Right Ho, Jeeves

And he was attending that fancy-dress ball, mark you--not, like every other well-bred Englishman, as a Pierrot, but as Mephistopheles--this involving, as I need scarcely stress, not only scarlet tights but a pretty frightful false beard. Rummy, you’ll admit. However, one masks one’s feelings. I betrayed no vulgar astonishment, but, as I say, what-hoed with civil nonchalance. He grinned through the fungus--rather sheepishly, I thought. “Oh, hullo, Bertie.” “Long time since I saw you. Have a spot?” “No, thanks. I must be off in a minute. I just came round to ask Jeeves how he thought I looked. How do you think I look, Bertie?” Well, the answer to that, of course, was “perfectly foul”. But we Woosters are men of tact and have a nice sense of the obligations of a host. We do not tell old friends beneath our roof-tree that they are an offence to the eyesight. I evaded the question. “I hear you’re in London,” I said carelessly. “Oh, yes.” “Must be years since you came up.” “Oh, yes.” “And now you’re off for an evening’s pleasure.” He shuddered a bit. He had, I noticed, a hunted air. “Pleasure!” “Aren’t you looking forward to this rout or revel?” “Oh, I suppose it’ll be all right,” he said, in a toneless voice. “Anyway, I ought to be off, I suppose. The thing starts round about eleven. I told my cab to wait.... Will you see if it’s there, Jeeves?” “Very good, sir.” There was something of a pause after the door had closed. A certain constraint. I mixed myself a beaker, while Gussie, a glutton for punishment, stared at himself in the mirror. Finally I decided that it would be best to let him know that I was abreast of his affairs. It might be that it would ease his mind to confide in a sympathetic man of experience. I have generally found, with those under the influence, that what they want more than anything is the listening ear.