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264
Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
87
“It
doesn’t.”
“I
tell
you
it
does.
I
catch
sight
of
it,
and
the
words
freeze
on
my
lips.”
He
spoke
with
a
sort
of
dull
despair,
and
so
manifest
was
his
lack
of
ginger
and
the
spirit
that
wins
to
success
that
for
an
instant,
I
confess,
I
felt
a
bit
stymied.
It
seemed
hopeless
to
go
on
trying
to
steam
up
such
a
human
jellyfish.
Then
I
saw
the
way.
With
that
extraordinary
quickness
of
mine,
I
realized
exactly
what
must
be
done
if
this
Fink-Nottle
was
to
be
enabled
to
push
his
nose
past
the
judges’
box.
“She
must
be
softened
up,”
I
said.
“Be
what?”
“Softened
up.
Sweetened.
Worked
on.
Preliminary
spadework
must
be
put
in.
Here,
Gussie,
is
the
procedure
I
propose
to
adopt:
I
shall
now
return
to
the
house
and
lug
this
Bassett
out
for
a
stroll.
I
shall
talk
to
her
of
hearts
that
yearn,
intimating
that
there
is
one
actually
on
the
premises.
I
shall
pitch
it
strong,
sparing
no
effort.
You,
meanwhile,
will
lurk
on
the
outskirts,
and
in
about
a
quarter
of
an
hour
you
will
come
along
and
carry
on
from
there.
By
that
time,
her
emotions
having
been
stirred,
you
ought
to
be
able
to
do
the
rest
on
your
head.
It
will
be
like
leaping
on
to
a
moving
bus.”
I
remember
when
I
was
a
kid
at
school
having
to
learn
a
poem
of
sorts
about
a
fellow
named
Pig-something--a
sculptor
he
would
have
been,
no
doubt--who
made
a
statue
of
a
girl,
and
what
should
happen
one
morning
but
that
the
bally
thing
suddenly
came
to
life.
A
pretty
nasty
shock
for
the
chap,
of
course,
but
the
point
I’m
working
round
to
is
that
there
were
a
couple
of
lines
that
went,
if
I
remember
correctly:
Marker
Marker
Fine marker
White-out
Fine white-out
Circle
Paint
Unmarker
Hand
Scalpel
Dice
Sieve
Purify
Undo
Redo
Start over
