P.G. Wodehouse

“A chap's bedroom – you can't get way from it – is his castle, and he has every right to look askance if gargoyles come glaring in at him.”

“Had his brain been constructed of silk, he would have been hard put to it to find sufficient material to make a canary a pair of cami-knickers.”

“He looked at me like Lillian Gish coming out of a swoon."Is this Bertie Wooster talking?" he said, pained."Yes, it jolly well is!""Bertie, old man," said Bingo, patting me gently here and there, "reflect! We were at school - ""Oh, all right!”

“Hallo, Bertie.""Hallo, old turnip. Where have you been all this while?""Oh, here and there! Ripping weather we're having, Bertie.""Not bad.""I see the Bank Rate is down again.""No, really?""Disturbing news from Lower Silesia, what?""Oh, dashed!"He pottered about the room for a bit, babbling at intervals. The boy seemed cuckoo."Oh, I say, Bertie!" he said suddenly, dropping a vase which he had picked off the mantelpiece and was fiddling with. "I know what it was I wanted to tell you. I'm married.”

“I left him thinking it over. If I were a bookie, I should feel justified in offering a hundred to eight against.""You can't have approached him properly. I might have known you would muck it up," said young Bingo. Which, considering what I had been through for his sake, struck me as a good bit sharper than the serpent's tooth.”

“Bar a weekly wrestle with the "Pink 'Un" and an occasional dip into the form book I'm not much of a lad for reading, and my sufferings as I tackled The Woman (curse her!) Who Braved All were pretty fearful.”

“It can't be done, old thing. Sorry, but it's out of the question. I couldn't go through all that again.""Not for me?""Not for a dozen more like you.""I never thought," said Bingo sorrowfully, "to hear those words from Bertie Wooster!""Well, you've heard them now," I said. "Paste them in your hat.""Bertie, we were at school together.""It wasn't my fault.""We've been pals for fifteen years.""I know. It's going to take me the rest of my life to live it down.”

“Mr Little is certainly warm-hearted, sir.""Warm-hearted! I should think he has to wear asbestos vests.”

“How would this do you, Bingo?" I said at length. "A few plovers' eggs to weigh in with, a cup of soup, a touch of cold salmon, some cold curry, and a splash of gooseberry tart and cream with a bite of cheese to finish?"I don't know that I had expected the man actually to scream with delight, though I had picked the items from my knowledge of his pet dishes, but I had expected him to say something.”

“I mean, when you've got used to a club where everything's nice and cheery, and where, if you want to attract a chappie's attention, you heave a piece of bread at him, it kind of damps you to come to a place where the youngest member is about eighty-seven and it isn't considered good form to talk to anyone unless you and he went through the Peninsular War together.”

“Jeeves," I said, "those spats.""Yes, sir?""You really dislike them?""Intensely, sir.""You don't think time might induce you to change your views?""No, sir.""All right, then. Very well. Say no more. You may burn them.""Thank you very much, sir. I have already done so. Before breakfast this morning. A quiet grey is far more suitable, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“Hear that, Eustace? He wishes we were staying a good long time.""I expect it will seem a good long time," said Eustace, philosophically.”

“Do you realise that about two hundred of Twing's heftiest are waiting for you outside to chuck you into the pond?""No!""Absolutely!"For a moment the poor chap seemed crushed. But only for a moment. There has always been something of the good old English bulldog breed about Bingo. A strange, sweet smile flickered for an instant over his face."It's all right," he said. "I can sneak out through the cellar and climb over the wall at the back. They can't intimidate me!”

“Take it for all in all, a representative gathering of Twing life and thought. The Nibs were whispering in a pleased manner to each other, the Lower Middles were sitting up very straight, as if they'd been bleached, and the Tough Eggs whiled away the time by cracking nuts and exchanging low rustic wheezes.”

“Betting!" he gargled. "Betting! You don't mean that they're betting on this holy, sacred - Oh, I say, dash it all! Haven't people any sense of decency and reverence? Is nothing safe from their beastly, sordid graspingness? I wonder," said young Bingo thoughtfully, "if there's a chance of my getting any of that seven-to-one money? Seven to one! What a price! Who's offering it, do you know? Oh, well, I suppose it wouldn't do. No, I suppose it wouldn't be quite the thing.”

“Bertie, old man," said young Bingo earnestly, "for the last two weeks I've been comforting the sick to such an extent that, if I had a brother and you brought him to me on a sick-bed at this moment, by Jove, old man, I'd heave a brick at him.”

“Judge of my chagrin and all that sort of thing, therefore, when, tottering to my room and switching on the light, I observed the foul features of young Bingo all over the pillow.”

“Good works?""About the village, sir. Reading to the bedridden - chatting with the sick - that sort of thing, sir. We can but trust that good results will ensue.""Yes, I suppose so," I said doubtfully. "But, by gosh, if I were a sick man I'd hate to have a looney like young Bingo coming and gibbering at my bedside.”

“There's no getting away from the fact that, if ever a man required watching, it's Steggles. Machiavelli could have taken his correspondence course.”

“Bertie old man I say Bertie could you possibly come down here at once. Everything gone wrong hang it all. Dash it Bertie you simply must come. I am in a state of absolute despair and heart-broken. Would you mind sending another hundred of those cigarettes. Bring Jeeves when you come Bertie. You simply must come Bertie. I rely on you. Don't forget to bring Jeeves. Bingo.For a chap who's perpetually hard-up, I must say that young Bingo is the most wasteful telegraphist I ever struck. He's got no notion of condensing. The silly ass simply pours out his wounded soul at twopence a word, or whatever it is, without a thought.”

“Mr Wingham has the advantage of being on the premises. He and the young lady play duets after dinner, which acts as a bond. Mr Little on these occasions, I understand, prowls about in the road, chafing visibly.”

“She sometimes takes her little brother for a walk round this way," explained Bingo. "I thought we would meet her and bow, and you could see her, you know, and then we would walk on.""Of course," I said, "that's enough excitement for anyone, and undoubtedly a corking reward for tramping three miles out of one's way over ploughed fields with tight boots, but don't we do anything else? Don't we tack on to the girl and buzz along with her?""Good Lord!" said Bingo, honestly amazed. "You don't suppose I've got nerve enough for that, do you? I just look at her from afar off and all that sort of thing. Quick! Here she comes! No, I'm wrong!"It was like that song of Harry Lauder's where he's waiting for the girl and says, "This is her-r-r. No, it's a rabbut." Young Bingo made me stand there in the teeth of a nor'-east half-gale for ten minutes, keeping me on my toes with a series of false alarms, and I was just thinking of suggesting that we should lay off and give the rest of the proceedings a miss, when round the corner there came a fox-terrier, and Bingo quivered like an aspen. Then there hove in sight a small boy, and he shook like a jelly. Finally, like a star whose entrance has been worked up by the personnel of the ensemble, a girl appeared, and his emotion was painful to witness. His face got so red that, what with his white collar and the fact that the wind had turned his nose blue, he looked more like a French flag than anything else. He sagged from the waist upwards, as if he had been filleted. He was just raising his fingers limply to his cap when he suddenly saw that the girl wasn't alone. A chappie in clerical costume was also among those present, and the sight of him didn't seem to do Bingo a bit of good. His face got redder and his nose bluer, and it wasn't till they had nearly passed that he managed to get hold of his cap.The girl bowed, the curate said, "Ah, Little. Rough weather," the dog barked, and then they toddled on and the entertainment was over.”

“She is very wonderful, Bertie. She is not one of these flippant, shallow-minded, modern girls. She is sweetly grave and beautifully earnest. She reminds me of - what is the name I want?""Marie Lloyd?""Saint Cecilia," said young Bingo, eyeing me with a good deal of loathing. "She reminds me of Saint Cecilia. She makes me yearn to be a better, nobler, deeper, broader man.”

“Brookfield, my correspondent, writes that last week he observed him in the moonlight at an advanced hour gazing up at his window.""Whose window? Brookfield's?""Yes, sir. Presumably under the impression that it was the young lady's.""But what the deuce is he doing at Twing at all?""Mr Little was compelled to resume his old position as tutor to Lord Wickhammersley's son at Twing Hall, sir. Owing to having been unsuccessful in some speculations at Hurst Park at the end of October.""Good Lord, Jeeves! Is there anything you don't know?""I couldn't say, sir.”

“I say Bertie old man I am in love at last. She is the most wonderful girl Bertie old man. This is the real thing at last Bertie. Come here at once and bring Jeeves. Oh I say you know that tobacco shop in Bond Street on the left side as you go up. Will you get me a hundred of their special cigarettes and send them to me here. I have run out. I know when you see her you will think she is the most wonderful girl. Mind you bring Jeeves. Don't forget the cigarettes. - Bingo.”

“There's something about evening service in a country church that makes a fellow feel drowsy and peaceful. Sort of end-of-a-perfect-day feeling. Old Heppenstall was up in the pulpit, and he has a kind of regular, bleating delivery that assists thought. They had left the door open, and the air was full of a mixed scent of trees and honeysuckle and mildew and villagers' Sunday clothes. As far as the eye could reach, you could see farmers propped up in restful attitudes, breathing heavily; and the children in the congregation who had fidgeted during the earlier part of the proceedings were now lying back in a surfeited sort of coma. The last rays of the setting sun shone through the stained-glass windows, birds were twittering in the trees, the women's dresses crackled gently in the stillness. Peaceful. That's what I'm driving at. I felt peaceful. Everybody felt peaceful.”

“What are the chances of a cobra biting Harold, Jeeves?""Slight, I should imagine, sir. And in such an event, knowing the boy as intimately as I do, my anxiety would be entirely for the snake.”

“The boy is of an outspoken disposition, and had made an opprobrious remark respecting my personal appearance.""What did he say about your appearance?""I have forgotten, sir," said Jeeves, with a touch of austerity. "But it was opprobrious.”

“Now look here, old friend," I said. "I know your bally heart is broken and all that, and at some future time I shall be delighted to hear all about it, but - ""I didn't come to talk about that.""No? Good egg!""The past," said young Bingo, "is dead. Let us say no more about it.""Right-o!""I have been wounded to the very depths of my soul, but don't speak about it.""I won't.""Ignore it. Forget it.""Absolutely!"I hadn't seen him so dashed reasonable for days.”

“I don't know when I've experienced a more massive silence than the one that followed my reading of his cheery epistle. Young Bingo gulped once or twice and practically every known emotion came and went on his face. Jeeves coughed one soft, low, gentle cough like a sheep with a blade of grass stuck in its throat, and then stood gazing serenely at the landscape.”

“I shoved on a dressing-gown, and flew downstairs like a mighty, rushing wind.”

“You are sure that I would not be well advised to make certain excisions and eliminations? You do not think it would be a good thing to cut, to prune? I might, for example, delete the rather exhaustive excursus into the family life of the early Assyrians?”

“He's quite a bit of a snob, you know, and when he hears I'm going to marry the daughter of an earl - ""I say, old man," I couldn't help saying, "aren't you looking ahead rather far?""Oh, that's all right. It's true nothing's actually settled yet, but she practically told me the other day she was fond of me.""What!""Well, she said that the sort of man she liked was the self-reliant, manly man with strength, good looks, character, ambition, and initiative.""Leave me, laddie," I said. "Leave me to my fried egg.”

“When Cynthia smiles," said young Bingo, "the skies are blue; the world takes on a roseate hue; birds in the garden trill and sing, and Joy is king of everything, when Cynthia smiles." He coughed, changing gears. "When Cynthia frowns - ""What the devil are you talking about?""I'm reading you my poem. The one I wrote to Cynthia last night. I'll go on, shall I?""No!""No?""No. I haven't had my tea.”

“I love that girl, Bertie," he went on, when he'd finished coughing."Yes. Nice girl, of course."He eyed me with deep loathing."Don't speak of her in that horrible casual way. She's an angel. An angel!”

“I've been through a bad time, Bertie, these last weeks. The sun ceased to shine - ""That's curious. We've had gorgeous weather in London.""The birds ceased to sing.""What birds?""What the devil does it matter what birds?" said young BIngo, with some asperity. "Any birds. The birds round about here. You don't expect me to specify them by their pet names, do you? I tell you, Bertie, it hit me hard at first, very hard.""What hit you?" I simply couldn't follow the blighter."Charlotte's calculated callousness.”

“In love with me. Don't be absurd.""My dear old thing, you don't know young Bingo. He can fall in love with anybody.""Thank you!""Oh, I didn't mean it that way, you know. I don't wonder at his taking to you. Why, I was in love with you myself once.""Once? Ah! And all that remains now are the cold ashes? This isn't once of your tactful evenings, Bertie.""Well, my dear sweet thing, dash it all, considering that you gave me the bird and nearly laughed yourself into a permanent state of hiccoughs when I asked you - ""Oh, I'm not reproaching you. No doubt there were faults on both sides. He's very good-looking, isn't he?""Good-looking? Bingo? Bingo good-looking? No, I say, come now, really!""I mean, compared with some people," said Cynthia.”

“I may be wronging her, but I have an idea that she's the sort of girl who would want a fellow to carve out a career and what not. I know I've heard her speak favourably of Napoleon. So what with one thing and another the jolly old frenzy sort of petered out, and now we're just pals. I think she's a topper, and she thinks me next door to a looney, so everything's nice and matey.”

“Just as you say, sir. There is a letter on the tray, sir.""By Jove, Jeeves, that was practically potry. Rhymed, did you notice?”

“I appear inadvertently to have caused much trouble, sir.""Jeeves!" I said."Sir?""How much money is there on the dressing-table?""In addition to the ten-pound note which you instructed me to take, sir, there are two five-pound notes, three one-pounds, a ten-shillings, two half-crowns, a florin, four shillings, a sixpence, and a halfpenny, sir.""Collar it all," I said. "You've earned it.”

“These are the times that try men's souls. It's never pleasant to be caught in the machinery when a favourite comes unstitched, and in the case of this particular dashed animal, one had come to look on the running of the race as a pure formality, a sort of quaint, old-world ceremony to be gone through before one sauntered up to the bookie and collected.”

“Jeeves, Mr Little is in love with that female.""So I gathered, sir. She was slapping him in the passage."I clutched my brow."Slapping him?""Yes, sir. Roguishly.”

“I wonder the food didn't turn to ashes in our mouths! Eggs! Muffins! Sardines! All wrung from the bleeding lips of the starving poor!""Oh, I say! What a beastly idea!"...Jeeves came in to clear away, and found me sitting among the ruins. It was all very well for Comrade Butt to knock the food, but he had pretty well finished the ham; and if you had shoved the remainder of the jam into the bleeding lips of the starving poor it would hardly have made them sticky.”

“Tea, pa!" said Charlotte, starting at the word like the old war-horse who hears the bugle; and we got down to it.”

“Young Bingo was too busy introducing the mob to take much notice. They were a very C3 collection. Comrade Butt looked like one of those things that come out of dead trees after the rain; moth-eaten was the word I should have used to described old Rowbotham; and as for Charlotte, she seemed to take me straight into another and a dreadful world.”

“He seemed to be doing his best to marry into a family of pronounced loonies, and how the deuce he thought he was going to support even a mentally afflicted wife on nothing a year beat me. Old Bittlesham was bound to knock off his allowance if he did anything of the sort and, with a fellow like young Bingo, if you knocked off his allowance, you might just as well hit him on the head with an axe and make a clean job of it.”

“I say, you don't know how I could raise fifty quid somehow, do you?""Why don't you work?""Work?" said young Bingo, surprised. "What, me? No, I shall have to think of some way.”

“By the way, I may have misled you by using the word 'tea'. None of your wafer slices of bread-and-butter. We're good trencher-men, we of the Revolution. What we shall require will be something on the order of scrambled eggs, muffins, jam, ham, cake and sardines. Expect us at five sharp.""But, I say, I'm not quite sure - ""Yes, you are. Silly ass, don't you see that this is going to do you a bit of good when the Revolution breaks loose? When you see old Rowbotham sprinting up Piccadilly with a dripping knife in each hand, you'll be jolly thankful to be able to remind him that he once ate your tea and shrimps.”

“You must meet old Rowbotham, Bertie. A delightful chap. Wants to massacre the bourgeoisie, sack Park Lane and disembowel the hereditary aristocracy. Well, nothing could be fairer than that, what?”

“There you see two typical members of the class which has down-trodden the poor for centuries. Idlers! Non-producers! Look at the tall thin one with the face like a motor-mascot. Has he ever done an honest day's work in his life? No! A prowler, a trifler, and a blood-sucker! And I bet he still owes his tailor for those trousers!"He seemed to me to be verging on the personal, and I didn't think a lot of it. Old Bittlesham, on the other hand, was pleased and amused."A great gift of expression these fellows have," he chuckled. "Very trenchant.""And the fat one!" proceeded the chappie. "Don't miss him. Do you know who that is? That's Lord Bittlesham! One of the worst. What has he ever done except eat four square meals a day? His god is his belly, and he sacrifices burnt-offerings to it. If you opened that man now you would find enough lunch to support ten working-class families for a week.""You know, that's rather well put," I said, but the old boy didn't seem to see it. He had turned a brightish magenta and was bubbling like a kettle on the boil."Come away, Mr Wooster," he said. "I am the last man to oppose the right of free speech, but I refuse to listen to this vulgar abuse any longer."We legged it with quiet dignity, the chappie pursuing us with his foul innuendoes to the last. Dashed embarrassing.”