Right Ho, Jeeves

He barked sharply. “A fat chance!” “Tup, Tushy!” “Eh?” “I mean ‘Tush, Tuppy.’ I tell you I will do it. I was just going to describe this plan of mine to Jeeves when you came in. Care to hear it?” “I don’t want to hear any of your beastly plans. Plans are no good. She’s gone and fallen in love with this other bloke, and now hates my gizzard.” “Rot.” “It isn’t rot.” “I tell you, Tuppy, as one who can read the female heart, that this Angela loves you still.” “Well, it didn’t look much like it in the larder last night.” “Oh, you went to the larder last night?” “I did.” “And Angela was there?” “She was. And your aunt. Also your uncle.” I saw that I should require foot-notes. All this was new stuff to me. I had stayed at Brinkley Court quite a lot in my time, but I had no idea the larder was such a social vortex. More like a snack bar on a race-course than anything else, it seemed to have become. “Tell me the whole story in your own words,” I said, “omitting no detail, however apparently slight, for one never knows how important the most trivial detail may be.” He inspected the photograph for a moment with growing gloom. “All right,” he said. “This is what happened. You know my views about that steak-and-kidney pie.” “Quite.” “Well, round about one a.m. I thought the time was ripe. I stole from my room and went downstairs. The pie seemed to beckon me.”