"You seem to me, old egg," I said, "to speak in riddles. Don't you
think he speaks in riddles, Jeeves?"
"Yes, sir."
"I'm talking about the Pyke," said Bingo.
"What pike?"
"Laura Pyke. Don't you remember?"
"Oh, ah. Of course. The school chum. The seminary crony. Is she still
here?"
"Yes, and looks like staying forever. Rosie's absolutely potty about
her. Hangs on her lips."
"The glamour of the old days still persists, eh?"
"I should say it does," said young Bingo. "This business of schoolgirl
friendship beats me. 'Hypnotic' is the only word. I can't understand
it. Men aren't like that. You and I were at school together, Bertie,
but my gosh, I don't look on you as a sort of master mind."
"You don't?"
"I don't treat your lightest utterance as a pearl of wisdom."
"Why not?"
"Yet Rosie does with this Pyke. In the hands of the Pyke she is mere
putty. If you want to see what was once a first-class Garden of Eden
becoming utterly ruined as a desirable residence by the machinations of
a Serpent, take a look round this place."
"Why, what's the trouble?"
"Laura Pyke," said young Bingo with intense bitterness, "is a food
crank, curse her. She says we all eat too much and eat it too quickly
and, anyway, ought not to be eating it at all but living on parsnips
and similar muck. And Rosie, instead of telling the woman not to be a
fathead, gazes at her in wide-eyed admiration, taking it in through the
pores.
"The result is that the cuisine of this house has been shot to
pieces, and I am starving on my feet. Well, when I tell you that it's
weeks since a beefsteak pudding raised its head in the home, you'll
understand what I mean."
At this point the gong went. Bingo listened with a moody frown.
"I don't know why they still bang that confounded thing," he said.
"There's nothing to bang it for. By the way, Bertie, would you like a
cocktail?"
"I would."
"Well, you won't get one. We don't have cocktails any more. The girl
friend says they corrode the stomachic tissues."
I was appalled. I had had no idea that the evil had spread as far as
this.
"No cocktails!"
"No. And you'll be dashed lucky if it isn't a vegetarian dinner."
"Bingo," I cried, deeply moved, "you must act! You must assert
yourself. You must put your foot down. You must take a strong stand.
You must be master in the home."
He looked at me. A long, strange look. "You aren't married, are you,
Bertie?"
"You know I'm not."
"I should have guessed it, anyway. Come on."
Well, the dinner wasn't absolutely vegetarian, but when you had said
that you had said everything. It was sparse, meagre, not at all
the jolly, chunky repast for which the old tum was standing up and
clamouring after its long motor ride. And what there was of it was
turned to ashes in the mouth by the conversation of Miss Laura Pyke.
In happier circs., and if I had not been informed in advance of the
warped nature of her soul, I might have been favourably impressed by
this female at the moment of our meeting. She was really rather a
good-looking girl, a bit strong in the face but nevertheless quite
reasonably attractive. But had she been a thing of radiant beauty she
never could have clicked with Bertram Wooster. Her conversation was of
a kind which would have queered Helen of Troy with any right-thinking
man.
During dinner she talked all the time, and it did not take me long to
see why the iron had entered into Bingo's soul. Practically all she
said was about food and Bingo's tendency to shovel it down in excessive
quantities, thereby handing the lemon to his stomachic tissues.
She didn't seem particularly interested in my stomachic tissues, rather
giving the impression that if Bertram burst it would be all right with
her. It was on young Bingo that she concentrated as the brand to be
saved from the burning.
Gazing at him like a high priestess at the favourite, though erring,
disciple, she told him all the things that were happening to his
inside because he would insist on eating stuff lacking in fat-soluble
vitamins. She spoke freely of proteins, carbohydrates, and the
physiological requirements of the average individual.
She was not a girl who believed in mincing words, and a racy little
anecdote she told about a man who refused to eat prunes had the effect
of causing me to be a non-starter for the last two courses.
"Jeeves," I said, on reaching the sleeping chamber that night, "I don't
like the look of things."
"No, sir?"
"No, Jeeves, I do not. I view the situation with concern. Things are
worse than I thought they were. Mr. Little's remarks before dinner may
have given you the impression that the Pyke merely lectured on food
reform in a general sort of way. Such, I now find, is not the case. By
way of illustrating her theme, she points to Mr. Little as the awful
example. She criticizes him, Jeeves."
"Indeed, sir?"
"Yes. Openly. Keeps telling him he eats too much, drinks too much,
and gobbles his food. I wish you could have heard a comparison she
drew between him and the late Mr. Gladstone, considering them in the
capacity of food chewers. It left young Bingo very much with the short
end of the stick. And the sinister thing is that Mrs. Bingo approves.
Are wives often like that? Welcoming criticism of the lord and master,
I mean?"
"They are generally open to suggestions with regard to the improvement
of their husbands, sir."
"That is why married men are wan, what?"
"Yes, sir."
I had the foresight to send the man downstairs for biscuits. I bit a
representative specimen thoughtfully.
"Do you know what I think, Jeeves?"
"No, sir."
"I think Mr. Little doesn't realize the full extent of the peril which
threatens his domestic happiness. I'm beginning to understand this
business of matrimony. I'm beginning to see how the thing works. Would
you care to hear how I figure it out, Jeeves?"
"Extremely, sir."
"Well, it's like this. Take a couple of birds. These birds get married,
and for a while all is gas and gaiters. The female regards her mate as
about the best thing that ever came a girl's way. He is her king, if
you know what I mean. She looks up to him and respects him. Joy, as you
might say, reigns supreme. Eh?"
"Very true, sir."
"Then gradually, by degrees--little by little, if I may use the
expression--disillusionment sets in. She sees him eating a poached egg,
and the glamour starts to fade. She watches him mangling a chop, and it
continues to fade. And so on and so on, if you follow me, and so forth."
"I follow you perfectly, sir."
"But mark this, Jeeves. This is the point. Here we approach the nub.
Usually it is all right, because, as I say, the disillusionment comes
gradually and the female has time to adjust herself. But in the case
of young Bingo, owing to the indecent outspokenness of the Pyke, it's
coming in a rush.
"Absolutely in a flash, without previous preparation, Mrs. Bingo is
having Bingo presented to her as a sort of human boa constrictor full
of unpleasantly jumbled interior organs. The picture which the Pyke is
building up for her in her mind is that of one of those men you see in
restaurants with three chins, bulging eyes, and the veins starting out
on the forehead. A little more of this, and love must wither."
"You think so, sir?"
"I'm sure of it. No affection can stand the strain. Twice during
dinner to-night the Pyke said things about young Bingo's intestinal
canal which I shouldn't have thought would have been possible in mixed
company even in this lax post-war era.
"Well, you see what I mean. You can't go on knocking a man's intestinal
canal indefinitely without causing his wife to stop and ponder. The
danger, as I see it, is that after a bit more of this Mrs. Little will
decide that tinkering is no use and that the only thing to do is to
scrap Bingo and get a newer model."
"Most disturbing, sir."
"Something must be done, Jeeves. You must act. Unless you can find some
way of getting this Pyke out of the woodwork, and that right speedily,
the home's number is up. You see, what makes matters worse is that Mrs.
Bingo is romantic. Women like her, who consider the day ill spent if
they have not churned out five thousand words of super-fatted fiction,
are apt even at the best of times to yearn a trifle. The ink gets into
their heads.
"I mean to say, I shouldn't wonder if right from the start Mrs. Bingo
hasn't had a sort of sneaking regret that Bingo isn't one of those
strong, curt, empire-building kind of Englishmen she puts into her
books, with sad, unfathomable eyes, lean, sensitive hands, and riding
boots. You see what I mean?"
"Precisely, sir. You imply that Miss Pyke's criticisms will have been
instrumental in moving the hitherto unformulated dissatisfaction from
the subconscious to the conscious mind."
"Once again, Jeeves?" I said, trying to grab it off the bat, but
missing it by several yards.
He repeated the dose.
"Well, I dare say you're right," I said. "Anyway, the point is,
P.M.G.--Pyke Must Go. How do you propose to set about it?"
"I fear I have nothing to suggest at the moment, sir."
"Come, come, Jeeves!"
"I fear not, sir. Possibly after I have seen the lady----"
"You mean, you want to study the psychology of the individual and what
not?"
"Precisely, sir."
"Well, I don't know how you're going to do it. After all, I mean, you
can hardly cluster round the dinner table and drink in the Pyke's small
talk."
"There is that difficulty, sir."
"Your best chance, it seems to me, will be when we go to the Lakenham
races on Thursday. We shall feed out of a luncheon basket in God's
air, and there's nothing to stop you hanging about and passing the
sandwiches. Prick the ears and be at your most observant then is my
advice."
"Very good, sir."
"Very good, Jeeves. And, meanwhile, dash downstairs and see if you can
dig up another installment of these biscuits. I need them sorely."
* * * * *
The morning of the Lakenham races dawned bright and juicy. A casual
observer would have said that God was in His heaven and all was right
with the world. It was one of those days you sometimes get latish in
the autumn when the sun beams, the birds toot, and there is a bracing
tang in the air that sends the blood beetling briskly through the veins.
Personally, however, I wasn't any too keen on the bracing tang. It made
me feel so exceptionally fit that almost immediately after breakfast
I found myself beginning to wonder what there would be for luncheon.
And the thought of what there probably would be for luncheon, if the
Pyke's influence made itself felt, lowered my spirits considerably. I
feared the worst.
"I fear the worst, Jeeves," I said. "Last night at dinner Miss Pyke
threw out the remark that the carrot was the best of all vegetables,
having an astonishing effect on the blood and beautifying the
complexion. Now, I am all for anything that bucks up the Wooster blood.
Also, I would like to give the natives a treat by letting them take a
look at my rosy, glowing cheeks. But not at the expense of lunching on
raw carrots.
"To avoid any rannygazoo, therefore, I think it will be best if you add
a bit for the young master to your personal packet of sandwiches. I
don't want to be caught short."
"Very good, sir."
At this point young Bingo came up. I hadn't seen him look so jaunty for
days.
"I've just been superintending the packing of the lunch basket,
Bertie," he said. "I stood over the butler and saw that there was no
nonsense."
"All pretty sound?" I asked, relieved.
"All indubitably sound."
"No carrots?"
"No carrots," said young Bingo. "There's ham sandwiches," he proceeded,
a strange, soft light in his eyes, "and tongue sandwiches and
potted-meat sandwiches and game sandwiches and hard-boiled eggs and
lobster and a cold chicken and sardines and a cake and a couple of
bottles of Bollinger and some old brandy----"
"It has the right ring," I said. "And if we want a bite to eat after
that, of course we can go to the pub."
"What pub?"
"Isn't there a pub on the course?"
"There's not a pub for miles. That's why I was so particularly careful
that there should be no funny work about the basket. The common, where
these races are held, is a desert without an oasis. Practically a death
trap. I met a fellow the other day who told me he got there last year
and unpacked his basket and found that the champagne had burst and,
together with the salad dressing, had soaked into the ham, which in its
turn had got mixed up with the Gorgonzola cheese, forming a sort of
paste. He had had rather a bumpy bit of road to travel over."
"What did he do?"
"Oh, he ate the mixture. It was the only course. But he said he could
still taste it sometimes, even now."
In ordinary circs., I can't say I should have been any too braced
at the news that we were going to split up for the journey in the
following order: Bingo and Mrs. Bingo in their car and the Pyke in
mine, with Jeeves sitting behind in the dickey. But, things being as
they were, the arrangement had its points. It meant that Jeeves would
be able to study the back of the Pyke's head and draw his deductions,
while I could engage her in conversation and let him see what manner of
female she was.
I started, accordingly, directly we had rolled off, and all through the
journey until we fetched up at the course she gave of her best. It was
with considerable satisfaction that I parked the car beside a tree and
hopped out.
"You were listening, Jeeves?" I said.
"Yes, sir."
"A tough baby?"
"Undeniably, sir."
Bingo and Mrs. Bingo came up.
"The first race won't be for half an hour," said Bingo. "We'd better
lunch now. Fish the basket out, Jeeves, would you mind?"
"Sir?"
"The luncheon basket," said Bingo in a devout voice, licking his lips
slightly.
"The basket is not in Mr. Wooster's car, sir."
"What!"
"I assumed that you were bringing it in your own, sir."
I have never seen the sunshine fade out of anybody's face as quickly as
it did out of Bingo's. He uttered a cry.
"Rosie!"
"Yes, sweetie-pie?"
"The bunch! The lasket!"
"What, darling?"
"The luncheon basket!"
"What about it, precious?"
"It's been left behind!"
"Oh, has it?" said Mrs. Bingo.
I confess she had never fallen lower in my estimation. I had always
known her as a woman with as healthy an appreciation of her meals as
any of my acquaintance. A few years previously, when my aunt Dahlia
had stolen her French cook, Anatole, she had called Aunt Dahlia some
names in my presence which had impressed me profoundly.
Yet now, when informed that she was marooned on a bally prairie without
bite or sup, all she could find to say was, "Oh, has it?" I had never
fully realized before the extent to which she had allowed herself to be
dominated by the deleterious influence of the Pyke.
The Pyke, for her part, touched an even lower level.
"It is just as well," she said, and her voice seemed to cut Bingo
like a knife. "Luncheon is a meal better omitted. If taken, it should
consist merely of a few muscatels, bananas, and grated carrots. It is a
well-known fact...."
And she went on to speak at some length of the gastric juices in a vein
far from suited to any gathering at which gentlemen were present.
"So, you see, darling," said Mrs. Bingo, "you will really feel ever so
much better and brighter for not having eaten a lot of indigestible
food. It is much the best thing that could have happened."
Bingo gave her a long, lingering look. "I see," he said. "Well, if
you will excuse me, I'll go off somewhere where I can cheer without
exciting comment."
I perceived Jeeves withdrawing in a meaning manner, and I followed him,
hoping for the best. My trust was not misplaced. He had brought enough
sandwiches for two. In fact, enough for three. I whistled to Bingo, and
he came slinking up, and we restored the tissues in a makeshift sort of
way behind a hedge. Then Bingo went off to interview bookies about the
first race, and Jeeves gave a cough.
"Swallowed a crumb the wrong way?" I said.
"No, sir, I thank you. It is merely that I desired to express a hope
that I had not been guilty of taking a liberty, sir."
"How?"
"In removing the luncheon basket from the car before we started, sir."
I quivered like an aspen. I stared at the man. Aghast. Shocked to the
core.
"You, Jeeves?" I said, and I should rather think Cæsar spoke in the
same sort of voice on finding Brutus puncturing him with a sharp
instrument. "You mean to tell me it was you who deliberately, if that's
the word I want----?"
"Yes, sir. It seemed to me the most judicious course to pursue. It
would not have been prudent, in my opinion, to have allowed Mrs.
Little, in her present frame of mind, to witness Mr. Little eating a
meal on the scale which he outlined in his remarks this morning."