Right Ho, Jeeves

“I certainly am.” “Just to make Tuppy look silly.” “Do you think he looks silly?” “I do.” “So he ought to.” I began to get the idea that I wasn’t making real headway. I remember when I won that Scripture-knowledge prize, having to go into the facts about Balaam’s ass. I can’t quite recall what they were, but I still retain a sort of general impression of something digging its feet in and putting its ears back and refusing to co-operate; and it seemed to me that this was what Angela was doing now. She and Balaam’s ass were, so to speak, sisters under the skin. There’s a word beginning with r----“re” something----“recal” something--No, it’s gone. But what I am driving at is that is what this Angela was showing herself. “Silly young geezer,” I said. She pinkened. “I’m not a silly young geezer.” “You are a silly young geezer. And, what’s more, you know it.” “I don’t know anything of the kind.” “Here you are, wrecking Tuppy’s life, wrecking Gussie’s life, all for the sake of a cheap score.” “Well, it’s no business of yours.” I sat on this promptly: “No business of mine when I see two lives I used to go to school with wrecked? Ha! Besides, you know you’re potty about Tuppy.” “I’m not!” “Is that so? If I had a quid for every time I’ve seen you gaze at him with the lovelight in your eyes----” She gazed at me, but without the lovelight. “Oh, for goodness sake, go away and boil your head, Bertie!”