Right Ho, Jeeves

“Well, I’m glad you’re feeling braced,” I said. He moved buoyantly from the wash-hand stand, and endeavoured to slosh me on the back again. Foiled by my nimble footwork, he staggered to the bed and sat down upon it. “Braced? Did I say I could bite a tiger?” “You did.” “Make it two tigers. I could chew holes in a steel door. What an ass you must have thought me out there in the garden. I see now you were laughing in your sleeve.” “No, no.” “Yes,” insisted Gussie. “That very sleeve,” he said, pointing. “And I don’t blame you. I can’t imagine why I made all that fuss about a potty job like distributing prizes at a rotten little country grammar school. Can you imagine, Bertie?” “No.” “Exactly. Nor can I imagine. There’s simply nothing to it. I just shin up on the platform, drop a few gracious words, hand the little blighters their prizes, and hop down again, admired by all. Not a suggestion of split trousers from start to finish. I mean, why should anybody split his trousers? I can’t imagine. Can you imagine?” “No.” “Nor can I imagine. I shall be a riot. I know just the sort of stuff that’s needed--simple, manly, optimistic stuff straight from the shoulder. This shoulder,” said Gussie, tapping. “Why I was so nervous this morning I can’t imagine. For anything simpler than distributing a few footling books to a bunch of grimy-faced kids I can’t imagine. Still, for some reason I can’t imagine, I was feeling a little nervous, but now I feel fine, Bertie--fine, fine, fine--and I say this to you as an old friend. Because that’s what you are, old man, when all the smoke has cleared away--an old friend. I don’t think I’ve ever met an older friend. How long have you been an old friend of mine, Bertie?”