"How would it be----?" I said.
"That's no good."
"Only a suggestion," I said.
* * * * *
"Jeeves," I said, when I got home, "surge round!"
"Sir?"
"Burnish the old bean. I have a case that calls for one of your best
efforts. Have you ever heard of a Miss Gwendolen Moon?"
"Authoress of _Autumn Leaves_, _'Twas on an English June_, and other
works. Yes, sir."
"Great Scott, Jeeves, you seem to know everything."
"Thank you very much, sir."
"Well, Mr. Sipperley is in love with Miss Moon."
"Yes, sir."
"But fears to speak."
"It is often the way, sir."
"Deeming himself unworthy."
"Precisely, sir."
"Right! But that is not all. Tuck that away in a corner of the mind,
Jeeves, and absorb the rest of the facts. Mr. Sipperley, as you are
aware, is the editor of a weekly paper devoted to the interests of the
lighter Society. And now the head master of his old school has started
calling at the office and unloading on him junk entirely unsuited to
the lighter Society. All clear?"
"I follow you perfectly, sir."
"And this drip Mr. Sipperley is compelled to publish, much against his
own wishes, purely because he lacks the nerve to tell the man to go to
blazes. The whole trouble being, Jeeves, that he has got one of those
things that fellows do get--it's on the tip of my tongue."
"An inferiority complex, sir?"
"Exactly. An inferiority complex. I have one myself with regard to my
aunt Agatha. You know me, Jeeves. You know that if it were a question
of volunteers to man the lifeboat, I would spring to the task. If
anyone said, 'Don't go down the coal mine, Daddy,' it would have not
the slightest effect on my resolution----"
"Undoubtedly, sir."
"And yet--and this is where I want you to follow me very closely,
Jeeves--when I hear that my aunt Agatha is out with her hatchet and
moving in my direction, I run like a rabbit. Why? Because she gives me
an inferiority complex. And so it is with Mr. Sipperley. He would, if
called upon, mount the deadly breach, and do it without a tremor; but
he cannot bring himself to propose to Miss Moon, and he cannot kick his
old head master in the stomach and tell him to take his beastly essays
on 'The Old School Cloisters' elsewhere, because he has an inferiority
complex. So what about it, Jeeves?"
"I fear I have no plan which I could advance with any confidence on the
spur of the moment, sir."
"You want time to think, eh?"
"Yes, sir."
"Take it, Jeeves, take it. You may feel brainier after a night's sleep.
What is it Shakespeare calls sleep, Jeeves?"
"Tired Nature's sweet restorer, sir."
"Exactly. Well, there you are, then."
* * * * *
You know, there's nothing like sleeping on a thing. Scarcely had I
woken up next morning when I discovered that, while I slept, I had got
the whole binge neatly into order and worked out a plan Foch might have
been proud of. I rang the bell for Jeeves to bring me my tea.
I rang again. But it must have been five minutes before the man showed
up with the steaming.
"I beg your pardon, sir," he said, when I reproached him. "I did not
hear the bell. I was in the sitting room, sir."
"Ah?" I said, sucking down a spot of the mixture. "Doing this and that,
no doubt?"
"Dusting your new vase, sir."
My heart warmed to the fellow. If there's one person I like, it's
the chap who is not too proud to admit it when he's in the wrong. No
actual statement to that effect had passed his lips, of course, but we
Woosters can read between the lines. I could see that he was learning
to love the vase.
"How does it look?"
"Yes, sir."
A bit cryptic, but I let it go.
"Jeeves," I said.
"Sir?"
"That matter we were in conference about yestere'en."
"The matter of Mr. Sipperley, sir?"
"Precisely. Don't worry yourself any further. Stop the brain working. I
shall not require your services. I have found the solution. It came on
me like a flash."
"Indeed, sir?"
"Just like a flash. In a matter of this kind, Jeeves, the first thing
to do is to study--what's the word I want?"
"I could not say, sir."
"Quite a common word--though long."
"Psychology, sir?"
"The exact noun. It is a noun?"
"Yes, sir."
"Spoken like a man! Well, Jeeves, direct your attention to the
psychology of old Sippy. Mr. Sipperley, if you follow me, is in the
position of a man from whose eyes the scales have not fallen. The task
that faced me, Jeeves, was to discover some scheme which would cause
those scales to fall. You get me?"
"Not entirely, sir."
"Well, what I'm driving at is this. At present this head master
bloke, this Waterbury, is trampling all over Mr. Sipperley because he
is hedged about with dignity, if you understand what I mean. Years
have passed; Mr. Sipperley now shaves daily and is in an important
editorial position; but he can never forget that this bird once gave
him six of the juiciest. Result: an inferiority complex. The only way
to remove that complex, Jeeves, is to arrange that Mr. Sipperley shall
see this Waterbury in a thoroughly undignified position. This done,
the scales will fall from his eyes. You must see that for yourself,
Jeeves. Take your own case. No doubt there are a number of your friends
and relations who look up to you and respect you greatly. But suppose
one night they were to see you, in an advanced state of intoxication,
dancing the Charleston in your underwear in the middle of Piccadilly
Circus?"
"The contingency is remote, sir."
"Ah, but suppose they did. The scales would fall from their eyes,
what?"
"Very possibly, sir."
"Take another case. Do you remember a year or so ago the occasion when
my aunt Agatha accused the maid at that French hotel of pinching her
pearls, only to discover that they were still in her drawer?"
"Yes, sir."
"Whereupon she looked the most priceless ass. You'll admit that."
"Certainly I have seen Mrs. Spenser Gregson appear to greater advantage
than at that moment, sir."
"Exactly. Now follow me like a leopard. Observing my aunt Agatha in
her downfall, watching her turn bright mauve, and listening to her
being told off in liquid French by a whiskered hotel proprietor without
coming back with so much as a single lift of the eyebrows, I felt as
if the scales had fallen from my eyes. For the first time in my life,
Jeeves, the awe with which this woman had inspired me from childhood's
days left me. It came back later, I'll admit; but at the moment I saw
my aunt Agatha for what she was--not, as I had long imagined, a sort of
man-eating fish at the very mention of whose name strong men quivered
like aspens, but a poor goop who had just dropped a very serious brick.
At that moment, Jeeves, I could have told her precisely where she got
off; and only a too-chivalrous regard for the sex kept me from doing
so. You won't dispute that?"
"No, sir."
"Well, then, my firm conviction is that the scales will fall from Mr.
Sipperley's eyes when he sees this Waterbury, this old head master,
stagger into his office covered from head to foot with flour."
"Flour, sir?"
"Flour, Jeeves."
"But why should he pursue such a course, sir?"
"Because he won't be able to help it. The stuff will be balanced on top
of the door, and the force of gravity will do the rest. I propose to
set a boobytrap for this Waterbury, Jeeves."
"Really, sir, I would scarcely advocate----"