"And yet, Jeeves," I said, a wheel, "there is always the side."
Some twenty minutes had elapsed, and having the up the door, I was in the two-seater to the town of Market Snodsbury. Since we had parted—he to go to his and his hat, I to in my room and complete the costume—I had been doing some close thinking.
The results of this I now to hand on to him.
"However dark the may be, Jeeves, the clouds may to gather, a can the bird. It is bad, no doubt, that Gussie should be going, some ten minutes from now, to in a of intoxication, but we must that these cut ways."
"You imply, sir——"
"Precisely. I am of him in his of wooer. All this ought to have put him in shape for his hand in marriage. I shall be if it won't turn him into a of caveman. Have you James Cagney in the movies?"
"Yes, sir."
"Something on those lines."
I him cough, and him with a glance. He was that look of his.
"Then you have not heard, sir?"
"Eh?"
"You are not aware that a marriage has been and will take place Mr. Fink-Nottle and Miss Bassett?"
"What?"
"Yes, sir."
"When did this happen?"
"Shortly after Mr. Fink-Nottle had left your room, sir."
"Ah! In the post-orange-juice era?"
"Yes, sir."
"But are you sure of your facts? How do you know?"
"My was Mr. Fink-Nottle himself, sir. He appeared to in me. His was incoherent, but I had no in its substance. Prefacing his with the that this was a world, he laughed and said that he had engaged."
"No details?"
"No, sir."
"But one can picture the scene."
"Yes, sir."
"I mean, doesn't boggle."
"No, sir."
And it didn't. I see what must have happened. Insert a of mixed in a man, and he a force. He not around, his and stammering. He acts. I had no that Gussie must have for the Bassett and her to him like a a of coals. And one the of that of thing on a girl of mind.
"Well, well, well, Jeeves."
"Yes, sir."
"This is news."
"Yes, sir."
"You see now how right I was."
"Yes, sir."
"It must have been an eye-opener for you, me this case."
"Yes, sir."
"The simple, direct method fails."
"No, sir."
"Whereas the does."
"Yes, sir."
"Right ho, Jeeves."
We had at the main entrance of Market Snodsbury Grammar School. I the car, and in, well content. True, the Tuppy-Angela problem still and Aunt Dahlia's five hundred as off as ever, but it was to that good old Gussie's were over, at any rate.
The Grammar School at Market Snodsbury had, I understood, been in the year 1416, and, as with so many of these foundations, there still to over its Great Hall, where the afternoon's were to take place, not a little of the of the centuries. It was the day of the summer, and though somebody had opened a window or two, the and individual.
In this the of Market Snodsbury had been its daily for a of five hundred years, and the lingered. The air was of and languorous, if you know what I mean, with the of Young England and and carrots.
Aunt Dahlia, who was with a of the local in the second row, me as I entered and to me to join her, but I was too for that. I myself in among the at the back, up against a who, from the aroma, might have been a or something on that order. The of strategy on these occasions is to be as near the door as possible.
The was with and paper, and the was by the of a mixed of boys, parents, and what not, the a good to and Eton collars, the the black-satin note when female, and looking as if their were too tight, if male. And presently there was some applause—sporadic, Jeeves has since told me it was—and I saw Gussie being by a in a to a seat in the middle of the platform.
And I that as I him and that there but for the of God Bertram Wooster, a ran through the frame. It all me so of the time I had that girls' school.
Of course, looking at it dispassionately, you may say that for and there is no an almost audience like the one me and a of small girls with their backs, and this, I concede, is true. Nevertheless, the was to make me like a a going over Niagara Falls in a barrel, and the of what I had for a moment to go black and swim my eyes.
When I was able to see once more, I that Gussie was now seated. He had his hands on his knees, with his out at right angles, like a of the old about to ask Mr. Bones why a chicken the road, and he was him with a so and pebble-beached that I should have that have that there sat one in the old familiar juice was up against the of the teeth.
In fact, I saw Aunt Dahlia, who, having at so many dinners in her time, is second to none as a judge of the symptoms, give a start and long and earnestly. And she was just saying something to Uncle Tom on her left when the to the and started making a speech. From the that he spoke as if he had a potato in his mouth without the from the in the seats, I that he must be the master.
With his in the spotlight, a of to settle on the audience. Personally, I up against the and let my attention wander. The speech was on the of the doings of the the past term, and this part of a prize-giving is always to fail to the visiting stranger. I mean, you know how it is. You're told that J.B. Brewster has an Exhibition for Classics at Cat's, Cambridge, and you that it's one of those where you can't see how it is unless you know the fellow. And the same to G. Bullett being the Lady Jane Wix Scholarship at the Birmingham College of Veterinary Science.
In fact, I and the chandler, who was looking a I thought, as if he had had a hard the corn, were to when up, Gussie into the picture for the time.
"Today," said the bloke, "we are all happy to welcome as the guest of the Mr. Fitz-Wattle——"
At the of the address, Gussie had into a of daydream, with his mouth open. About half-way through, of life had to show. And for the last minutes he had been trying to one leg over the other and and having another and again. But only now did he any animation. He sat up with a jerk.
"Fink-Nottle," he said, opening his eyes.
"Fitz-Nottle."
"Fink-Nottle."
"I should say Fink-Nottle."
"Of you should, you ass," said Gussie genially. "All right, on with it."
And his eyes, he trying to his again.
I see that this little spot of had the a bit. He for a moment at the with a hand. But they make these masters of stuff. The passed. He came and on.
"We are all happy, I say, to welcome as the guest of the Mr. Fink-Nottle, who has to the prizes. This task, as you know, is one that should have upon that well-beloved and of our of governors, the Rev. William Plomer, and we are all, I am sure, very sorry that at the last moment should have him from being here today. But, if I may borrow a familiar from the—if I may a familiar to you all—what we on the we on the roundabouts."
He paused, and freely, to that this was comedy. I have told the man it was no use. Not a ripple. The against me and "Whoddidesay?" but that was all.
It's always a to wait for the laugh and that the hasn't got across. The was visibly discomposed. At that, however, I think he would have got by, had he not, at this juncture, Gussie up again.
"In other words, though of Mr. Plomer, we have with us this Mr. Fink-Nottle. I am sure that Mr. Fink-Nottle's name is one that needs no to you. It is, I to assert, a name that is familiar to us all."
"Not to you," said Gussie.
And the next moment I saw what Jeeves had meant when he had him as laughing heartily. "Heartily" was the juste. It like a explosion.
"You didn't to know it so well, what, what?" said Gussie. And, by the word "what" of the word "Wattle," he the some sixteen times with a inflection.
"Wattle, Wattle, Wattle," he concluded. "Right-ho. Push on."
But the had his bolt. He there, at last; and, him closely, I see that he was now at the crossroads. I spot what he was as as if he had it to my personal ear. He wanted to and call it a day, I mean, but the that gave him pause was that, if he did, he must then either Gussie or take the Fink-Nottle speech as read and on to the prize-giving.
It was a thing, of course, to have to decide on the of the moment. I was reading in the paper the other day about those who are trying to the atom, the being that they haven't the as to what will if they do. It may be all right. On the other hand, it may not be all right. And a would feel, no doubt, if, having the atom, he the house going up in and himself from limb.
So with the bloke. Whether he was of the in Gussie's case, I don't know, but it was to him by this time that he had into something hot. Trial had that Gussie had his own way of doing things. Those had been to prove to the that here, seated on the at the big of the season, was one who, if pushed to make a speech, might let himself go in a epoch-making manner.
On the other hand, him up and put a green-baize cloth over him, and where were you? The would be over about an hour too soon.
It was, as I say, a difficult problem to have to solve, and, left to himself, I don't know what he would have come to. Personally, I think he would have played it safe. As it happened, however, the thing was taken out of his hands, for at this moment, Gussie, having his arms and a bit, on that pebble-beached again and to the of the platform.
"Speech," he said affably.
He then with his thumbs in the of his waistcoat, waiting for the to die down.
It was some time this happened, for he had got a very hand indeed. I it wasn't often that the boys of Market Snodsbury Grammar School came across a man public-spirited to call their master a ass, and they their in no manner. Gussie may have been one over the eight, but as as the majority of those present were he was on top of the world.
"Boys," said Gussie, "I ladies and and boys, I do not you long, but I on this occasion to to say a words; Ladies—and boys and gentlemen—we have all with to the of our friend here who to this morning—I don't know his name, but then he didn't know mine—Fitz-Wattle, I mean, absurd—which up a bit—and we are all sorry that the Reverend What-ever-he-was-called should be of adenoids, but after all, here today, gone tomorrow, and all is as grass, and what not, but that wasn't what I wanted to say. What I wanted to say was this—and I say it confidently—without of contradiction—I say, in short, I am happy to be here on this occasion and I take much in the prizes, of the books you see out on that table. As Shakespeare says, there are in books, in the brooks, or, rather, the other way about, and there you have it in a nutshell."
It well, and I wasn't surprised. I couldn't some of it, but see that it was stuff, and I was that the of he had been taking have so tongue-tied a as Gussie of it.
It just shows, what any of Parliament will tell you, that if you want oratory, the is essential. Unless pie-eyed, you cannot to grip.
"Gentlemen," said Gussie, "I ladies and and, of course, boys, what a world this is. A world, full of on every side. Let me tell you a little story. Two Irishmen, Pat and Mike, were walking along Broadway, and one said to the other, 'Begorrah, the is not always to the swift,' and the other replied, 'Faith and begob, education is a out, not a in.'"
I must say it to me the I had heard, and I was that Jeeves should have it while into a speech. However, when I taxed him with this later, he said that Gussie had the plot a good deal, and I say that for it.
At any rate, that was the as Gussie told it, and when I say that it got a very laugh, you will what a popular he had with the multitude. There might be a or so on the and a small in the second who were the would his and his seat, but the audience as a whole was for him solidly.
There was applause, and a voice cried: "Hear, hear!"
"Yes," said Gussie, "it is a world. The sky is blue, the are singing, there is everywhere. And why not, boys and ladies and gentlemen? I'm happy, you're happy, we're all happy, the Irishman that walks along Broadway. Though, as I say, there were two of them—Pat and Mike, one out, the other in. I should like you boys, taking the time from me, to give three for this world. All together now."
Presently the settled and the plaster stopped from the ceiling, and he on.
"People who say it isn't a world don't know what they are talking about. Driving here in the car today to the prizes, I was to off my on this very point. Old Tom Travers. You will see him there in the second next to the large lady in beige."
He pointed helpfully, and the hundred or so Market Snods-buryians who their necks in the direction were able to Uncle Tom prettily.
"I him off properly, the fish. He the opinion that the world was in a state. I said, 'Don't talk rot, old Tom Travers.' 'I am not to talk rot,' he said. 'Then, for a beginner,' I said, 'you do it well.' And I think you will admit, boys and ladies and gentlemen, that that was telling him."
The audience to agree with him. The point big. The voice that had said, "Hear, hear" said "Hear, hear" again, and my the with a large-size walking stick.
"Well, boys," Gussie, having his and horribly, "this is the end of the term, and many of you, no doubt, are the school. And I don't you, there's a in here you cut with a knife. You are going out into the great world. Soon many of you will be walking along Broadway. And what I want to upon you is that, much you may from adenoids, you must all use every to prevent yourselves and talking like old Tom Travers. There in the second row. The with a like a walnut."
He paused to allow those to do so to themselves with another look at Uncle Tom, and I myself in some little perplexity. Long with the members of the Drones has put me well in touch with the in which an of the Hippocrene can take the individual, but I had anyone as Gussie was doing.
There was a about his work which I had before, in Barmy Fotheringay-Phipps on New Year's Eve.
Jeeves, when I the with him later, said it was something to do with inhibitions, if I the word correctly, and the of, I think he said, the ego. What he meant, I gathered, was that, to the that Gussie had just a five years' of among the newts, all the which ought to have been spread out thin over those five years and had been up that period came to the surface on this occasion in a lump—or, if you to put it that way, like a wave.
There may be something in this. Jeeves knows.
Anyway, be that as it may, I was I had had the to keep out of that second row. It might be of the of a Wooster to in among the in the standing-room-only section, but at least, I felt, I was out of the zone. So had Gussie got it up his nose by now that it to me that had he me he might have personal about an old friend.
"If there's one thing in the world I can't stand," Gussie, "it's a pessimist. Be optimists, boys. You all know the an and a pessimist. An is a man who—well, take the case of two Irishmen walking along Broadway. One is an and one is a pessimist, just as one's name is Pat and the other's Mike.... Why, hullo, Bertie; I didn't know you were here."
Too late, I to go to earth the chandler, only to that there was no there. Some appointment, remembered—possibly a promise to his wife that he would be home to tea—had him to away while my attention was elsewhere, me right out in the open.
Between me and Gussie, who was now pointing in an manner, there was nothing but a sea of looking up at me.
"Now, there," Gussie, to point, "is an of what I mean. Boys and ladies and gentlemen, take a good look at that object up there at the back—morning coat, as worn, tie, and in buttonhole—you can't miss him. Bertie Wooster, that is, and as a as a tiger. I tell you I that man. And why do I him? Because, boys and ladies and gentlemen, he is a pessimist. His is defeatist. When I told him I was going to address you this afternoon, he to me. And do you know why he to me? Because he said my would up the back."
The that this were the yet. Anything about to the of the of Market Snodsbury Grammar School. Two in the in of me purple, and a small with seated them asked me for my autograph.
"Let me tell you a about Bertie Wooster."
A Wooster can a good deal, but he cannot having his name in a public place. Picking my up softly, I was in the very of a for the door, when I that the had at last to apply the closure.
Why he hadn't done so is me. Spell-bound, I take it. And, of course, when a is going like a with the public, as Gussie had been, it's not so easy to in. However, the of another of Gussie's to have done the trick. Rising as I had from my bench at the of that painful with Tuppy in the twilight, he a for the table, up a book and came on the speaker.
He touched Gussie on the arm, and Gussie, and a large with a about to bean him with a book, in an of self-defence.
"Perhaps, as time is on, Mr. Fink-Nottle, we had better——"
"Oh, ah," said Gussie, the trend. He relaxed. "The prizes, eh? Of course, yes. Right-ho. Yes, might as well be along with it. What's this one?"
"Spelling and dictation—P.K. Purvis," the bloke.
"Spelling and dictation—P.K. Purvis," Gussie, as if he were calling coals. "Forward, P.K. Purvis."
Now that the had been on his speech, it to me that there was no longer any need for the which I had been planning. I had no wish to tear myself away unless I had to. I mean, I had told Jeeves that this would be with interest, and it was with interest. There was a about Gussie's methods which and one to pass the thing up provided personal were clear of. I decided, accordingly, to remain, and presently there was a and P.K. Purvis the platform.
The spelling-and-dictation was about three six in his shoes, with a pink and hair. Gussie his hair. He to have taken an to the lad.
"You P.K. Purvis?"
"Sir, yes, sir."
"It's a world, P.K. Purvis."
"Sir, yes, sir."
"Ah, you've noticed it, have you? Good. You married, by any chance?"
"Sir, no, sir."
"Get married, P.K. Purvis," said Gussie earnestly. "It's the only life ... Well, here's your book. Looks to me from a at the title page, but, such as it is, here you are."
P.K. Purvis off applause, but one not fail to note that the was by a silence. It was that Gussie was something of a new note in Market Snodsbury circles. Looks were parent and parent. The had the air of one who has the cup. As for Aunt Dahlia, her now told only too that her last had been and her was in. I saw her to the Bassett, who sat on her right, and the Bassett sadly and looked like a about to a tear and add another star to the Milky Way.
Gussie, after the of P.K. Purvis, had into a of and was with his mouth open and his hands in his pockets. Becoming aware that a kid in was at his elbow, he started violently.
"Hullo!" he said, visibly shaken. "Who are you?"
"This," said the bloke, "is R.V. Smethurst."
"What's he doing here?" asked Gussie suspiciously.
"You are him with the prize, Mr. Fink-Nottle."
This Gussie as a explanation. His cleared.
"That's right, too," he said.... "Well, here it is, cocky. You off?" he said, as the kid prepared to withdraw.
"Sir, yes, sir."
"Wait, R.V. Smethurst. Not so fast. Before you go, there is a question I wish to ask you."
But the bloke's now to be to the a bit. He R.V. Smethurst off stage like a chucker-out in a an old and customer, and starting G.G. Simmons. A moment later the was up and coming, and my when it was that the on which he had was Scripture knowledge. One of us, I to say.
G.G. Simmons was an unpleasant, perky-looking stripling, mostly teeth and spectacles, but I gave him a big hand. We Scripture-knowledge together.
Gussie, I was sorry to see, didn't like him. There was in his manner, as he G.G. Simmons, none of the which had marked it his with P.K. Purvis or, in a degree, with R.V. Smethurst. He was cold and distant.
"Well, G.G. Simmons."
"Sir, yes, sir."
"What do you mean—sir, yes, sir? Dashed thing to say. So you've the Scripture-knowledge prize, have you?"
"Sir, yes, sir."
"Yes," said Gussie, "you look just the of little who would. And yet," he said, and the child keenly, "how are we to know that this has all been open and above board? Let me test you, G.G. Simmons. What was What's-His-Name—the who Thingummy? Can you answer me that, Simmons?"
"Sir, no, sir."
Gussie to the bloke.
"Fishy," he said. "Very fishy. This boy to be totally in Scripture knowledge."
The passed a hand across his forehead.
"I can you, Mr. Fink-Nottle, that every was taken to a marking and that Simmons his by a wide margin."
"Well, if you say so," said Gussie doubtfully. "All right, G.G. Simmons, take your prize."
"Sir, thank you, sir."
"But let me tell you that there's nothing to on about in a prize for Scripture knowledge. Bertie Wooster——"
I don't know when I've had a shock. I had been going on the that, now that they had stopped him making his speech, Gussie's had been drawn, as you might say. To my and my toward the door was with me the work of a moment.
"Bertie Wooster the Scripture-knowledge prize at a kids' we were at together, and you know what he's like. But, of course, Bertie cheated. He succeeded in that Scripture-knowledge over the of men by means of some of the and most methods at a where such were common. If that man's pockets, as he entered the examination-room, were not to bursting-point with of the kings of Judah——"
I no more. A moment later I was out in God's air, with a at the self-starter of the old car.
The engine raced. The into position. I and off.
My were still as I ran the car into the of Brinkley Court, and it was a much Bertram who up to his room to into something loose. Having flannels, I on the for a bit, and I I must have off, for the next thing I is Jeeves at my side.
I sat up. "My tea, Jeeves?"
"No, sir. It is nearly dinner-time."
The away.
"I must have been asleep."
"Yes, sir."
"Nature taking its of the frame."
"Yes, sir."
"And to make it."
"Yes, sir."
"And now it's nearly dinner-time, you say? All right. I am in no mood for dinner, but I you had out the clothes."
"It will not be necessary, sir. The company will not be tonight. A cold has been set out in the dining-room."
"Why's that?"
"It was Mrs. Travers's wish that this should be done in order to the work for the staff, who are a at Sir Percival Stretchley-Budd's tonight."
"Of course, yes. I remember. My Cousin Angela told me. Tonight's the night, what? You going, Jeeves?"
"No, sir. I am not very of this of in the districts, sir."
"I know what you mean. These country are all the same. A piano, one fiddle, and a like sandpaper. Is Anatole going? Angela not."
"Miss Angela was correct, sir. Monsieur Anatole is in bed."
"Temperamental blighters, these Frenchmen."
"Yes, sir."
There was a pause.
"Well, Jeeves," I said, "it was one of those afternoons, what?"
"Yes, sir."
"I cannot one more packed with incident. And I left the finish."
"Yes, sir. I your departure."
"You couldn't me for withdrawing."
"No, sir. Mr. Fink-Nottle had personal."
"Was there much more of it after I went?"
"No, sir. The very shortly. Mr. Fink-Nottle's with to Master G.G. Simmons about an early closure."
"But he had his about G.G. Simmons."
"Only temporarily, sir. He them after your departure. If you recollect, sir, he had already himself of Master Simmons's fides, and he now to deliver a attack upon the gentleman, that it was for him to have the Scripture-knowledge prize without on an scale. He so as to that Master Simmons was well to the police."
"Golly, Jeeves!"
"Yes, sir. The did create a sensation. The of those present to this I should as mixed. The students appeared pleased and vigorously, but Master Simmons's mother rose from her seat and Mr. Fink-Nottle in terms of protest."
"Did Gussie taken aback? Did he from his position?"
"No, sir. He said that he see it all now, and at a Master Simmons's mother and the master, the of having the marks, as his was, in order to with the former."
"You don't that?"
"Yes, sir."
"Egad, Jeeves! And then——"
"They sang the national anthem, sir."
"Surely not?"
"Yes, sir."
"At a moment like that?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, you were there and you know, of course, but I should have the last thing Gussie and this woman would have done in the circs. would have been to start duets."
"You me, sir. It was the entire company who sang. The master to the and said something to him in a low tone. Upon which the to play the national anthem, and the terminated."
"I see. About time, too."
"Yes, sir. Mrs. Simmons's had menacing."
I pondered. What I had was, of course, of a nature to and terror, not to mention and despondency, and it would be with the truth to say that I was pleased about it. On the other hand, it was all over now, and it to me that the thing to do was not to over the past but to the mind on the future. I to say, Gussie might have the Worcestershire record for and definitely all of Market Snodsbury's son, but you couldn't away from the that he had to Madeline Bassett, and you had to admit that she had him.
I put this to Jeeves.
"A exhibition," I said, "and one which will very possibly ring history's pages. But we must not forget, Jeeves, that Gussie, though now looked upon in the as the world's freak, is all right otherwise."
"No, sir."
I did not this.
"When you say 'No, sir,' do you 'Yes, sir'?"
"No, sir. I 'No, sir.'"
"He is not all right otherwise?"
"No, sir."
"But he's betrothed."
"No longer, sir. Miss Bassett has the engagement."
"You don't that?"
"Yes, sir."
I wonder if you have noticed a thing about this chronicle. I to the that at one time or another playing a part in it has had occasion to his or her in his or her hands. I have in some in my time, but I think that or since have I been mixed up with such a solid of clutchers.
Uncle Tom did it, if you remember. So did Gussie. So did Tuppy. So, probably, though I have no data, did Anatole, and I wouldn't put it past the Bassett. And Aunt Dahlia, I have no doubt, would have done it, too, but for the of the coiffure.
Well, what I am trying to say is that at this I did it myself. Up the hands and the head, and in another I was as as the best of them.
And it was while I was still the and what the next move was that something up against the door like the of a of coals.
"I think this may very possibly be Mr. Fink-Nottle himself, sir," said Jeeves.
His intuition, however, had him astray. It was not Gussie but Tuppy. He came in and asthmatically. It was plain that he was stirred.
