Right Ho, Jeeves

G.G. Simmons was an unpleasant, perky-looking stripling, mostly front teeth and spectacles, but I gave him a big hand. We Scripture-knowledge sharks stick together. Gussie, I was sorry to see, didn’t like him. There was in his manner, as he regarded G.G. Simmons, none of the chumminess which had marked it during his interview with P.K. Purvis or, in a somewhat lesser degree, with R.V. Smethurst. He was cold and distant. “Well, G.G. Simmons.” “Sir, yes, sir.” “What do you mean--sir, yes, sir? Dashed silly thing to say. So you’ve won the Scripture-knowledge prize, have you?” “Sir, yes, sir.” “Yes,” said Gussie, “you look just the sort of little tick who would. And yet,” he said, pausing and eyeing the child keenly, “how are we to know that this has all been open and above board? Let me test you, G.G. Simmons. What was What’s-His-Name--the chap who begat Thingummy? Can you answer me that, Simmons?” “Sir, no, sir.” Gussie turned to the bearded bloke. “Fishy,” he said. “Very fishy. This boy appears to be totally lacking in Scripture knowledge.” The bearded bloke passed a hand across his forehead. “I can assure you, Mr. Fink-Nottle, that every care was taken to ensure a correct marking and that Simmons outdistanced his competitors by a wide margin.” “Well, if you say so,” said Gussie doubtfully. “All right, G.G. Simmons, take your prize.” “Sir, thank you, sir.” “But let me tell you that there’s nothing to stick on side about in winning a prize for Scripture knowledge. Bertie Wooster----”