And so on and so forth, yards of it. I suppose it's the artistic
temperament or something. What I mean is, it's easier for a chappie
who's used to writing poems and that sort of tosh to put a bit of a
punch into a letter than it is for a fellow like me. Anyway, there's no
doubt that Rocky's correspondence was hot stuff. I called Jeeves in and
congratulated him.
'Jeeves, you're a wonder!'
'Thank you, sir.'
'How you notice everything at these places beats me. I couldn't tell
you a thing about them, except that I've had a good time.'
'It's just a knack, sir.'
'Well, Mr Todd's letters ought to brace Miss Rockmetteller all right,
what?'
'Undoubtedly, sir,' agreed Jeeves.
And, by Jove, they did! They certainly did, by George! What I mean to
say is, I was sitting in the apartment one afternoon, about a month
after the thing had started, smoking a cigarette and resting the old
bean, when the door opened and the voice of Jeeves burst the silence
like a bomb.
It wasn't that he spoke loud. He has one of those soft, soothing voices
that slide through the atmosphere like the note of a far-off sheep. It
was what he said that made me leap like a young gazelle.
'Miss Rockmetteller!'
And in came a large, solid female.
The situation floored me. I'm not denying it. Hamlet must have felt
much as I did when his father's ghost bobbed up in the fairway. I'd
come to look on Rocky's aunt as such a permanency at her own home that
it didn't seem possible that she could really be here in New York. I
stared at her. Then I looked at Jeeves. He was standing there in an
attitude of dignified detachment, the chump, when, if ever he should
have been rallying round the young master, it was now.
Rocky's aunt looked less like an invalid than anyone I've ever seen,
except my Aunt Agatha. She had a good deal of Aunt Agatha about her,
as a matter of fact. She looked as if she might be deucedly dangerous
if put upon; and something seemed to tell me that she would certainly
regard herself as put upon if she ever found out the game which poor
old Rocky had been pulling on her.
'Good afternoon,' I managed to say.
'How do you do?' she said. 'Mr Cohan?'
'Er--no.'
'Mr Fred Stone?'
'Not absolutely. As a matter of fact, my name's Wooster--Bertie
Wooster.'
She seemed disappointed. The fine old name of Wooster appeared to mean
nothing in her life.
'Isn't Rockmetteller home?' she said. 'Where is he?'
She had me with the first shot. I couldn't think of anything to say. I
couldn't tell her that Rocky was down in the country, watching worms.
There was the faintest flutter of sound in the background. It was the
respectful cough with which Jeeves announces that he is about to speak
without having been spoken to.
'If you remember, sir, Mr Todd went out in the automobile with a party
earlier in the afternoon.'
'So he did, Jeeves; so he did,' I said, looking at my watch. 'Did he
say when he would be back?'
'He gave me to understand, sir, that he would be somewhat late in
returning.'
He vanished; and the aunt took the chair which I'd forgotten to offer
her. She looked at me in rather a rummy way. It was a nasty look. It
made me feel as if I were something the dog had brought in and intended
to bury later on, when he had time. My own Aunt Agatha, back in
England, has looked at me in exactly the same way many a time, and it
never fails to make my spine curl.
'You seem very much at home here, young man. Are you a great friend of
Rockmetteller's?'
'Oh, yes, rather!'
She frowned as if she had expected better things of old Rocky.
'Well, you need to be,' she said, 'the way you treat his flat as your
own!'
I give you my word, this quite unforeseen slam simply robbed me of the
power of speech. I'd been looking on myself in the light of the dashing
host, and suddenly to be treated as an intruder jarred me. It wasn't,
mark you, as if she had spoken in a way to suggest that she considered
my presence in the place as an ordinary social call. She obviously
looked on me as a cross between a burglar and the plumber's man come to
fix the leak in the bathroom. It hurt her--my being there.
At this juncture, with the conversation showing every sign of being
about to die in awful agonies, an idea came to me. Tea--the good old
stand-by.
'Would you care for a cup of tea?' I said.
'Tea?'
She spoke as if she had never heard of the stuff.
'Nothing like a cup after a journey,' I said. 'Bucks you up! Puts a bit
of zip into you. What I mean is, restores you, and so on, don't you
know. I'll go and tell Jeeves.'
I tottered down the passage to Jeeves's lair. The man was reading the
evening paper as if he hadn't a care in the world.
'Jeeves,' I said, 'we want some tea.'
'Very good, sir.'
'I say, Jeeves, this is a bit thick, what?'
I wanted sympathy, don't you know--sympathy and kindness. The old nerve
centres had had the deuce of a shock.
'She's got the idea this place belongs to Mr Todd. What on earth put
that into her head?'
Jeeves filled the kettle with a restrained dignity.
'No doubt because of Mr Todd's letters, sir,' he said. 'It was my
suggestion, sir, if you remember, that they should be addressed from
this apartment in order that Mr Todd should appear to possess a good
central residence in the city.'