P. G. Wodehouse. Much Obliged, Jeeves

‘Indeed, sir ? ‘

‘Well documented fact.’

‘Then let us hope that what I fear will not happen, sir.’

We were sitting there hoping that what he feared would not happen, when a shadow fell on my whisky and s and I saw that we had been joined by another member of the Junior Ganymede, a smallish, plumpish, Gawd-help-us-ish member wearing clothes more suitable for the country than the town and a tie that suggested that he belonged to the Brigade of Guards, though I doubted if this was the case. As to his manner, I couldn’t get a better word for it at the moment than ‘familiar’, but I looked it up later in Jeeves’s Dictionary of Synonyms and found that it had been unduly intimate, too free, forward, lacking in proper reserve, deficient in due respect, impudent, bold and intrusive.

Well,when I tell you that the first thing he did was to prod Jeeves in the lower ribs with an uncouth forefinger, you will get the idea.

‘Hullo, Reggie,’ he said, and I froze in my chair, stunned by the revelation that Jeeves’s first name was Reginald. It had never occurred to me before that he had a first name. I couldn’t help thinking what embarrassment would have been caused if it had been Bertie.

‘Good afternoon,’ said Jeeves, and I could see that the chap was not one of his inner circle of friends. His voice was cold, and anyone less lacking in proper reserve and deficient in due respect would have spotted this and recoiled. The Gawd-help-us fellow appeared to notice nothing amiss. His manner continued to be that of one who has met a pal of long standing.

‘How’s yourself, Reggie?’

‘I am in tolerably good health, thank you.’

‘Lost weight, haven’t you? You ought to live in the country like me and get good country butter.’ He turned to me. ‘And you ought to be more careful, cocky, dancing about in the middle of the street like that. I was in that cab and I thought you were a goner. You’re Wooster, aren’t you?’

‘Yes,’ I said, amazed. I hadn’t known I was such a public figure.

‘Thought so. I don’t often forget a face. Well, I can’t stay chatting with you. I’ve got to see the secretary about something. Nice to have seen you, Reggie.’

‘Goodbye.’

‘Nice to have seen you, Wooster, old man.’

I thanked him, and he withdrew. I turned to Jeeves, that wild surmise I was speaking about earlier functioning on all twelve cylinders.

‘Who was that?’ He did not reply immediately, plainly too ruffled

for speech. He had to take a sip of his liqueur brandy before he was master of himself. His manner, when he did speak, was that of one who would have preferred to let the whole thing drop.

‘The person you mentioned at the breakfast table, sir. Bingley,’ he said, pronouncing the name as if it soiled his lips.

I was astounded. You could have knocked me down with a toothpick.

‘Bingley? I’d never have recognized him. He’s changed completely. He was quite thin when I knew him, and very gloomy, you might say sinister. Always seemed to be brooding silently on the coming revolution, when he would be at liberty to chase me down Park Lane with a dripping knife.’

The brandy seemed to have restored Jeeves. He spoke now with his customary calm.

‘I believe his political views were very far to the left at the time when he was in your employment. They changed when he became a man of property.’

‘A man of property, is he?’

‘An uncle of his in the grocery business died and left him a house and a comfortable sum of money.’

‘I suppose it often happens that the views of fellows like Bingley change when they come into money.’

‘Very frequently. They regard the coming revolution from a different standpoint.’

‘I see what you mean. They don’t want to be chased down Park Lane with dripping knives themselves. Is he still a gentleman’s gentleman?’

‘He has retired. He lives a life of leisure in Market Snodsbury.’

‘Market Snodsbury? That’s funny.’

‘Sir?’

‘Odd, I mean, that he should live in Market Snodsbury.’

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