Jeeves in the Morning
There's something about the mere sight of this number-nine-size-hatted man that seldom fails to jerk the beholder from despondency's depths in times of travail. Although Reason told us that he couldn't possibly have formulated a scheme for dragging home the gravy, we hailed him eagerly.
"Well?" I said.
"Well?" said Boko.
"Well?" said Nobby.
"Any luck, Jeeves?" I asked.
He inclined the coconut.
"Yes, sir. I am happy to say that I have been successful in finding a solution to the problem confronting you."
"Gosh!" cried Nobby, stunned to the core.
"Egad!" cried Boko, the same.
"Well, I'm blowed!" I ejaculated, ibid. "You have? I wouldn't have thought it possible. Would you, Boko?"
"I certainly wouldn't."
"Or you, Nobby?"
"Not in a million years."
"Well, there it is. That's Jeeves. Where others merely smite the brow and clutch the hair, he acts. Napoleon was the same."
Boko shook his head.
"You can't class Napoleon with Jeeves."
"Like putting up a fairish selling-platter against a classic yearling." agreed Nobby.
"Napoleon had his moments," I urged.
"On a very limited scale compared with Jeeves," said Boko. "I have nothing against Napoleon, but I cannot see him sauntering out into Steeple Bumpleigh at half-past five in the afternoon and coming back ten minutes later with a costume for a fancy dress ball. And this, you say, is what you have accomplished, Jeeves?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, I don't know how you feel about it, Bertie," said Boko, "but to me the thing looks like a ruddy miracle. Where is this costume, Jeeves?"
"I have places it on the bed in Mr. Wooster's room, sir."
"But where on earth did you get it?"
"I found it, sir."
"Found it? Just lying around, do you mean?"
"Yes, sir. On the bank of the river."
I don't know why it was, unless possibly because we Woosters are a bit quicker than other men, but at these words a sudden, horrible suspicion shot through me like a dose of salts, numbing the nerve centres and turning the blood to ice.
"Jeeves," I faltered, "This thing...this what-you-may-call-it...this costume of which you speak...what is it?"
"A policeman's uniform, sir."
I collapsed into a chair as if the lower limbs had been mown off with a scythe. The s. had been well founded.
"It has occurred to me since that it may possibly have been the property of My. Cheesewright, sir. I observed him disporting himself in the water not far away."
Both Douglas Adams and Sara Nelson mentioned loving Wodehouse so I figured I had to read at least one book. In the end, I didn't think it was all that enjoyable. It was funny but also, for me, a tiresome read. There were too many British terms I couldn't easily understand. It was funny, but not funny enough to make it worthwhile. |
