_I mean come at once, you maddening half-wit. What did you think I
meant? Come at once or expect an aunt’s curse first post tomorrow.
Love. Travers._
I then dispatched the following message, wishing to get everything
quite clear:
_When you say “Come” do you mean “Come to Brinkley Court”? And when
you say “At once” do you mean “At once”? Fogged. At a loss. All the
best. Bertie._
I sent this one off on my way to the Drones, where I spent a restful
afternoon throwing cards into a top-hat with some of the better
element. Returning in the evening hush, I found the answer waiting for
me:
_Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. It doesn’t matter whether you
understand or not. You just come at once, as I tell you, and for
heaven’s sake stop this back-chat. Do you think I am made of money
that I can afford to send you telegrams every ten minutes. Stop
being a fathead and come immediately. Love. Travers._
It was at this point that I felt the need of getting a second opinion.
I pressed the bell.
“Jeeves,” I said, “a V-shaped rumminess has manifested itself from
the direction of Worcestershire. Read these,” I said, handing him the
papers in the case.
He scanned them.
“What do you make of it, Jeeves?”
“I think Mrs. Travers wishes you to come at once, sir.”
“You gather that too, do you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I put the same construction on the thing. But why, Jeeves? Dash it
all, she’s just had nearly two months of me.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And many people consider the medium dose for an adult two days.”
“Yes, sir. I appreciate the point you raise. Nevertheless, Mrs. Travers
appears very insistent. I think it would be well to acquiesce in her
wishes.”
“Pop down, you mean?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, I certainly can’t go at once. I’ve an important conference on at
the Drones tonight. Pongo Twistleton’s birthday party, you remember.”
“Yes, sir.”
There was a slight pause. We were both recalling the little
unpleasantness that had arisen. I felt obliged to allude to it.
“You’re all wrong about that mess jacket, Jeeves.”
“These things are matters of opinion, sir.”
“When I wore it at the Casino at Cannes, beautiful women nudged one
another and whispered: ‘Who is he?’”
“The code at Continental casinos is notoriously lax, sir.”
“And when I described it to Pongo last night, he was fascinated.”
“Indeed, sir?”
“So were all the rest of those present. One and all admitted that I had
got hold of a good thing. Not a dissentient voice.”
“Indeed, sir?”
“I am convinced that you will eventually learn to love this
mess-jacket, Jeeves.”
“I fear not, sir.”
I gave it up. It is never any use trying to reason with Jeeves on these
occasions. “Pig-headed” is the word that springs to the lips. One sighs
and passes on.
“Well, anyway, returning to the agenda, I can’t go down to Brinkley
Court or anywhere else yet awhile. That’s final. I’ll tell you what,
Jeeves. Give me form and pencil, and I’ll wire her that I’ll be with
her some time next week or the week after. Dash it all, she ought to
be able to hold out without me for a few days. It only requires will
power.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Right ho, then. I’ll wire ‘Expect me tomorrow fortnight’ or words to
some such effect. That ought to meet the case. Then if you will toddle
round the corner and send it off, that will be that.”
“Very good, sir.”
And so the long day wore on till it was time for me to dress for
Pongo’s party.
Pongo had assured me, while chatting of the affair on the previous
night, that this birthday binge of his was to be on a scale calculated
to stagger humanity, and I must say I have participated in less fruity
functions. It was well after four when I got home, and by that time I
was about ready to turn in. I can just remember groping for the bed
and crawling into it, and it seemed to me that the lemon had scarcely
touched the pillow before I was aroused by the sound of the door
opening.