“Rotten, Jeeves.”
“Well, sir----”
“No good. Not a bit like it.”
“I fancy, sir----”
“No, Jeeves. No more. Enough has been said. Let us drop the subj.”
I finished tying the tie in silence. My emotions were too deep for
speech. I knew, of course, that this man had for the time being lost
his grip, but I had never suspected that he had gone absolutely to
pieces like this. Remembering some of the swift ones he had pulled
in the past, I shrank with horror from the spectacle of his present
ineptitude. Or is it ineptness? I mean this frightful disposition of
his to stick straws in his hair and talk like a perfect ass. It was
the old, old story, I supposed. A man’s brain whizzes along for years
exceeding the speed limit, and something suddenly goes wrong with the
steering-gear and it skids and comes a smeller in the ditch.
“A bit elaborate,” I said, trying to put the thing in as kindly a light
as possible. “Your old failing. You can see that it’s a bit elaborate?”
“Possibly the plan I suggested might be considered open to that
criticism, sir, but _faute de mieux_----”
“I don’t get you, Jeeves.”
“A French expression, sir, signifying ‘for want of anything better’.”
A moment before, I had been feeling for this wreck of a once fine
thinker nothing but a gentle pity. These words jarred the Wooster
pride, inducing asperity.
“I understand perfectly well what _faute de mieux_ means, Jeeves. I did
not recently spend two months among our Gallic neighbours for nothing.
Besides, I remember that one from school. What caused my bewilderment
was that you should be employing the expression, well knowing that
there is no bally _faute de mieux_ about it at all. Where do you get
that _faute-de-mieux_ stuff? Didn’t I tell you I had everything taped
out?”
“Yes, sir, but----”
“What do you mean--but?”
“Well, sir----”
“Push on, Jeeves. I am ready, even anxious, to hear your views.”
“Well, sir, if I may take the liberty of reminding you of it, your
plans in the past have not always been uniformly successful.”
There was a silence--rather a throbbing one--during which I put on my
waistcoat in a marked manner. Not till I had got the buckle at the back
satisfactorily adjusted did I speak.
“It is true, Jeeves,” I said formally, “that once or twice in the past
I may have missed the bus. This, however, I attribute purely to bad
luck.”
“Indeed, sir?”
“On the present occasion I shall not fail, and I’ll tell you why I
shall not fail. Because my scheme is rooted in human nature.”
“Indeed, sir?”
“It is simple. Not elaborate. And, furthermore, based on the psychology
of the individual.”
“Indeed, sir?”
“Jeeves,” I said, “don’t keep saying ‘Indeed, sir?’ No doubt nothing is
further from your mind than to convey such a suggestion, but you have
a way of stressing the ‘in’ and then coming down with a thud on the
‘deed’ which makes it virtually tantamount to ‘Oh, yeah?’ Correct this,
Jeeves.”
“Very good, sir.”
“I tell you I have everything nicely lined up. Would you care to hear
what steps I have taken?”
“Very much, sir.”
“Then listen. Tonight at dinner I have recommended Tuppy to lay off the
food.”
“Sir?”
“Tut, Jeeves, surely you can follow the idea, even though it is
one that would never have occurred to yourself. Have you forgotten
that telegram I sent to Gussie Fink-Nottle, steering him away from
the sausages and ham? This is the same thing. Pushing the food away
untasted is a universally recognized sign of love. It cannot fail to
bring home the gravy. You must see that?”
“Well, sir----”