My Man Jeeves, Pelham Grenville Wodehouse [ebook reader for pc and android TXT] 📗

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“Yes, sir? Pardon me, sir, but not that tie!”

 

“Eh?”

 

“Not that tie with the heather-mixture lounge, sir!”

 

It was a shock to me. I thought I had quelled the fellow. It was rather

a solemn moment. What I mean is, if I weakened now, all my good work

the night before would be thrown away. I braced myself.

 

“What’s wrong with this tie? I’ve seen you give it a nasty look before.

Speak out like a man! What’s the matter with it?”

 

“Too ornate, sir.”

 

“Nonsense! A cheerful pink. Nothing more.”

 

“Unsuitable, sir.”

 

“Jeeves, this is the tie I wear!”

 

“Very good, sir.”

 

Dashed unpleasant. I could see that the man was wounded. But I was

firm. I tied the tie, got into the coat and waistcoat, and went into

the sitting-room.

 

“Halloa! Halloa! Halloa!” I said. “What?”

 

“Ah! How do you do, Mr. Wooster? You have never met my son, Wilmot, I

think? Motty, darling, this is Mr. Wooster.”

 

Lady Malvern was a hearty, happy, healthy, overpowering sort of dashed

female, not so very tall but making up for it by measuring about six feet

from the O.P. to the Prompt Side. She fitted into my biggest armchair as

if it had been built round her by someone who knew they were wearing

armchairs tight about the hips that season. She had bright, bulging

eyes and a lot of yellow hair, and when she spoke she showed about

fifty-seven front teeth. She was one of those women who kind of numb

a fellow’s faculties. She made me feel as if I were ten years old and

had been brought into the drawing-room in my Sunday clothes to say

how-d’you-do. Altogether by no means the sort of thing a chappie would

wish to find in his sitting-room before breakfast.

 

Motty, the son, was about twenty-three, tall and thin and meek-looking.

He had the same yellow hair as his mother, but he wore it plastered

down and parted in the middle. His eyes bulged, too, but they weren’t

bright. They were a dull grey with pink rims. His chin gave up the

struggle about half-way down, and he didn’t appear to have any

eyelashes. A mild, furtive, sheepish sort of blighter, in short.

 

“Awfully glad to see you,” I said. “So you’ve popped over, eh? Making a

long stay in America?”

 

“About a month. Your aunt gave me your address and told me to be sure

and call on you.”

 

I was glad to hear this, as it showed that Aunt Agatha was beginning to

come round a bit. There had been some unpleasantness a year before,

when she had sent me over to New York to disentangle my Cousin Gussie

from the clutches of a girl on the music-hall stage. When I tell you

that by the time I had finished my operations, Gussie had not only

married the girl but had gone on the stage himself, and was doing well,

you’ll understand that Aunt Agatha was upset to no small extent. I

simply hadn’t dared go back and face her, and it was a relief to find

that time had healed the wound and all that sort of thing enough to

make her tell her pals to look me up. What I mean is, much as I liked

America, I didn’t want to have England barred to me for the rest of my

natural; and, believe me, England is a jolly sight too small for anyone

to live in with Aunt Agatha, if she’s really on the warpath. So I

braced on hearing these kind words and smiled genially on the

assemblage.

 

“Your aunt said that you would do anything that was in your power to be

of assistance to us.”

 

“Rather? Oh, rather! Absolutely!”

 

“Thank you so much. I want you to put dear Motty up for a little

while.”

 

I didn’t get this for a moment.

 

“Put him up? For my clubs?”

 

“No, no! Darling Motty is essentially a home bird. Aren’t you, Motty

darling?”

 

Motty, who was sucking the knob of his stick, uncorked himself.

 

“Yes, mother,” he said, and corked himself up again.

 

“I should not like him to belong to clubs. I mean put him up here. Have

him to live with you while I am away.”

 

These frightful words trickled out of her like honey. The woman simply

didn’t seem to understand the ghastly nature of her proposal. I gave

Motty the swift east-to-west. He was sitting with his mouth nuzzling

the stick, blinking at the wall. The thought of having this planted on

me for an indefinite period appalled me. Absolutely appalled me, don’t

you know. I was just starting to say that the shot wasn’t on the board

at any price, and that the first sign Motty gave of trying to nestle

into my little home I would yell for the police, when she went on,

rolling placidly over me, as it were.

 

There was something about this woman that sapped a chappie’s will-power.

 

“I am leaving New York by the midday train, as I have to pay a visit to

Sing-Sing prison. I am extremely interested in prison conditions in

America. After that I work my way gradually across to the coast,

visiting the points of interest on the journey. You see, Mr. Wooster, I

am in America principally on business. No doubt you read my book,

India and the Indians? My publishers are anxious for me to write

a companion volume on the United States. I shall not be able to spend

more than a month in the country, as I have to get back for the season,

but a month should be ample. I was less than a month in India, and my

dear friend Sir Roger Cremorne wrote his America from Within

after a stay of only two weeks. I should love to take dear Motty with

me, but the poor boy gets so sick when he travels by train. I shall

have to pick him up on my return.”

 

From where I sat I could see Jeeves in the dining-room, laying the

breakfast-table. I wished I could have had a minute with him alone. I

felt certain that he would have been able to think of some way of

putting a stop to this woman.

 

“It will be such a relief to know that Motty is safe with you, Mr.

Wooster. I know what the temptations of a great city are. Hitherto dear

Motty has been sheltered from them. He has lived quietly with me in the

country. I know that you will look after him carefully, Mr. Wooster. He

will give very little trouble.” She talked about the poor blighter as

if he wasn’t there. Not that Motty seemed to mind. He had stopped

chewing his walking-stick and was sitting there with his mouth open.

“He is a vegetarian and a teetotaller and is devoted to reading. Give

him a nice book and he will be quite contented.” She got up. “Thank you

so much, Mr. Wooster! I don’t know what I should have done without your

help. Come, Motty! We have just time to see a few of the sights before

my train goes. But I shall have to rely on you for most of my

information about New York, darling. Be sure to keep your eyes open and

take notes of your impressions! It will be such a help. Good-bye, Mr.

Wooster. I will send Motty back early in the afternoon.”

 

They went out, and I howled for Jeeves.

 

“Jeeves! What about it?”

 

“Sir?”

 

“What’s to be done? You heard it all, didn’t you? You were in the

dining-room most of the time. That pill is coming to stay here.”

 

“Pill, sir?”

 

“The excrescence.”

 

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

 

I looked at Jeeves sharply. This sort of thing wasn’t like him. It was

as if he were deliberately trying to give me the pip. Then I

understood. The man was really upset about that tie. He was trying to

get his own back.

 

“Lord Pershore will be staying here from to-night, Jeeves,” I said

coldly.

 

“Very good, sir. Breakfast is ready, sir.”

 

I could have sobbed into the bacon and eggs. That there wasn’t any

sympathy to be got out of Jeeves was what put the lid on it. For a

moment I almost weakened and told him to destroy the hat and tie if he

didn’t like them, but I pulled myself together again. I was dashed if I

was going to let Jeeves treat me like a bally one-man chain-gang!

 

But, what with brooding on Jeeves and brooding on Motty, I was in a

pretty reduced sort of state. The more I examined the situation, the

more blighted it became. There was nothing I could do. If I slung Motty

out, he would report to his mother, and she would pass it on to Aunt

Agatha, and I didn’t like to think what would happen then. Sooner or

later, I should be wanting to go back to England, and I didn’t want to

get there and find Aunt Agatha waiting on the quay for me with a

stuffed eelskin. There was absolutely nothing for it but to put the

fellow up and make the best of it.

 

About midday Motty’s luggage arrived, and soon afterward a large parcel

of what I took to be nice books. I brightened up a little when I saw

it. It was one of those massive parcels and looked as if it had enough

in it to keep the chappie busy for a year. I felt a trifle more

cheerful, and I got my Country Gentleman hat and stuck it on my head,

and gave the pink tie a twist, and reeled out to take a bite of lunch

with one or two of the lads at a neighbouring hostelry; and what with

excellent browsing and sluicing and cheery conversation and whatnot,

the afternoon passed quite happily. By dinner-time I had almost

forgotten blighted Motty’s existence.

 

I dined at the club and looked in at a show afterward, and it wasn’t

till fairly late that I got back to the flat. There were no signs of

Motty, and I took it that he had gone to bed.

 

It seemed rummy to me, though, that the parcel of nice books was still

there with the string and paper on it. It looked as if Motty, after

seeing mother off at the station, had decided to call it a day.

 

Jeeves came in with the nightly whisky-and-soda. I could tell by the

chappie’s manner that he was still upset.

 

“Lord Pershore gone to bed, Jeeves?” I asked, with reserved hauteur and

whatnot.

 

“No, sir. His lordship has not yet returned.”

 

“Not returned? What do you mean?”

 

“His lordship came in shortly after six-thirty, and, having dressed,

went out again.”

 

At this moment there was a noise outside the front door, a sort of

scrabbling noise, as if somebody were trying to paw his way through the

woodwork. Then a sort of thud.

 

“Better go and see what that is, Jeeves.”

 

“Very good, sir.”

 

He went out and came back again.

 

“If you would not mind stepping this way, sir, I think we might be able

to carry him in.”

 

“Carry him in?”

 

“His lordship is lying on the mat, sir.”

 

I went to the front door. The man was right. There was Motty huddled up

outside on the floor. He was moaning a bit.

 

“He’s had some sort of dashed fit,” I said. I took another look.

“Jeeves! Someone’s been feeding him meat!”