“Dishing up the dirt to the young master can scarcely be described as
gassing all over the place,” I said, with a touch of rebuke. “Anyway,
there it is. I know all. And I should like to begin,” I said, sinking
my personal opinion that the female in question was a sloppy pest in
my desire to buck and encourage, “by saying that Madeline Bassett is a
charming girl. A winner, and just the sort for you.”
“You don’t know her?”
“Certainly I know her. What beats me is how you ever got in touch.
Where did you meet?”
“She was staying at a place near mine in Lincolnshire the week before
last.”
“Yes, but even so. I didn’t know you called on the neighbours.”
“I don’t. I met her out for a walk with her dog. The dog had got a
thorn in its foot, and when she tried to take it out, it snapped at
her. So, of course, I had to rally round.”
“You extracted the thorn?”
“Yes.”
“And fell in love at first sight?”
“Yes.”
“Well, dash it, with a thing like that to give you a send-off, why
didn’t you cash in immediately?”
“I hadn’t the nerve.”
“What happened?”
“We talked for a bit.”
“What about?”
“Oh, birds.”
“Birds? What birds?”
“The birds that happened to be hanging round. And the scenery, and all
that sort of thing. And she said she was going to London, and asked me
to look her up if I was ever there.”
“And even after that you didn’t so much as press her hand?”
“Of course not.”
Well, I mean, it looked as though there was no more to be said. If
a chap is such a rabbit that he can’t get action when he’s handed
the thing on a plate, his case would appear to be pretty hopeless.
Nevertheless, I reminded myself that this non-starter and I had been at
school together. One must make an effort for an old school friend.
“Ah, well,” I said, “we must see what can be done. Things may brighten.
At any rate, you will be glad to learn that I am behind you in this
enterprise. You have Bertram Wooster in your corner, Gussie.”
“Thanks, old man. And Jeeves, of course, which is the thing that really
matters.”
I don’t mind admitting that I winced. He meant no harm, I suppose, but
I’m bound to say that this tactless speech nettled me not a little.
People are always nettling me like that. Giving me to understand, I
mean to say, that in their opinion Bertram Wooster is a mere cipher
and that the only member of the household with brains and resources is
Jeeves.
It jars on me.
And tonight it jarred on me more than usual, because I was feeling
pretty dashed fed with Jeeves. Over that matter of the mess jacket, I
mean. True, I had forced him to climb down, quelling him, as described,
with the quiet strength of my personality, but I was still a trifle
shirty at his having brought the thing up at all. It seemed to me that
what Jeeves wanted was the iron hand.
“And what is he doing about it?” I inquired stiffly.
“He’s been giving the position of affairs a lot of thought.”
“He has, has he?”
“It’s on his advice that I’m going to this dance.”
“Why?”
“She is going to be there. In fact, it was she who sent me the ticket
of invitation. And Jeeves considered----”
“And why not as a Pierrot?” I said, taking up the point which had
struck me before. “Why this break with a grand old tradition?”
“He particularly wanted me to go as Mephistopheles.”