Right Ho, Jeeves

“Quick ones?” “Snifters.” “Drinks, do you mean? But I don’t drink.” “What?” “I’ve never touched a drop in my life.” This made me a bit dubious, I must confess. On these occasions it is generally conceded that a moderate skinful is of the essence. However, if the facts were as he had stated, I supposed there was nothing to be done about it. “Well, you’ll have to make out as best you can on ginger pop.” “I always drink orange juice.” “Orange juice, then. Tell me, Gussie, to settle a bet, do you really like that muck?” “Very much.” “Then there is no more to be said. Now, let’s just have a run through, to see that you’ve got the lay-out straight. Start off with the glimmering landscape.” “Stars God’s daisy chain.” “Twilight makes you feel sad.” “Because mine lonely life.” “Describe life.” “Talk about the day I met her.” “Add fairy-princess gag. Say there’s something you want to say to her. Heave a couple of sighs. Grab her hand. And give her the works. Right.” And confident that he had grasped the scenario and that everything might now be expected to proceed through the proper channels, I picked up the feet and hastened back to the house. It was not until I had reached the drawing-room and was enabled to take a square look at the Bassett that I found the debonair gaiety with which I had embarked on this affair beginning to wane a trifle. Beholding her at close range like this, I suddenly became cognisant of what I was in for. The thought of strolling with this rummy specimen undeniably gave me a most unpleasant sinking feeling. I could not but remember how often, when in her company at Cannes, I had gazed dumbly at her, wishing that some kindly motorist in a racing car would ease the situation by coming along and ramming her amidships. As I have already made abundantly clear, this girl was not one of my most congenial buddies.