The Jeeves Omnibus - Vol 2: (Jeeves & Wooster): No. 2 (2 page)

‘Indeed, sir?’

‘Absolutely, Jeeves. The craving grew upon him. The newts got him. Arrived at man’s estate, he retired to the depths of the country and gave his life up to these dumb chums. I suppose he used to tell himself that he could take them or leave them alone, and then found – too late – that he couldn’t.’

‘It is often the way, sir.’

‘Too true, Jeeves. At any rate, for the last five years he has been living at this place of his down in Lincolnshire, as confirmed a species-shunning hermit as ever put fresh water in the tank every second day and refused to see a soul. That’s why I was so amazed when you told me he had suddenly risen to the surface like this. I still can’t believe it. I am inclined to think that there must be some mistake, and that this bird who has been calling here is some different variety of Fink-Nottle. The chap I know wears horn-rimmed spectacles and has a face like a fish. How does that check up with your data?’

‘The gentleman who came to the flat wore horn-rimmed spectacles, sir.’

‘And looked like something on a slab?’

‘Possibly there was a certain suggestion of the piscine, sir.’

‘Then it must be Gussie, I suppose. But what on earth can have brought him up to London?’

‘I am in a position to explain that, sir. Mr Fink-Nottle confided to me his motive in visiting the metropolis. He came because the young lady is here.’

‘Young lady?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You don’t mean he’s in love?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Well, I’m dashed. I’m really dashed. I positively am dashed, Jeeves.’

And I was too. I mean to say, a joke’s a joke, but there are limits.

Then I found my mind turning to another aspect of this rummy affair. Conceding the fact that Gussie Fink-Nottle, against all the ruling of the form book, might have fallen in love, why should he have been haunting my flat like this? No doubt the occasion was one of those when a fellow needs a friend, but I couldn’t see what had made him pick on me.

It wasn’t as if he and I were in any way bosom. We had seen a lot of each other at one time, of course, but in the last two years I hadn’t had so much as a postcard from him.

I put all this to Jeeves:

‘Odd, his coming to me. Still, if he did, he did. No argument about that. It must have been a nasty jar for the poor perisher when he found I wasn’t here.’

‘No, sir. Mr Fink-Nottle did not call to see you, sir.’

‘Pull yourself together, Jeeves. You’ve just told me that this is what he has been doing, and assiduously, at that.’

‘It was I with whom he was desirous of establishing communication, sir.’

‘You? But I didn’t know you had ever met him.’

‘I had not had that pleasure until he called here, sir. But it appears that Mr Sipperley, a fellow student with whom Mr Fink-Nottle had been at the university, recommended him to place his affairs in my hands.’

The mystery had conked. I saw all. As I dare say you know, Jeeves’s reputation as a counsellor has long been established among the cognoscenti, and the first move of any of my little circle on discovering themselves in any form of soup is always to roll round and put the thing up to him. And when he’s got A out of a bad spot, A puts B on to him. And then, when he has fixed up B, B sends C along. And so on, if you get my drift, and so forth.

That’s how these big consulting practices like Jeeves’s grow. Old Sippy, I knew, had been deeply impressed by the man’s efforts on his behalf at the time when he was trying to get engaged to Elizabeth Moon, so it was not to be wondered at that he should have advised Gussie to apply. Pure routine, you might say.

‘Oh, you’re acting for him, are you?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Now I follow. Now I understand. And what is Gussie’s trouble?’

‘Oddly enough, sir, precisely the same as that of Mr Sipperley when I was enabled to be of assistance to him. No doubt you recall Mr Sipperley’s predicament, sir. Deeply attached to Miss Moon, he suffered from a rooted diffidence which made it impossible for him to speak.’

I nodded.

‘I remember. Yes, I recall the Sipperley case. He couldn’t bring himself to the scratch. A marked coldness of the feet, was there not? I recollect you saying he was letting – what was it? – letting something do something. Cats entered into it, if I am not mistaken.’

‘Letting “I dare not” wait upon “I would”, sir.’

‘That’s right. But how about the cats?’

‘Like the poor cat i’ the adage, sir.’

‘Exactly. It beats me how you think up these things. And Gussie, you say, is in the same posish?’

‘Yes, sir. Each time he endeavours to formulate a proposal of marriage, his courage fails him.’

‘And yet, if he wants this female to be his wife, he’s got to say so, what? I mean, only civil to mention it.’

‘Precisely, sir.’

I mused.

‘Well, I suppose this was inevitable, Jeeves. I wouldn’t have thought that this Fink-Nottle would ever have fallen a victim to the divine p., but, if he has, no wonder he finds the going sticky.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Look at the life he’s led.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I don’t suppose he has spoken to a girl for years. What a lesson this is to us, Jeeves, not to shut ourselves up in country houses and stare into glass tanks. You can’t be the dominant male if you do that sort of thing. In this life, you can choose between two courses. You can either shut yourself up in a country house and stare into tanks, or you can be a dasher with the sex. You can’t do both.’

‘No, sir’

I mused once more. Gussie and I, as I say, had rather lost touch, but all the same I was exercised about the poor fish, as I am about all my pals, close or distant, who find themselves treading upon Life’s banana skins. It seemed to me that he was up against it.

I threw my mind back to the last time I had seen him. About two years ago, it had been. I had looked in at his place while on a motor trip, and he had put me right off my feed by bringing a couple of green things with legs to the luncheon table, crooning over them like a young mother and eventually losing one of them in the salad. That picture, rising before my eyes, didn’t give me much confidence in the unfortunate goof’s ability to woo and win, I must say. Especially if the girl he had earmarked was one of these tough modern thugs, all lipstick and cool, hard, sardonic eyes, as she probably was.

‘Tell me, Jeeves,’ I said, wishing to know the worst, ‘what sort of a girl is this girl of Gussie’s?’

‘I have not met the young lady, sir. Mr Fink-Nottle speaks highly of her attractions.’

‘Seemed to like her, did he?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Did he mention her name? Perhaps I know her.’

‘She is a Miss Bassett, sir. Miss Madeline Bassett.’

‘What?’

‘Yes, sir.’

I was deeply intrigued.

‘Egad, Jeeves! Fancy that. It’s a small world, isn’t it, what?’

‘The young lady is an acquaintance of yours, sir?’

‘I know her well. Your news has relieved my mind, Jeeves. It makes the whole thing begin to seem far more like a practical working proposition.’

‘Indeed, sir?’

‘Absolutely. I confess that until you supplied this information I was feeling profoundly dubious about poor old Gussie’s chances of inducing any spinster of any parish to join him in the saunter down the aisle. You will agree with me that he is not everybody’s money.’

‘There may be something in what you say, sir.’

‘Cleopatra wouldn’t have liked him.’

‘Possibly not, sir.’

‘And I doubt if he would go any too well with Tallulah Bankhead.’

‘No, sir.’

‘But when you tell me that the object of his affections is Miss Bassett, why, then, Jeeves, hope begins to dawn a bit. He’s just the sort of chap a girl like Madeline Bassett might scoop in with relish.’

This Bassett, I must explain, had been a fellow visitor of ours at Cannes; and as she and Angela had struck up one of those effervescent friendships which girls do strike up, I had seen quite a bit of her. Indeed, in my moodier moments it sometimes seemed to me that I could not move a step without stubbing my toe on the woman.

And what made it all so painful and distressing was that the more we met, the less did I seem able to find to say to her.

You know how it is with some girls. They seem to take the stuffing right out of you. I mean to say, there is something about their personality that paralyses the vocal cords and reduces the contents of the brain to cauliflower. It was like that with this Bassett and me; so much so that I have known occasions when for minutes at a stretch Bertram Wooster might have been observed fumbling with the tie, shuffling the feet, and behaving in all other respects in her presence like the complete dumb brick. When, therefore, she took her departure some two weeks before we did, you may readily imagine that, in Bertram’s opinion, it was not a day too soon.

It was not her beauty, mark you, that thus numbed me. She was a pretty enough girl in a droopy, blonde, saucer-eyed way, but not the sort of breath-taker that takes the breath.

No, what caused this disintegration in a usually fairly fluent prattler with the sex was her whole mental attitude. I don’t want to wrong anybody, so I won’t go so far as to say that she actually wrote poetry, but her conversation, to my mind, was of a nature calculated to excite the liveliest suspicions. Well, I mean to say, when a girl suddenly asks you out of a blue sky if you don’t sometimes feel that the stars are God’s daisy chain, you begin to think a bit.

As regards the fusing of her soul and mine, therefore, there was nothing doing. But with Gussie, the posish was entirely different. The thing that had stymied me – viz. that this girl was obviously all loaded down with ideals and sentiment and what not – was quite in order as far as he was concerned.

Gussie had always been one of those dreamy, soulful birds – you can’t shut yourself up in the country and live only for newts, if you’re not – and I could see no reason why, if he could somehow be induced to get the low, burning words off his chest, he and the Bassett shouldn’t hit it off like ham and eggs.

‘She’s just the type for him,’ I said.

‘I am most gratified to hear it, sir.’

‘And he’s just the type for her. In fine, a good thing and one to be pushed along with the utmost energy. Strain every nerve, Jeeves.’

‘Very good, sir,’ replied the honest fellow. ‘I will attend to the matter at once.’

Now up to this point, as you will doubtless agree, what you might call a perfect harmony had prevailed. Friendly gossip between employer and employed, and everything as sweet as a nut. But at this juncture, I regret to say, there was an unpleasant switch. The atmosphere suddenly changed, the storm clouds began to gather, and before we knew where we were, the jarring note had come bounding on the scene. I have known this to happen before in the Wooster home.

The first intimation I had that things were about to hot up was a pained and disapproving cough from the neighbourhood of the carpet. For, during the above exchanges, I should explain, while I, having dried the frame, had been dressing in a leisurely manner, donning here a sock, there a shoe, and gradually climbing into the vest, the shirt, the tie, and the knee-length, Jeeves had been down on the lower level, unpacking my effects.

He now rose, holding a white object. And at the sight of it, I
realized
that another of our domestic crises had arrived, another of those unfortunate clashes of will between two strong men, and that Bertram, unless he remembered his fighting ancestors and stood up for his rights, was about to be put upon.

I don’t know if you were at Cannes this summer. If you were, you will recall that anybody with any pretensions to being the life and soul of the party was accustomed to attend binges at the Casino in the ordinary evening-wear trouserings topped to the north by a white mess jacket with brass buttons. And ever since I had stepped aboard the Blue Train at Cannes station, I had been wondering on and off how mine would go with Jeeves.

In the matter of evening costume, you see, Jeeves is hidebound and reactionary. I had had trouble with him before about soft-bosomed shirts. And while these mess jackets had, as I say, been all the rage –
tout ce qu’il y a de chic
– on the Côte d’Azur, I had never concealed it from myself, even when treading the measure at the Palm Beach Casino in the one I had hastened to buy, that there might be something of an upheaval about it on my return.

I prepared to be firm.

‘Yes, Jeeves?’ I said. And though my voice was suave, a close observer in a position to watch my eyes would have noticed a steely glint. Nobody has a greater respect for Jeeves’s intellect than I have, but this disposition of his to dictate to the hand that fed him had got, I felt, to be checked. This mess jacket was very near to my heart, and I jolly well intended to fight for it with all the vim of grand old Sieur de Wooster at the Battle of Agincourt.

‘Yes, Jeeves?’ I said. ‘Something on your mind, Jeeves?’

‘I fear that you inadvertently left Cannes in the possession of a coat belonging to some other gentleman, sir.’

I switched on the steely a bit more.

‘No, Jeeves,’ I said, in a level tone, ‘the object under advisement is mine. I bought it out there.’

‘You wore it, sir?’

‘Every night.’

‘But surely you are not proposing to wear it in England, sir?’

I saw that we had arrived at the nub.

‘Yes, Jeeves.’

‘But, sir –’

‘You were saying, Jeeves?’

‘It is quite unsuitable, sir.’

‘I do not agree with you, Jeeves. I anticipate a great popular success for this jacket. It is my intention to spring it on the public tomorrow
at
Pongo Twistleton’s birthday party, where I confidently expect it to be one long scream from start to finish. No argument, Jeeves. No discussion. Whatever fantastic objection you may have taken to it, I wear this jacket.’

‘Very good, sir.’

He went on with his unpacking. I said no more on the subject. I had won the victory, and we Woosters do not triumph over a beaten foe. Presently, having completed my toilet, I bade the man a cheery farewell and in generous mood suggested that, as I was dining out, why didn’t he take the evening off and go to some improving picture or something. Sort of olive branch, if you see what I mean.