The Jeeves Omnibus - Vol 2: (Jeeves & Wooster): No. 2 (56 page)

‘Oh this or any other night, and also by day. Fittleworth! Invites me to lunch –’

‘I know. He told me.’

‘– and wantonly causes spiders to emerge from the salt cellar.’

‘I know. But –’

‘Roams my grounds, officiously locking my business associates in potting sheds –’

‘I know. Quite. But –’

‘And, to top it all off, lurks in my grass like a ruddy grasshopper, so that I can’t stir a step without treading on him. When I reflect that I have not dissected Fittleworth, limb by limb, and danced on his remains, my moderation astounds me. Don’t talk to me about Fittleworth.’

‘But that’s just what I want to talk about. I want to plead his cause. You are aware, Uncle Percy,’ I said, bunging a bit of a tremolo into the old voice, ‘that he loves young Nobby.’

‘So I have been informed, dash his cheek.’

‘It would be an ideal match. You and he may not always have seen eye to eye in such matters as spiders in salt cellars, but you can’t get away from it that he is one of the hottest of England’s younger littérateurs. He earns more per annum than a Cabinet Minister.’

‘He ought to be ashamed of himself, if he didn’t. Have you ever
met
a Cabinet Minister? I know dozens, and not one of them that wouldn’t be grossly overpaid at thirty shillings a week.’

‘He could support Nobby in the style to which she is accustomed.’

‘No, he couldn’t. Ask me why not.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I’m jolly well not going to let him.’

‘But he loves, Uncle Percy.’

‘Has he got an Uncle Percy?’

I saw that unless prompt steps were taken, we should be getting muddled.

‘When I say He loves, Uncle Percy,’ I explained, ‘I don’t mean he loves, verb transitive, Uncle Percy, accusative. I mean he loves, comma, Uncle Percy, exclamation mark.’

Even while uttering the words, I had had a fear lest I might be making the thing a shade too complex for one in the relative’s condition. And so it proved.

‘Bertie,’ he said, gravely, ‘I should have watched you more carefully. You’re tighter than I am.’

‘No, no.’

‘Then just go over that observation of yours again slowly. I would be the last man to dispute that my faculties are a little blurred, but –’

‘I only said, that he loved, and shoved in an “Uncle Percy” at the end of my remarks.’

‘Addressing me, you mean?’

‘Yes.’

‘In the vocative, as it were?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Now we’ve got it straight. And where does it get us? Just where we were before. You say he loves my ward, Zenobia. I reply, “All right, let him, and I hope he has a fine day for it. But I’m dashed if he’s going to marry her.” I take my position as guardian of that girl pretty seriously. You might say I regard it as a sacred trust. When confiding her to my care, I remember, her poor old father, as fine a fellow as ever stepped, though too fond of pink gin, clasped my hand and said, “Watch her like a hawk, Percy, old boy, or she’ll go marrying some bally blot on the landscape.” And I said, “Roddy, old man” – his name was Roderick – “just slip a clause in the lease, saying that she’s got to get my consent first, and you need have no further uneasiness.” And what happens? First thing you know, up pops probably the worst blot any landscape was ever afflicted
with.
But he finds me ready, my boy. He finds me ready and prepared. There is my authority in black and white, and I intend to exercise it.’

‘But her father wasn’t thinking of a chap like Boko.’

‘There are limits to every man’s imagination.’

‘Boko’s a frightfully good egg.’

‘He is nothing of the kind. Good egg, forsooth! Tell me a single thing this Fittleworth has ever done that entitles him to consideration and respect.’

I thought for a moment. And when the Woosters think for a moment, they generally spear something good.

‘It may be news to you,’ I said, ‘that he once kicked Edwin.’

This got home. His mouth opened, and his feet twitched, as if stirred by a passing zephyr.

‘Is this true?’

‘Ask Florence. Ask the knives and boots boy.’

‘Well, I’m dashed.’

He sat for a while, deep in thought. I could see that revelation had made a deep impression.

‘I confess,’ he said at length, raising the bottle to his lips and swallowing about a third of its contents, ‘that what you tell me causes me to look on the fellow with a somewhat kindlier eye. Yes, to some extent, I admit, it has modified my views regarding him. It just shows that there is good in all of us.’

‘Then on consideration –’

He shook his head.

‘No, Bertie, I cannot consent to this match. Look at it from my point of view. The fellow lives at my very doors. Give him an excuse like being married to my ward, and he would always be popping in. Every time I took a stroll in my garden, I should be watching my step in case he happened to be hiding in the grass. Every time he came to lunch, my eyes would be riveted on the salt cellar. No nervous system could stand it.’

I saw the talking point.

‘But you haven’t heard the latest, Uncle Percy. Boko leaves next month for Hollywood. Do you realize that America is three thousand miles away, and that Hollywood is three thousand miles on the other side of America?’

He started.

‘Is it?’

‘Absolutely.’

He sat for a moment twiddling his fingers.

‘I make that six thousand miles.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Six thousand miles,’ he said, rolling the words round his tongue. ‘Why, this alters everything. You think Zenobia loves him?’

‘Devotedly.’

‘Odd. Strange. And his financial position is as sound as you suggest?’

‘Sounder. Editors scream like frightened children when his agent looks in to talk terms for a new contract.’

‘And about Hollywood. You’re sure your fingers are right? Six thousand miles?’

‘A bit more, if anything.’

‘Well, then, really, dash it, in that case –’

I saw that the iron was hot, and that the moment had come for Boko to strike it.

‘I’ll send him to you,’ I said, ‘and you can have a talk and rough out the arrangements. No need for you to move. This is his car. By Jove, Uncle Percy, you’ll be thankful for this later on, when you realize what a bit of a goose you’re handing two young hearts in springtime.’

‘Tiddly-om-pom-pom,’ said the relative, waving a cordial toe and once more applying his lips to the bot.

I did not let the g. grow under the feet. Hastening back to the ballroom, I sorted Boko out from the revellers, and sent him off with many a hearty ‘Tails up’ and ‘God speed’. Then, unleashing the two-seater, I drove home, thankful that a sticky bit of business had been safely concluded.

My first act, on reaching journey’s end, was, of course, to tear off the uniform. Having crept to the river bank and consigned it to the dark waters, which might or might not eventually cast it up some distant shore whence it would be returned to its owner, I whizzed back to my room and darted into bed.

It was not immediately that the tired eyelids closed in sleep, for some hidden hand had placed a hedgehog between the sheets – practically, you might say, a fretful porpentine. Assuming this to be Boko’s handiwork, I was strongly inclined to transfer it to his couch. Reflecting, however, that while this would teach him a much needed lesson it would be a bit tough on the porpentine, I took the latter out into the garden and loosed it into the grass.

Then, the day’s work done, I turned in and soon sank into a dreamless slumber.

THE SUN WAS
high in the heavens, or fairly high, when I awoke next morning. From behind the closed door of Boko’s sleeping apartment there proceeded a rhythmic sound like the sawing of wood, indicating that he had not yet sprung from his bed. I would have liked to waken him and ask if all was well, but refrained. No doubt, I felt, he had returned at a late hour and needed an extra bit of what I have heard Jeeves call tired Nature’s sweet restorer. I donned the bathing suit and bath robe, and started off for the river, and I hadn’t more than shoved my nose outside the garden gate when along came Nobby on her bicycle.

It would have been plain even to the most casual observer that Nobby was in the pink. Her eyes were shining like twin stars as the expression is, and she greeted me with one of the heartiest pip-pips that ever proceeded from female throat.

‘Hullo, Bertie,’ she cried. ‘I say, Bertie, isn’t everything super-colossal!’

‘I think so,’ I replied, ‘I hope so. I left Uncle Percy in malleable mood, and Boko was just going to confer with him. All should have gone well.’

‘Then you haven’t heard? Didn’t Boko tell you?’

‘I haven’t seen him yet. Our waking moments have not synchronized. When he got back, I was asleep, and when I got up, he was asleep.’

‘Oh, I see. Well, he came round in the small hours and threw gravel at my window and made his report. Everything went like a breeze.’

‘It did?’

‘According to Boko, the thing was a love feast. Uncle Percy sent him back to the bar for another bottle of champagne, and they split it like a couple of sailors on shore leave.’

‘And he’s given his consent?’

‘Definitely, Boko says. He’s so grateful to you for all you have done, Bertie. So am I. I could kiss you.’

‘Just as you wish,’ I assented civilly, and she did so. Then she legged it for the house, and I proceeded on my way to the river.

My mood, as I clove its crystal waters was, as you may imagine, pretty uplifted. Nobby’s story had left no room for doubt that happy endings had come popping up like rabbits. I had forgotten to ask her when she was going to show that letter to Florence, but no doubt this would be done in the course of the morning, releasing me from my honourable obligations. And, as for her and Boko, it was well within the bounds of possibility that before nightfall they would be united in the bonds of holy wedlock. Boko had made no secret of the fact that for many a day past he had had the licence tucked away in the drawer of his desk, ready to do its stuff the moment the starter’s pistol went.

In addition to this, Stilton’s uniform was floating on its way to the sea, and absolutely nothing to prove that it and Bertram had ever been in any way connected. It was just possible that some inkling of the truth might come to the promising young copper, causing him to regard me, when we next met, with sullen suspicion and even to go as far as to grind his teeth: but as for his assembling a telling weight of evidence which would land me in the dock and subsequently in the lowest dungeon beneath the castle moat, not a hope.

It was, accordingly, with no uncertain feeling that this was the maddest, merriest day of all the glad new year that I returned to the house, where genial smells from the dining-room greeted the nostrils and caused me to dress like a streak. Entering the food zone a few moments later, I found Boko restoring his tissues, with Nobby sitting on the end of the table, drinking in his every word.

‘Ah, Bertie,’ said Boko. ‘Good morning, Bertie. Now you’re here, I’d better start again.’

He did so, and for some minutes held me spellbound. Even though I had heard the outline of the plot from Nobby and so knew how it all came out in the end, I hung upon his lips from start to finish.

‘You didn’t get his consent in writing?’ I asked, as he concluded.

‘Well, no,’ he admitted. ‘It never occurred to me. But if what is in your mind is that he may try to back out of it, don’t worry. You have no conception, Bertie, literally no conception of the chumminess which exists between us. Hands were shaken, and backs slapped. He was all over me like a bedspread. Well, to give you some idea, he said he wished he had a son like me.’

‘Well, considering he’s got a son like Edwin, that isn’t saying much.’

‘Don’t be a wet blanket, Bertie. Don’t try to cast a gloom on this
wonderful
morning. Another thing he said was that he hoped I would be very successful in Hollywood and would remain working there for many years – in fact, indefinitely. One sees what he meant, of course. Like others, he has long chafed at the rottenness of motion pictures and is relying on me to raise the standard.’

‘You will, angel,’ said Nobby.

‘You betcher,’ said Boko, swilling coffee.

The meal proceeded on its pleasant course. A less kindly man than Bertram Wooster might have struck a jarring note by bringing up the matter of that porpentine in my bed, but I refrained from this. Instead, I asked what became of Uncle Percy at the close of the proceedings.

‘I suppose he pushed home on his push bike,’ said Boko. ‘What did you do with Stilton’s uniform?’

I explained that I had committed it to the deep, and he said I could not have made a wiser move. And he was just starting to be dashed funny about my last night’s outer crust, when I stopped him with an imperious gesture.

Out of the corner of my eye, I had seen something large and blue turning in at the garden gate. A moment later, there came the sound of feet crunching on gravel, and the
timbre
and volume of the noise was such that only regulation official boots could have caused it. I was not surprised when in due season the torso and helmeted head of Stilton were framed in the open window. And more profoundly than ever I congratulated myself on the shrewdness and foresight which had led me to bung that uniform into the river.

‘Ah, Stilton,’ I said, and, what is more, I said it airily. The keenest ear could not have detected that the conscience was not as clean as a whistle. One prefers, of course, on all occasions to be stainless and above reproach, but, failing that, the next best thing is unquestionably to have got rid of the body.

Boko, who is always a perfect host, bade the newcomer a cheery good morning, and asked him to keep his mouth open and he would throw a sardine into it. But apparently the latter had already breakfasted, for he declined the invitation with a petulant jerk of the head.

‘Ho!’ he said.

Touching for a moment on this matter of policemen and the word ‘Ho’. I have an idea that the first thing they teach the young recruit on joining the Force is how to utter this ejaculation. I’ve never met a rozzer yet who didn’t say it, and they all say it in just the same way. Inevitably one is led to assume a course of schooling.