Right Ho, Jeeves

“What?” “I’ve a good mind to take that tip of yours and have a drink.” I smiled. He little knew, about summed up what I was thinking. “Oh, you’ll be all right,” I said. He became fevered again. “How do you know I’ll be all right? I’m sure to blow up in my lines.” “Tush!” “Or drop a prize.” “Tut!” “Or something. I can feel it in my bones. As sure as I’m standing here, something is going to happen this afternoon which will make everybody laugh themselves sick at me. I can hear them now. Like hyenas.... Bertie!” “Hullo?” “Do you remember that kids’ school we went to before Eton?” “Quite. It was there I won my Scripture prize.” “Never mind about your Scripture prize. I’m not talking about your Scripture prize. Do you recollect the Bosher incident?” I did, indeed. It was one of the high spots of my youth. “Major-General Sir Wilfred Bosher came to distribute the prizes at that school,” proceeded Gussie in a dull, toneless voice. “He dropped a book. He stooped to pick it up. And, as he stooped, his trousers split up the back.” “How we roared!” Gussie’s face twisted. “We did, little swine that we were. Instead of remaining silent and exhibiting a decent sympathy for a gallant officer at a peculiarly embarrassing moment, we howled and yelled with mirth. I loudest of any. That is what will happen to me this afternoon, Bertie. It will be a judgment on me for laughing like that at Major-General Sir Wilfred Bosher.”