Right Ho, Jeeves

“Today,” said the bearded bloke, “we are all happy to welcome as the guest of the afternoon Mr. Fitz-Wattle----” At the beginning of the address, Gussie had subsided into a sort of daydream, with his mouth hanging open. About half-way through, faint signs of life had begun to show. And for the last few minutes he had been trying to cross one leg over the other and failing and having another shot and failing again. But only now did he exhibit any real animation. He sat up with a jerk. “Fink-Nottle,” he said, opening his eyes. “Fitz-Nottle.” “Fink-Nottle.” “I should say Fink-Nottle.” “Of course you should, you silly ass,” said Gussie genially. “All right, get on with it.” And closing his eyes, he began trying to cross his legs again. I could see that this little spot of friction had rattled the bearded bloke a bit. He stood for a moment fumbling at the fungus with a hesitating hand. But they make these head masters of tough stuff. The weakness passed. He came back nicely and carried on. “We are all happy, I say, to welcome as the guest of the afternoon Mr. Fink-Nottle, who has kindly consented to award the prizes. This task, as you know, is one that should have devolved upon that well-beloved and vigorous member of our board of governors, the Rev. William Plomer, and we are all, I am sure, very sorry that illness at the last moment should have prevented him from being here today. But, if I may borrow a familiar metaphor from the--if I may employ a homely metaphor familiar to you all--what we lose on the swings we gain on the roundabouts.”