“Jeeves,” I said, “haven’t you any scheme up your sleeve for coping
with this blighter?”
“No, sir.”
And he shimmered off to his lair. Obstinate devil! So dashed absurd,
don’t you know. It wasn’t as if there was anything wrong with that
Country Gentleman hat. It was a remarkably priceless effort, and much
admired by the lads. But, just because he preferred the Longacre, he
left me flat.
It was shortly after this that young Motty got the idea of bringing
pals back in the small hours to continue the gay revels in the home.
This was where I began to crack under the strain. You see, the part of
town where I was living wasn’t the right place for that sort of thing.
I knew lots of chappies down Washington Square way who started the
evening at about 2 a.m.—artists and writers and what-not, who frolicked
considerably till checked by the arrival of the morning milk. That was
all right. They like that sort of thing down there. The neighbours
can’t get to sleep unless there’s someone dancing Hawaiian dances over
their heads. But on Fifty-seventh Street the atmosphere wasn’t right,
and when Motty turned up at three in the morning with a collection of
hearty lads, who only stopped singing their college song when they
started singing “The Old Oaken Bucket,” there was a marked peevishness
among the old settlers in the flats. The management was extremely terse
over the telephone at breakfast-time, and took a lot of soothing.
The next night I came home early, after a lonely dinner at a place
which I’d chosen because there didn’t seem any chance of meeting Motty
there. The sitting-room was quite dark, and I was just moving to switch
on the light, when there was a sort of explosion and something collared
hold of my trouser-leg. Living with Motty had reduced me to such an
extent that I was simply unable to cope with this thing. I jumped
backward with a loud yell of anguish, and tumbled out into the hall
just as Jeeves came out of his den to see what the matter was.
“Did you call, sir?”
“Jeeves! There’s something in there that grabs you by the leg!”
“That would be Rollo, sir.”
“Eh?”
“I would have warned you of his presence, but I did not hear you come
in. His temper is a little uncertain at present, as he has not yet
settled down.”
“Who the deuce is Rollo?”
“His lordship’s bull-terrier, sir. His lordship won him in a raffle,
and tied him to the leg of the table. If you will allow me, sir, I will
go in and switch on the light.”
There really is nobody like Jeeves. He walked straight into the
sitting-room, the biggest feat since Daniel and the lions’ den, without
a quiver. What’s more, his magnetism or whatever they call it was such
that the dashed animal, instead of pinning him by the leg, calmed down
as if he had had a bromide, and rolled over on his back with all his
paws in the air. If Jeeves had been his rich uncle he couldn’t have
been more chummy. Yet directly he caught sight of me again, he got all
worked up and seemed to have only one idea in life—to start chewing me
where he had left off.
“Rollo is not used to you yet, sir,” said Jeeves, regarding the bally
quadruped in an admiring sort of way. “He is an excellent watchdog.”
“I don’t want a watchdog to keep me out of my rooms.”
“No, sir.”
“Well, what am I to do?”
“No doubt in time the animal will learn to discriminate, sir. He will
learn to distinguish your peculiar scent.”
“What do you mean—my peculiar scent? Correct the impression that I
intend to hang about in the hall while life slips by, in the hope that
one of these days that dashed animal will decide that I smell all
right.” I thought for a bit. “Jeeves!”
“Sir?”
“I’m going away—to-morrow morning by the first train. I shall go and
stop with Mr. Todd in the country.”
“Do you wish me to accompany you, sir?”
“No.”
“Very good, sir.”
“I don’t know when I shall be back. Forward my letters.”
“Yes, sir.”
As a matter of fact, I was back within the week. Rocky Todd, the pal I
went to stay with, is a rummy sort of a chap who lives all alone in the
wilds of Long Island, and likes it; but a little of that sort of thing
goes a long way with me. Dear old Rocky is one of the best, but after a
few days in his cottage in the woods, miles away from anywhere, New
York, even with Motty on the premises, began to look pretty good to me.
The days down on Long Island have forty-eight hours in them; you can’t
get to sleep at night because of the bellowing of the crickets; and you
have to walk two miles for a drink and six for an evening paper. I
thanked Rocky for his kind hospitality, and caught the only train they
have down in those parts. It landed me in New York about dinner-time. I
went straight to the old flat. Jeeves came out of his lair. I looked
round cautiously for Rollo.
“Where’s that dog, Jeeves? Have you got him tied up?”
“The animal is no longer here, sir. His lordship gave him to the
porter, who sold him. His lordship took a prejudice against the animal
on account of being bitten by him in the calf of the leg.”
I don’t think I’ve ever been so bucked by a bit of news. I felt I had
misjudged Rollo. Evidently, when you got to know him better, he had a
lot of intelligence in him.
“Ripping!” I said. “Is Lord Pershore in, Jeeves?”
“No, sir.”
“Do you expect him back to dinner?”
“No, sir.”
“Where is he?”
“In prison, sir.”
Have you ever trodden on a rake and had the handle jump up and hit you?
That’s how I felt then.
“In prison!”
“Yes, sir.”
“You don’t mean—in prison?”
“Yes, sir.”