"Sinister, Jeeves," I said. "You noticed that the subject was looking
like a stuffed frog?"
"Yes, sir."
"And gave no indication of wanting us to stop and join the party?"
"No, sir."
"I think Aunt Dahlia's fears are justified. The thing seems serious."
"Yes, sir."
"Well, strain the brain, Jeeves."
"Very good, sir."
It wasn't till I was dressing for dinner that night that I saw young
Tuppy again. He trickled in just as I was arranging the tie.
"Hullo!" I said.
"Hullo!" said Tuppy.
"Who was the girl?" I asked, in that casual, snaky way of mine.
Offhand, I mean.
"A Miss Dalgleish," said Tuppy, and I noticed that he blushed a spot.
"Staying here?"
"No. She lives in that house just before you come to the gates of this
place. Did you bring my football boots?"
"Yes. Jeeves has got them somewhere."
"And the water spaniel?"
"Sorry. No water spaniel."
"Dashed nuisance. She's set her heart on an Irish water spaniel."
"Well, what do you care?"
"I wanted to give her one."
"Why?"
Tuppy became a trifle haughty. Frigid. The rebuking eye.
"Colonel and Mrs. Dalgleish," he said, "have been very kind to me since
I got here. They have entertained me. I naturally wish to make some
return for their hospitality. I don't want them to look upon me as one
of those ill-mannered modern young men you read about in the papers,
who grab everything they can lay their hooks on and never buy back. If
people ask you to lunch and tea and what not, they appreciate it if you
make them some little present in return."
"Well, give them your football boots. In passing, why did you want the
bally things?"
"I'm playing in a match next Thursday."
"Down here?"
"Yes. Upper Bleaching _versus_ Hockley-cum-Meston. Apparently it's the
big game of the year."
"How did you get roped in?"
"I happened to mention in the course of conversation the other day
that, when in London, I generally turn out on Saturdays for the Old
Austinians, and Miss Dalgleish seemed rather keen that I should help
the village."
"Which village?"
"Upper Bleaching, of course."
"Ah, then you're going to play for Hockley?"
"You needn't be funny, Bertie. You may not know it, but I'm pretty hot
stuff on the football field. Oh, Jeeves."
"Sir?" said Jeeves, entering right centre.
"Mr. Wooster tells me you have my football boots."
"Yes, sir. I have placed them in your room."
"Thanks. Jeeves, do you want to make a bit of money?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then put a trifle on Upper Bleaching for the annual encounter with
Hockley-cum-Meston next Thursday," said Tuppy, exiting with swelling
bosom.
"Mr. Glossop is going to play on Thursday," I explained, as the door
closed.
"So I was informed in the Servants' Hall, sir."
"Oh? And what's the general feeling there about it?"
"The impression I gathered, sir, was that the Servants' Hall considers
Mr. Glossop ill advised."
"Why's that?"
"I am informed by Mr. Mulready, Sir Reginald's butler, sir, that this
contest differs in some respects from the ordinary football game. Owing
to the fact that there has existed for many years considerable animus
between the two villages, the struggle is conducted, it appears, on
somewhat looser and more primitive lines than is usually the case when
two teams meet in friendly rivalry. The primary object of the players,
I am given to understand, is not so much to score points as to inflict
violence."
"Good Lord, Jeeves!"
"Such appears to be the case, sir. The game is one that would have a
great interest for the antiquarian. It was played first in the reign
of King Henry the Eighth, when it lasted from noon till sundown over
an area covering several square miles. Seven deaths resulted on that
occasion."
"Seven!"
"Not inclusive of two of the spectators, sir. In recent years, however,
the casualties appear to have been confined to broken limbs and other
minor injuries. The opinion of the Servants' Hall is that it would be
more judicious on Mr. Glossop's part were he to refrain from mixing
himself up in the affair."
I was more or less aghast. I mean to say, while I had made it my
mission in life to get back at young Tuppy for that business at the
Drones', there still remained certain faint vestiges, if "vestiges" is
the word I want, of the old friendship and esteem.
Besides, there are limits to one's thirst for vengeance. Deep as my
resentment was for the ghastly outrage he had perpetrated on me, I had
no wish to see him toddle unsuspiciously into the arena and get all
chewed up by wild villagers.
A Tuppy scared stiff by a Luminous Rabbit--yes. Excellent business. The
happy ending, in fact. But a Tuppy carried off on a stretcher in half
a dozen pieces--no. Quite a different matter. All wrong. Not to be
considered for a moment.
Obviously, then, a kindly word of warning while there was yet time was
indicated. I buzzed off to his room forthwith, and found him toying
dreamily with the football boots.