“Well, I suppose this was inevitable, Jeeves. I wouldn’t have thought
that this Fink-Nottle would ever have fallen a victim to the divine
_p_, but, if he has, no wonder he finds the going sticky.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Look at the life he’s led.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I don’t suppose he has spoken to a girl for years. What a lesson this
is to us, Jeeves, not to shut ourselves up in country houses and stare
into glass tanks. You can’t be the dominant male if you do that sort of
thing. In this life, you can choose between two courses. You can either
shut yourself up in a country house and stare into tanks, or you can be
a dasher with the sex. You can’t do both.”
“No, sir.”
I mused once more. Gussie and I, as I say, had rather lost touch, but
all the same I was exercised about the poor fish, as I am about all my
pals, close or distant, who find themselves treading upon Life’s banana
skins. It seemed to me that he was up against it.
I threw my mind back to the last time I had seen him. About two years
ago, it had been. I had looked in at his place while on a motor trip,
and he had put me right off my feed by bringing a couple of green
things with legs to the luncheon table, crooning over them like a
young mother and eventually losing one of them in the salad. That
picture, rising before my eyes, didn’t give me much confidence in the
unfortunate goof’s ability to woo and win, I must say. Especially if
the girl he had earmarked was one of these tough modern thugs, all
lipstick and cool, hard, sardonic eyes, as she probably was.
“Tell me, Jeeves,” I said, wishing to know the worst, “what sort of a
girl is this girl of Gussie’s?”
“I have not met the young lady, sir. Mr. Fink-Nottle speaks highly of
her attractions.”
“Seemed to like her, did he?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did he mention her name? Perhaps I know her.”
“She is a Miss Bassett, sir. Miss Madeline Bassett.”
“What?”
“Yes, sir.”