Right Ho, Jeeves

“Well, if he hadn’t been one before, I’ll bet he started being one shortly afterwards. I expect he could scarcely wait for the pubs to open.” “Very possibly, in the circumstances he might have found a restorative agreeable, sir.” “And so, in the circumstances, might Gussie too, I should think. What on earth did he do after that? London late at night--or even in the daytime, for that matter--is no place for a man in scarlet tights.” “No, sir.” “He invites comment.” “Yes, sir.” “I can see the poor old bird ducking down side-streets, skulking in alley-ways, diving into dust-bins.” “I gathered from Mr. Fink-Nottle’s remarks, sir, that something very much on those lines was what occurred. Eventually, after a trying night, he found his way to Mr. Sipperley’s residence, where he was able to secure lodging and a change of costume in the morning.” I nestled against the pillows, the brow a bit drawn. It is all very well to try to do old school friends a spot of good, but I could not but feel that in espousing the cause of a lunkhead capable of mucking things up as Gussie had done, I had taken on a contract almost too big for human consumption. It seemed to me that what Gussie needed was not so much the advice of a seasoned man of the world as a padded cell in Colney Hatch and a couple of good keepers to see that he did not set the place on fire.