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264
Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
70
“And
at
dinner
you
will
push,
as
arranged?”
“Absolutely
as
arranged.”
“Fine.”
“It’s
an
excellent
idea.
One
of
Jeeves’s
best.
You
can
tell
him
from
me,
when
you
see
him,
that
I’m
much
obliged.”
The
cigarette
fell
from
my
fingers.
It
was
as
though
somebody
had
slapped
Bertram
Wooster
across
the
face
with
a
wet
dish-rag.
“You
aren’t
suggesting
that
you
think
this
scheme
I
have
been
sketching
out
is
Jeeves’s?”
“Of
course
it
is.
It’s
no
good
trying
to
kid
me,
Bertie.
You
wouldn’t
have
thought
of
a
wheeze
like
that
in
a
million
years.”
There
was
a
pause.
I
drew
myself
up
to
my
full
height;
then,
seeing
that
he
wasn’t
looking
at
me,
lowered
myself
again.
“Come,
Glossop,”
I
said
coldly,
“we
had
better
be
going.
It
is
time
we
were
dressing
for
dinner.”
-9-
Tuppy’s
fatheaded
words
were
still
rankling
in
my
bosom
as
I
went
up
to
my
room.
They
continued
rankling
as
I
shed
the
form-fitting,
and
had
not
ceased
to
rankle
when,
clad
in
the
old
dressing-gown,
I
made
my
way
along
the
corridor
to
the
salle
de
bain.
It
is
not
too
much
to
say
that
I
was
piqued
to
the
tonsils.
I
mean
to
say,
one
does
not
court
praise.
The
adulation
of
the
multitude
means
very
little
to
one.
But,
all
the
same,
when
one
has
taken
the
trouble
to
whack
out
a
highly
juicy
scheme
to
benefit
an
in-the-soup
friend
in
his
hour
of
travail,
it’s
pretty
foul
to
find
him
giving
the
credit
to
one’s
personal
attendant,
particularly
if
that
personal
attendant
is
a
man
who
goes
about
the
place
not
packing
mess-jackets.
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