The World of Jeeves by P.G. Wodehouse

Author:P.G. Wodehouse [Wodehouse, P.G.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2008-10-02T00:00:00+00:00

20 CLUSTERING ROUND YOUNG BINGO

I BLOTTED THE last page of my manuscript and sank back, feeling more or less of a spent force. After incredible sweat of the old brow the thing seemed to be in pretty fair shape, and I was just reading it through and debating whether to bung in another paragraph at the end, when there was a tap at the door and Jeeves appeared.

‘Mrs. Travers, sir, on the telephone.’

‘Oh?’ I said. Preoccupied, don’t you know.

‘Yes, sir. She presents her compliments and would be glad to know what progress you have made with the article which you are writing for her.’

‘Jeeves, can I mention men’s knee-length under-clothing in a woman’s paper?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Then tell her it’s finished.’

‘Very good, sir.’

‘And, Jeeves, when you’re through, come back. I want you to cast your eye over this effort and give it the O.K.’

My Aunt Dahlia, who runs a woman’s paper called Milady’s Boudoir, had recently backed me into a corner and made me promise to write her a few authoritative words for her ‘Husbands and Brothers’ page on ‘What the Well-Dressed Man is Wearing’. I believe in encouraging aunts, when deserving; and, as there are many worse eggs than her knocking about the metrop. I had consented blithely. But I give you my honest word that if I had had the foggiest notion of what I was letting myself in for, not even a nephew’s devotion would have kept me from giving her the raspberry. A deuce of a job it had been, taxing the physique to the utmost. I don’t wonder now that all these author blokes have bald heads and faces like birds who have suffered.

‘Jeeves,’ I said, when he came back, ‘you don’t read a paper called Milady’s Boudoir by any chance, do you?’

‘No, sir. The periodical has not come to my notice.’

‘Well, spring sixpence on it next week, because this article will appear in it. Wooster on the well-dressed man, don’t you know.’

‘Indeed, sir?’

‘Yes, indeed, Jeeves. I’ve rather extended myself over this little bijou. There’s a bit about socks that I think you will like.’

He took the manuscript, brooded over it, and smiled a gentle, approving smile.

‘The sock passage is quite in the proper vein, sir,’ he said.

‘Well expressed, what?’

‘Extremely, sir.’

I watched him narrowly as he read on, and, as I was expecting, what you might call the love-light suddenly died out of his eyes. I braced myself for an unpleasant scene.

‘Come to the bit about soft silk shirts for evening wear?’ I asked carelessly.

‘Yes, sir,’ said Jeeves, in a low, cold voice, as if he had been bitten in the leg by a personal friend.

‘And if I may be pardoned for saying so—’

‘You don’t like it?’

‘No, sir. I do not. Soft silk shirts with evening costume are not worn, sir.’

‘Jeeves,’ I said, looking the blighter diametrically in the centre of the eyeball, ‘they’re dashed well going to be. I may as well tell you now that I have ordered a dozen of those shirtings from Peabody and Simms, and it’s no good looking like that, because I am jolly well adamant.

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