
the
thing
would
be
by
tipping
her
off
in
some
indirect
way
that
I
am
prepared
to
open
negotiations.
Should
I
sigh
a
bit
when
we
meet,
do
you
think?”
“She
would
think
you
were
puffing.”
“That’s
true.”
I
lit
another
cigarette
and
gave
my
mind
to
the
matter.
And
first
crack
out
of
the
box,
as
is
so
often
the
way
with
the
Woosters,
I
got
an
idea.
I
remembered
the
counsel
I
had
given
Gussie
in
the
matter
of
the
sausages
and
ham.
“I’ve
got
it,
Tuppy.
There
is
one
infallible
method
of
indicating
to
a
girl
that
you
love
her,
and
it
works
just
as
well
when
you’ve
had
a
row
and
want
to
make
it
up.
Don’t
eat
any
dinner
tonight.
You
can
see
how
impressive
that
would
be.
She
knows
how
devoted
you
are
to
food.”
He
started
violently.
“I
am
not
devoted
to
food!”
“No,
no.”
“I
am
not
devoted
to
food
at
all.”
“Quite.
All
I
meant----”
“This
rot
about
me
being
devoted
to
food,”
said
Tuppy
warmly,
“has
got
to
stop.
I
am
young
and
healthy
and
have
a
good
appetite,
but
that’s
not
the
same
as
being
devoted
to
food.
I
admire
Anatole
as
a
master
of
his
craft,
and
am
always
willing
to
consider
anything
he
may
put
before
me,
but
when
you
say
I
am
devoted
to
food----”
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