into the sick-chamber next morning to contemplate the wreckage,

  I was beginning to lose weight. Absolutely becoming the good old

  shadow, I give you my honest word. Starting at sudden noises and

  what-not.

  And no sympathy from Jeeves. Th

  at was what cut me to the

  quick. Th

  e man was still thoroughly pipped about the hat and tie,

  and simply wouldn’t rally round. One morning I wanted comforting

  so much that I sank the pride of the Woosters and appealed to the

  fellow direct.

  “Jeeves,” I said, “this is getting a bit thick!”

  “Sir?” Business and cold respectfulness.

  “You know what I mean. Th

  is lad seems to have chucked all the

  principles of a well-spent boyhood. He has got it up his nose!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, I shall get blamed, don’t you know. You know what my

  Aunt Agatha is!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Very well, then.”

  I waited a moment, but he wouldn’t unbend.

  “Jeeves,” I said, “haven’t you any scheme up your sleeve for cop-

  ing with this blighter?”

  “No, sir.”

  And he shimmered off to his lair. Obstinate devil! So dashed

  absurd, don’t you know. It wasn’t as if there was anything wrong

  with that Country Gentleman hat. It was a remarkably priceless ef-

  31

  P. G. WODEHOUSE

  fort, and much admired by the lads. But, just because he preferred

  the Longacre, he left me fl at.

  It was shortly after this that young Motty got the idea of bring-

  ing pals back in the small hours to continue the gay revels in the

  home. Th

  is was where I began to crack under the strain. You see, the

  part of town where I was living wasn’t the right place for that sort of

  thing. I knew lots of chappies down Washington Square way who

  started the evening at about 2 a.m. – artists and writers and what-

  not, who frolicked considerably till checked by the arrival of the

  morning milk. Th

  at was all right. Th

  ey like that sort of thing down

  there. Th

  e neighbours can’t get to sleep unless there’s someone danc-

  ing Hawaiian dances over their heads. But on Fifty-seventh Street

  the atmosphere wasn’t right, and when Motty turned up at three in

  the morning with a collection of hearty lads, who only stopped sing-

  ing their college song when they started singing “Th

  e Old Oaken

  Bucket,” there was a marked peevishness among the old settlers in

  the fl ats. Th

  e management was extremely terse over the telephone at

  breakfast-time, and took a lot of soothing.

  Th

  e next night I came home early, after a lonely dinner at a place

  which I’d chosen because there didn’t seem any chance of meet-

  ing Motty there. Th

  e sitting-room was quite dark, and I was just

  moving to switch on the light, when there was a sort of explosion

  and something collared hold of my trouser-leg. Living with Motty

  had reduced me to such an extent that I was simply unable to cope

  with this thing. I jumped backward with a loud yell of anguish, and

  tumbled out into the hall just as Jeeves came out of his den to see

  what the matter was.

  “Did you call, sir?”

  “Jeeves! Th

  ere’s something in there that grabs you by the leg!”

  “Th

  at would be Rollo, sir.”

  “Eh?”

  “I would have warned you of his presence, but I did not hear you

  come in. His temper is a little uncertain at present, as he has not yet

  settled down.”

  “Who the deuce is Rollo?”

  “His lordship’s bull-terrier, sir. His lordship won him in a raffl

  e,

  and tied him to the leg of the table. If you will allow me, sir, I will

  go in and switch on the light.”

  32

  MY MAN JEEVES

  Th

  ere really is nobody like Jeeves. He walked straight into the

  sitting-room, the biggest feat since Daniel and the lions’ den, with-

  out a quiver. What’s more, his magnetism or whatever they call it

  was such that the dashed animal, instead of pinning him by the

  leg, calmed down as if he had had a bromide, and rolled over on his

  back with all his paws in the air. If Jeeves had been his rich uncle he

  couldn’t have been more chummy. Yet directly he caught sight of me

  again, he got all worked up and seemed to have only one idea in life

  – to start chewing me where he had left off .

  “Rollo is not used to you yet, sir,” said Jeeves, regarding the

  bally quadruped in an admiring sort of way. “He is an excellent watchdog.”

  “I don’t want a watchdog to keep me out of my rooms.”

  “No, sir.”

  “Well, what am I to do?”

  “No doubt in time the animal will learn to discriminate, sir. He

  will learn to distinguish your peculiar scent.”

  “What do you mean – my peculiar scent? Correct the impres-

  sion that I intend to hang about in the hall while life slips by, in the

  hope that one of these days that dashed animal will decide that I

  smell all right.” I thought for a bit. “Jeeves!”

  “Sir?”

  “I’m going away – to-morrow morning by the fi rst train. I shall

  go and stop with Mr. Todd in the country.”

  “Do you wish me to accompany you, sir?”

  “No.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  “I don’t know when I shall be back. Forward my letters.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  %

  As a matter of fact, I was back within the week. Rocky Todd,

  the pal I went to stay with, is a rummy sort of a chap who lives all

  alone in the wilds of Long Island, and likes it; but a little of that sort of thing goes a long way with me. Dear old Rocky is one of the best,

  but after a few days in his cottage in the woods, miles away from

  anywhere, New York, even with Motty on the premises, began to

  look pretty good to me. Th

  e days down on Long Island have forty-

  eight hours in them; you can’t get to sleep at night because of the

  33

  P. G. WODEHOUSE

  bellowing of the crickets; and you have to walk two miles for a drink

  and six for an evening paper. I thanked Rocky for his kind hospi-

  tality, and caught the only train they have down in those parts. It

  landed me in New York about dinner-time. I went straight to the old

  fl at. Jeeves came out of his lair. I looked round cautiously for Rollo.

  “Where’s that dog, Jeeves? Have you got him tied up?”

  “Th

  e animal is no longer here, sir. His lordship gave him to the

  porter, who sold him. His lordship took a prejudice against the ani-

  mal on account of being bitten by him in the calf of the leg.”

  I don’t think I’ve ever been so bucked by a bit of news. I felt I

  had misjudged Rollo. Evidently, when you got to know him better,

  he had a lot of intelligence in him.

  “Ripping!” I said. “Is Lord Pershore in, Jeeves?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Do you expect him back to dinner?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Where is he?”

  “In prison, sir.”

  Have you ever trodden on a rake and had the handle jump up

  and hit you? Th

  at’s how I felt then.

  “In prison!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You don’t mean – in prison?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I lowered myself into a chair.

  “Why?” I said.

  “He assaulted a constable, sir.”

  “Lord Pershore assaulted a constable!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I digested this.

  “But, Jeeves, I say! Th

  is is frightful!”

  “Sir?”

  “What will Lady Malvern say when she fi nds out?”

  “I do not fancy that her ladyship will fi nd out, sir.”

  “But she’ll come back and want to know where he is.”

  “I rather fancy, sir, that his lordship’s bit of time will have run

  out by then.”

  “But supposing it hasn’t?”

  “In that event, sir, it may be judicious to prevaricate a little.”

  34

  MY MAN JEEVES

  “How?”

  “If I might make the suggestion, sir, I should inform her lady-

  ship that his lordship has left for a short visit to Boston.”

  “Why Boston?”

  “Very interesting and respectable centre, sir.”

  “Jeeves, I believe you’ve hit it.”

  “I fancy so, sir.”

  “Why, this is really the best thing that could have happened. If

  this hadn’t turned up to prevent him, young Motty would have been

  in a sanatorium by the time Lady Malvern got back.”

  “Exactly, sir.”

  Th

  e more I looked at it in that way, the sounder this prison wheeze

  seemed to me. Th

  ere was no doubt in the world that prison was just

  what the doctor ordered for Motty. It was the only thing that could

  have pulled him up. I was sorry for the poor blighter, but, after all,

  I refl ected, a chappie who had lived all his life with Lady Malvern,

  in a small village in the interior of Shropshire, wouldn’t have much

  to kick at in a prison. Altogether, I began to feel absolutely braced

  again. Life became like what the poet Johnnie says – one grand,

  sweet song. Th

  ings went on so comfortably and peacefully for a cou-

  ple of weeks that I give you my word that I’d almost forgotten such a

  person as Motty existed. Th

  e only fl aw in the scheme of things was

  that Jeeves was still pained and distant. It wasn’t anything he said or

  did, mind you, but there was a rummy something about him all the

  time. Once when I was tying the pink tie I caught sight of him in the

  looking-glass. Th

  ere was a kind of grieved look in his eye.

  And then Lady Malvern came back, a good bit ahead of sched-

  ule. I hadn’t been expecting her for days. I’d forgotten how time had

  been slipping along. She turned up one morning while I was still in

  bed sipping tea and thinking of this and that. Jeeves fl owed in with

  the announcement that he had just loosed her into the sitting-room.

  I draped a few garments round me and went in.

  Th

  ere she was, sitting in the same arm-chair, looking as massive

  as ever. Th

  e only diff erence was that she didn’t uncover the teeth, as

  she had done the fi rst time.

  “Good morning,” I said. “So you’ve got back, what?”

  “I have got back.”

  Th

  ere was something sort of bleak about her tone, rather as if

  she had swallowed an east wind. Th

  is I took to be due to the fact

  35

  P. G. WODEHOUSE

  that she probably hadn’t breakfasted. It’s only after a bit of breakfast

  that I’m able to regard the world with that sunny cheeriness which

  makes a fellow the universal favourite. I’m never much of a lad till

  I’ve engulfed an egg or two and a beaker of coff ee.

  “I suppose you haven’t breakfasted?”

  “I have not yet breakfasted.”

  “Won’t you have an egg or something? Or a sausage or some-

  thing? Or something?”

  “No, thank you.”

  She spoke as if she belonged to an anti-sausage society or a

  league for the suppression of eggs. Th

  ere was a bit of a silence.

  “I called on you last night,” she said, “but you were out.”

  “Awfully sorry! Had a pleasant trip?”

  “Extremely, thank you.”

  “See everything? Niag’ra Falls, Yellowstone Park, and the jolly

  old Grand Canyon, and what-not?”

  “I saw a great deal.”

  Th

  ere was another slightly frappe silence. Jeeves fl oated silently

  into the dining-room and began to lay the breakfast-table.

  “I hope Wilmot was not in your way, Mr. Wooster?”

  I had been wondering when she was going to mention Motty.

  “Rather not! Great pals! Hit it off splendidly.”

  “You were his constant companion, then?”

  “Absolutely! We were always together. Saw all the sights, don’t

  you know. We’d take in the Museum of Art in the morning, and

  have a bit of lunch at some good vegetarian place, and then toddle

  along to a sacred concert in the afternoon, and home to an early din-

  ner. We usually played dominoes after dinner. And then the early

  bed and the refreshing sleep. We had a great time. I was awfully

  sorry when he went away to Boston.”

  “Oh! Wilmot is in Boston?”

  “Yes. I ought to have let you know, but of course we didn’t know

  where you were. You were dodging all over the place like a snipe – I

  mean, don’t you know, dodging all over the place, and we couldn’t

  get at you. Yes, Motty went off to Boston.”

  “You’re sure he went to Boston?”

  “Oh, absolutely.” I called out to Jeeves, who was now messing

  about in the next room with forks and so forth: “Jeeves, Lord Per-

  shore didn’t change his mind about going to Boston, did he?”

  36

  MY MAN JEEVES

  “No, sir.”

  “I thought I was right. Yes, Motty went to Boston.”

  “Th

  en how do you account, Mr. Wooster, for the fact that when

  I went yesterday afternoon to Blackwell’s Island prison, to secure

  material for my book, I saw poor, dear Wilmot there, dressed in

  a striped suit, seated beside a pile of stones with a hammer in his

  hands?”

  I tried to think of something to say, but nothing came. A chap-

  pie has to be a lot broader about the forehead than I am to handle a

  jolt like this. I strained the old bean till it creaked, but between the

  collar and the hair parting nothing stirred. I was dumb. Which was

  lucky, because I wouldn’t have had a chance to get any persifl age

  out of my system. Lady Malvern collared the conversation. She had

  been bottling it up, and now it came out with a rush:

  “So this is how you have looked after my poor, dear boy, Mr.

  Wooster! So this is how you have abused my trust! I left him in your

  charge, thinking that I could rely on you to shield him from evil. He

  came to you innocent, unversed in the ways of the world, confi ding,

  unused to the temptations of a large city, and you led him astray!”

  I hadn’t any remarks to make. All I could think of was the pic-

  ture of Aunt Agatha drinking all this in and reaching out to sharpen

  the hatchet against my return.

  “You deliberately—”

  Far away in the misty distance a soft voice spoke:

  “If I might explain, your ladyship.”

  Jeeves had projected himself in from the dining-room and ma-

  terialized on the rug. Lady Malvern tried to freeze him with a look,

  but you can’t do that sort of thing to Jeeves. He is look-proof.

  “I fancy, your ladyship, that you have misunderstood Mr.

  Wooster, and that he may have given you the impression that he was

  in New York when his lordship – was removed. When Mr. Wooster

  informed your ladyship that his lordship had gone to Boston, he was

  relying on the version I had given him of his lordship’s movements.

  Mr. Wooster was away, visiting a friend in the country, at the time,

  and knew nothing of the matter till your ladyship informed him.”

  Lady Malvern gave a kind of grunt. It didn’t rattle Jeeves.

  “I feared Mr. Wooster might be disturbed if he knew the truth,

  as he is so attached to his lordship and has taken such pains to look

  after him, so I took the liberty of telling him that his lordship had

  37

  P. G. WODEHOUSE

  gone away for a visit. It might have been hard for Mr. Wooster to

  believe that his lordship had gone to prison voluntarily and from the

  best motives, but your ladyship, knowing him better, will readily

  understand.”

  “What!” Lady Malvern goggled at him. “Did you say that Lord

  Pershore went to prison voluntarily?”

  “If I might explain, your ladyship. I think that your ladyship’s

  parting words made a deep impression on his lordship. I have fre-

  quently heard him speak to Mr. Wooster of his desire to do some-

  thing to follow your ladyship’s instructions and collect material for

  your ladyship’s book on America. Mr. Wooster will bear me out

  when I say that his lordship was frequently extremely depressed at

  the thought that he was doing so little to help.”

  “Absolutely, by Jove! Quite pipped about it!” I said.

  “Th

  e idea of making a personal examination into the prison sys-

  tem of the country – from within – occurred to his lordship very

  suddenly one night. He embraced it eagerly. Th

  ere was no restrain-

  ing him.”

 

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