By what I have always thought an odd coincidence he paused at this point and asked me why I was looking like something the cat brought in, precisely as the aged relative had asked me after my interview with Ma McCorkadale. I don’t know what cats bring into houses, but one assumes that it is something not very jaunty, and apparently, when in the grip of any strong emotion, I resemble their treasure trove. I could well understand that I was looking like that now. I find it distasteful to have to shatter a long-time buddy’s hopes and dreams, and no doubt this shows on the surface.
There was no sense in beating about bushes. It was another of those cases of if it were done, then ’twere well ’twere done quickly. ‘Ginger,’ I said, ‘I’m afraid I have a bit of bad news for you. That book is no longer among those present. Jeeves called on Bingley, gave him a Mickey Finn and got it away from him. He now has it among his archives.’
He didn’t get it at first, and I had to explain. ‘Bingley is not the man of integrity you think him. He is on the contrary a louse of the first water. You might describe him as a slimy slinking slug. He pinched that book from the Junior Ganymede and tried to sell it to the McCorkadale. She sent him away with a flea in his ear because she was a fair fighter, and he tried to sell it to you. But meanwhile Jeeves nipped in and obtained it.’
It took him perhaps a minute to absorb this, but to my surprise he wasn’t a bit upset. ‘Well, that’s all right. Jeeves can take it to the Argus-Reminder.’
I shook the loaf sadly, for I knew that this time those hopes and dreams of his were really due for a sock in the eye.
‘He wouldn’t do it, Ginger. To Jeeves that club book is sacred. I’ve gone after him a dozen times, urging him to destroy the pages concerning me, but he always remains as unco-operative as Balaam’s ass, who, you may remember, dug his feet in and firmly refused to play ball. He’ll never let it out of his hands.’
He took it, as I had forseen, big. He spluttered a good deal. He also kicked the table and would have splintered it if it hadn’t been made of marble. It must have hurt like sin, but what disturbed him, I deduced, was not so much the pain of a bruised toe as spiritual anguish. His eyes glittered, his nose wiggled, and if he was not gnashing his teeth I don’t know a gnashed tooth when I hear one.
‘Oh, won’t he?’ he said, going back into the old cinnamon bear routine. ‘He won’t, won’t he? We’ll see about that. Pop off, Bertie. I want to think.’
I popped off, glad to do so. These displays of naked emotion take it out of one.
CHAPTER Fourteen
The shortest way to the house was across the lawn, but I didn’t take it. Instead, I made for the back door. It was imperative, I felt, that I should see Jeeves without delay and tell him of the passions he had unchained and warn him, until the hot blood had had time to cool, to keep out of Ginger’s way. I hadn’t at all liked the sound of the latter’s ‘We’ll see about that’, nor the clashing of those gnashed teeth. I didn’t of course suppose that, however much on the boil, he would inflict personal violence on Jeeves — sock him, if you prefer the expression, — but he would certainly say things to him which would wound his feelings and cause their relations, so pleasant up to now, to deteriorate. And naturally I didn’t want that to happen.
Jeeves was in a deck chair outside the back door, reading Spinoza with the cat Augustus on his lap. I had given him the Spinoza at Christmas and he was constantly immersed in it. I hadn’t dipped into it myself, but he tells me it is good ripe stuff, well worth perusal.
He would have risen at my approagh, but I begged him to remain seated, for I knew that Augustus, like L. P. Runkle, resented being woken suddenly, and one always wants to consider a cat’s feelings.