‘Similar conditions prevail this morning. I thought everything went off very well last night, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Thanks to you.’
‘It is very kind of you to say so, sir.’
‘I take it the ancestor came to a satisfactory arrangement with Runkle?’
‘Most satisfactory, sir. Madam has just informed me that Mr. Runkle was entirely co-operative.’
‘So Tuppy and Angela will be joined in holy wedlock, as the expression is?’
‘Almost immediately, I understood from Madam.’
‘And even now Ginger and M. Glendennon are probably in conference with the registar of their choice.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And Spode has got a black eye, which one hopes is painful. In short, on every side one sees happy endings popping up out of traps. A pity that Bingley is flourishing like a green what-is-it, but one can’t have everything.’
‘No, sir. Medio de fonte leporum surgit amari aliquid in ipsis floribus angat.’
‘I don’t think I quite followed you there, Jeeves.’
‘I was quoting from the Roman poet Lucretius, sir. A rough translation would be “From the heart of this fountain of delights wells up some bitter taste to choke them even among the flowers”.’
‘Who did you say wrote that?’
‘Lucretius, sir, 99-55 B.C.’
‘Gloomy sort of bird.’
‘His outlook was perhaps somewhat sombre, sir.’
‘Still, apart from Bingley, one might describe joy as reigning supreme. ‘A very colourful phrase, sir.’
‘Not my own. I read it somewhere. Yes, I think we may say everything’s more or less oojah-cum-spiff. With one exception. Jeeves,’ I said, a graver note coming into my voice as I gave Gus his second helping of kipper.
‘There remains a fly in the ointment, a familiar saying meaning… well, I don’t quite know what it does mean. It seems to imply a state of affairs at which one is supposed to look askance, but why, I ask myself, shouldn’t flies be in ointment? What harm do they do? And who wants ointment, anyway? But you get what I’m driving at. The Junior Ganymede club book is still in existence. That is what tempers my ecstasy with anxiety. We have seen how packed with trinitrotoluol it is, and we know how easily it can fall into the hands of the powers of darkness. Who can say that another Bingley may not come along and snitch it from the secretary’s room? I know it is too much to ask you to burn the beastly thing, but couldn’t you at Ieast destroy the eighteen pages in which I figure?’
‘I have already done so. sir.’
I leaped like a rising trout, to the annoyance of Gas. who had gone to sleep on my solar plexus. Words failed rne but in due season I managed three.
‘Much obliged, Jeeves.’
‘Not at all sir.’
The End