Jeeves Stories, P. G. Wodehouse [best ereader for epub .TXT] 📗

and, having undressed him by unbuttoning every button in sight and, where there were no buttons, pulling till something gave, we carried him up to bed.

Freddie stood looking at the pile of clothes on the floor with a sort of careworn wrinkle between his eyes, and I knew what he was thinking. To get the kid undressed had been simple⁠—a mere matter of muscle. But how were we to get him into his clothes again? I stirred the heap with my foot. There was a long linen arrangement which might have been anything. Also a strip of pink flannel which was like nothing on earth. All most unpleasant.

But in the morning I remembered that there were children in the next bungalow but one, and I went there before breakfast and borrowed their nurse. Women are wonderful, by Jove they are! This nurse had all the spare parts assembled and in the right places in about eight minutes, and there was the kid dressed and looking fit to go to a garden party at Buckingham Palace. I showered wealth upon her, and she promised to come in morning and evening. I sat down to breakfast almost cheerful again. It was the first bit of silver lining that had presented itself to date.

“And, after all,” I said, “there’s lots to be argued in favour of having a child about the place, if you know what I mean. Kind of cosy and domestic, what?”

Just then the kid upset the milk over Freddie’s trousers, and when he had come back after changing he lacked sparkle.

It was shortly after breakfast that Jeeves asked if he could have a word in my ear.

Now, though in the anguish of recent events I had rather tended to forget what had been the original idea in bringing Freddie down to this place, I hadn’t forgotten it altogether; and I’m bound to say that, as the days went by, I had found myself a little disappointed in Jeeves. The scheme had been, if you recall, that he should refresh himself with sea-air and simple food and, having thus got his brain into prime working order, evolve some means of bringing Freddie and his Elizabeth together again.

And what had happened? The man had eaten well and he had slept well, but not a step did he appear to have taken towards bringing about the happy ending. The only move that had been made in that direction had been made by me, alone and unaided, and, though I freely admit that it had turned out a good deal of a bloomer, still the fact remains that I had shown zeal and enterprise. Consequently I received him with a bit of hauteur when he blew in. Slightly cold. A trifle frosty.

“Yes, Jeeves?” I said. “You wished to speak to me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Say on, Jeeves,” I said.

“Thank you, sir. What I desired to say, sir, was this: I attended a performance at the local cinema last night.”

I raised the eyebrows. I was surprised at the man. With life in the home so frightfully tense and the young master up against it to such a fearful extent, I disapproved of him coming toddling in and prattling about his amusements.

“I hope you enjoyed yourself,” I said in rather a nasty manner.

“Yes, sir, thank you. The management was presenting a super-super-film in seven reels, dealing with life in the wilder and more feverish strata of New York Society, featuring Bertha Blevitch, Orlando Murphy and Baby Bobbie. I found it most entertaining, sir.”

“That’s good,” I said. “And if you have a nice time this morning on the sands with your spade and bucket, you will come and tell me all about it, won’t you? I have so little on my mind just now that it’s a treat to hear all about your happy holiday.”

Satirical, if you see what I mean. Sarcastic. Almost bitter, as a matter of fact, if you come right down to it.

“The title of the film was Tiny Hands, sir. And the father and mother of the character played by Baby Bobbie had unfortunately drifted apart⁠—”

“Too bad,” I said.

“Although at heart they loved each other still, sir.”

“Did they really? I’m glad you told me that.”

“And so matters went on, sir, till came a day when⁠—”

“Jeeves,” I said, fixing him with a dashed unpleasant eye, “what the dickens do you think you’re talking about? Do you suppose that, with this infernal child landed on me and the peace of the home practically shattered into a million bits, I want to hear⁠—”

“I beg your pardon, sir I would not have mentioned this cinema performance were it not for the fact that it gave me an idea, sir.”

“An idea!”

“An idea that will, I fancy, sir, prove of value in straightening out the matrimonial future of Mr. Bullivant. To which end, if you recollect, sir, you desired me to⁠—”

I snorted with remorse. “Jeeves,” I said, “I wronged you.”

“Not at all, sir.”

“Yes, I did. I wronged you. I had a notion that you had given yourself up entirely to the pleasures of the seaside and had chucked that business altogether. I might have known better. Tell me all, Jeeves.”

He bowed in a gratified manner. I beamed. And, while we didn’t actually fall on each other’s necks, we gave each other to understand that all was well once more.

“In this super-super-film, Tiny Hands, sir,” said Jeeves, “the parents of the child had, as I say, drifted apart.”

“Drifted apart,” I said, nodding. “Right! And then?”

“Came a day, sir, when their little child brought them together again.”

“How?”

“If I remember rightly, sir, he said, ‘Dadda, doesn’t ’oo love mummie no more?’ ”

“And then?”

“They exhibited a good deal of emotion. There was what I believe is termed a cutback, showing scenes from their courtship and early married life and some glimpses of Lovers Through the Ages, and the picture concluded with a closeup of the pair in an embrace, with the child looking on with natural gratification and an organ playing ‘Hearts and Flowers’ in