Another day dawned all hot and fresh and, in pursuance of my unswerving
policy at that time, I was singing "Sonny Boy" in my bath, when
Jeeves's voice filtered through the woodwork.
"I beg your pardon, sir."
I had just got to that bit about the angels being lonely, where you
need every ounce of concentration in order to make the spectacular
finish, but I signed off courteously.
"Yes, Jeeves? Say on."
"Mr. Glossop, sir."
"What about him?"
"He is in the sitting room, sir."
"Young Tuppy Glossop?"
"Yes, sir," Jeeves answered in his monosyllabic way.
"You say that he is in the sitting room?" I asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Desiring speech with me?"
"Yes, sir."
"H'm!"
"Sir?"
"I only said 'H'm.'"
And I'll tell you why I said "H'm." It was because the man's story had
interested me strangely. And I'll tell you why the man's story had
interested me strangely. Owing to a certain episode that had occurred
one night at the Drones' Club, there had sprung up recently a coolness,
as you might describe it, between this Glossop and myself. The news,
therefore, that he was visiting me at my flat, especially at an hour
when he must have known that I would be in my bath and consequently in
a strong strategic position to heave a wet sponge at him, surprised me
considerably.
I hopped out with some briskness and, slipping a couple of towels about
the torso, made for the sitting room. I found young Tuppy at the piano,
playing "Sonny Boy" with one finger.
"What ho!" I said, not without hauteur.
"Oh, hullo, Bertie," said Tuppy. "I say, Bertie, I want to see you
about something important."
It seemed to me that the bloke was embarrassed. He had moved to the
mantelpiece, and now he broke a vase in a constrained way.
"The fact is, Bertie, I'm engaged."
"Engaged?"
"Engaged," said young Tuppy, coyly dropping a photograph frame upon the
fender. "Practically, that is."
"Practically?"
"Yes. You'll like her, Bertie. Her name is Cora Bellinger. She's
studying for opera. Wonderful voice she has. Also dark, flashing eyes
and a great soul."
"How do you mean, 'practically'?"
"Well, it's this way. Before ordering the trousseau there is one little
point she wants cleared up. You see, what with her great soul and all
that, she has a rather serious outlook on life, and the one thing she
absolutely bars is anything in the shape of hearty humour. You know,
practical joking and so forth.
"She said if she thought I was a practical joker she would never speak
to me again. And unfortunately she appears to have heard about that
little affair at the Drones'.... I expect you have forgotten all about
that, Bertie?"
"I have not!"
"No, no, not forgotten exactly. What I mean is, nobody laughs more
heartily at the recollection than you. And what I want you to do,
old man, is to seize an early opportunity of taking Cora aside and
categorically denying that there is any truth in the story. My
happiness, Bertie, is in your hands, if you know what I mean."
Well, of course, if he put it like that, what could I do? We Woosters
have our code.
"Oh, all right," I said, but far from brightly.
"Splendid fellow!"
"When do I meet this blighted female?" I asked.
"Don't call her 'this blighted female,' Bertie, old man. I have planned
all that out. I will bring her around here to-day for a spot of lunch."
"What!"
"At one-thirty. Right. Good. Fine. Thanks. I knew I could rely on you."
He pushed off, and I turned to Jeeves, who had shimmered in with the
morning meal.
"Lunch for three to-day, Jeeves," I said.
"Very good, sir."
"You know, Jeeves, it's a bit thick. You remember my telling you about
what Mr. Glossop did to me that night at the Drones'?"
"Yes, sir."
"For months I have been cherishing dreams of a hideous vengeance. And
now, so far from crushing him into the dust, I've got to fill him and
fiancée with rich food, and generally rally round and be the good
angel."
"Life is like that, sir."
"True, Jeeves. What have we here?" I asked, inspecting the tray.
"Kippered herrings, sir."
"And I shouldn't wonder," I said, for I was in thoughtful mood, "if
even herrings haven't troubles of their own."
"Quite possibly, sir."
"I mean, apart from getting kippered."
"Yes, sir."
"And so it goes on, Jeeves, so it goes on."
* * * * *
I can't say I saw exactly eye to eye with young Tuppy in his admiration
for the Bellinger female. Delivered on the mat at one-twenty-five, she
proved to be an upstanding light-heavyweight of some thirty summers
with a commanding eye and a square chin which I, personally, would have
steered clear of.
She seemed to me a good deal like what Cleopatra would have been after
going in too freely for the starches and cereals. I don't know why it
is, but women who have anything to do with opera, even if they're only
studying for it, always appear to run to surplus poundage.
Tuppy, however, was obviously all for her. His whole demeanour, both
before and during luncheon, was that of one striving to be worthy of a
noble soul. When Jeeves offered him a cocktail he practically recoiled
as from a serpent. It was terrible to see the change which love had
effected in the man. The spectacle put me off my food.
At half-past two the Bellinger left to go to a singing lesson. Tuppy
trotted after her to the door, bleating and frisking a goodish bit, and
then came back and looked at me in a marked manner.
"Well, Bertie?"
"Well, what?"
"I mean, isn't she?"
"Oh, rather," I said, humouring the poor fish.
"Wonderful eyes?"
"Oh, rather."
"Wonderful figure?"
"Oh, quite."
"Wonderful voice?"
Here I was able to intone the response with a little more heartiness.
The Bellinger, at Tuppy's request, had sung us a few songs before
digging in at the trough, and nobody could have denied that her pipes
were in great shape. The plaster was still falling from the ceiling.
"Terrific," I said.
Tuppy sighed, and, having helped himself to about four inches of whisky
and one of soda, took a deep, refreshing draft.
"Ah!" he said. "I needed that."
"Why didn't you have it at lunch?"
"Well, it's this way," said Tuppy. "I have not actually ascertained
what Cora's opinions are on the subject of the taking of slight snorts
from time to time, but I thought it more prudent to lay off. The view I
took was that laying off would seem to indicate the serious mind. It is
touch and go, as you might say, at the moment, and the smallest thing
may turn the scale."
"What beats me is how on earth you expect to make her think you've got
a mind at all--let alone a serious one."
"Well, I have my own methods, Bertie, old man."
"I bet they're rotten, Tuppy."
"You do, do you?" said Tuppy warmly. "Well, let me tell you, my lad,
that that's exactly what they're anything but. I am handling this
affair with consummate generalship. Do you remember Beefy Bingham who
was at Oxford with us?"
"I ran into him only the other day. He's a parson now."
"Yes. Down in the East End. Well, he runs a lads' club for the local
toughs--you know the sort of thing--cocoa and backgammon in the reading
room and occasional clean, bright entertainments in the Oddfellows'
Hall; and I've been helping him. I don't suppose I've passed an evening
away from the backgammon board for weeks.
"Cora is extremely pleased. I've got her to promise to sing on Tuesday
at Beefy's next clean, bright entertainment."
"You have?"
"I absolutely have. And now mark my devilish ingenuity, Bertie. I'm
going to sing, too."
"Why do you suppose that's going to get you anywhere?"
"Because the way I intend to sing the song I intend to sing will prove
to her that there are great deeps in my nature, whose existence she has
not suspected. She will see that rough, unlettered audience wiping the
tears out of its bally eyes and she will say to herself, 'What ho! The
old egg really has a soul!'
"For it is not one of your mouldy comic songs, Bertie. No low
buffoonery of that sort for me. It is all about angels being lonely and
what not."
I uttered a sharp cry. "You can't mean you're going to sing 'Sonny
Boy'?"
"I jolly well do."
I was shocked. Yes, dash it, I was shocked. You see, I held strong
views on "Sonny Boy." I considered it a song only to be attempted by
a few of the elect in the privacy of the bathroom. And the thought of
its being murdered in open Oddfellows' Hall by a bloke who could treat
a pal as young Tuppy had treated me that night at the Drones' sickened
me. Yes, sickened me.
I hadn't time, however, to express my horror and disgust, for at this
juncture Jeeves came in.
"Mrs. Travers has just rung up on the telephone, sir. She desired me to
say that she will be calling to see you in a few minutes."
"Contents noted, Jeeves," I said. "Now listen, Tuppy----" I began.