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264
Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
79
“You
don’t
follow.
Listen.
It’s
an
understood
thing,
I
take
it,
that
Uncle
Tom
foots
the
Boudoir
bills.
If
the
bally
sheet
has
been
turning
the
corner
for
two
years,
he
must
have
got
used
to
forking
out
by
this
time.
Well,
simply
ask
him
for
the
money
to
pay
the
printers.”
“I
did.
Just
before
I
went
to
Cannes.”
“Wouldn’t
he
give
it
to
you?”
“Certainly
he
gave
it
to
me.
He
brassed
up
like
an
officer
and
a
gentleman.
That
was
the
money
I
lost
at
baccarat.”
“Oh?
I
didn’t
know
that.”
“There
isn’t
much
you
do
know.”
A
nephew’s
love
made
me
overlook
the
slur.
“Tut!”
I
said.
“What
did
you
say?”
“I
said
‘Tut!’”
“Say
it
once
again,
and
I’ll
biff
you
where
you
stand.
I’ve
enough
to
endure
without
being
tutted
at.”
“Quite.”
“Any
tutting
that’s
required,
I’ll
attend
to
myself.
And
the
same
applies
to
clicking
the
tongue,
if
you
were
thinking
of
doing
that.”
“Far
from
it.”
“Good.”
I
stood
awhile
in
thought.
I
was
concerned
to
the
core.
My
heart,
if
you
remember,
had
already
bled
once
for
Aunt
Dahlia
this
evening.
It
now
bled
again.
I
knew
how
deeply
attached
she
was
to
this
paper
of
hers.
Seeing
it
go
down
the
drain
would
be
for
her
like
watching
a
loved
child
sink
for
the
third
time
in
some
pond
or
mere.
And
there
was
no
question
that,
unless
carefully
prepared
for
the
touch,
Uncle
Tom
would
see
a
hundred
Milady’s
Boudoirs
go
phut
rather
than
take
the
rap.
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