Right Ho, Jeeves

“It all depends,” I said. “I may remain. I may push on. My plans are uncertain.” He nodded listlessly, rather in the manner of a man who did not give a damn what I did, and stood gazing out over the sunlit garden. In build and appearance, Tuppy somewhat resembles a bulldog, and his aspect now was that of one of these fine animals who has just been refused a slice of cake. It was not difficult for a man of my discernment to read what was in his mind, and it occasioned me no surprise, therefore, when his next words had to do with the subject marked with a cross on the agenda paper. “You’ve heard of this business of mine, I suppose? Me and Angela?” “I have, indeed, Tuppy, old man.” “We’ve bust up.” “I know. Some little friction, I gather, in re Angela’s shark.” “Yes. I said it must have been a flatfish.” “So my informant told me.” “Who did you hear it from?” “Aunt Dahlia.” “I suppose she cursed me properly?” “Oh, no.” “Beyond referring to you in one passage as ‘this blasted Glossop’, she was, I thought, singularly temperate in her language for a woman who at one time hunted regularly with the Quorn. All the same, I could see, if you don’t mind me saying so, old man, that she felt you might have behaved with a little more tact.” “Tact!” “And I must admit I rather agreed with her. Was it nice, Tuppy, was it quite kind to take the bloom off Angela’s shark like that? You must remember that Angela’s shark is very dear to her. Could you not see what a sock on the jaw it would be for the poor child to hear it described by the man to whom she had given her heart as a flatfish?”