The Jeeves Omnibus - Vol 3 (82 page)

‘Very possibly, sir.’

‘Should that fail, there is always the Giant Squirt. We must leave no stone unturned to put it across the man somehow,’ I said. ‘The Wooster honour is at stake.’

I would have spoken further on this subject, but just then the front-door bell buzzed.

‘I’ll answer it,’ I said. ‘I expect it’s Aunt Dahlia. She ‘phoned that she would be calling this morning.’

It was not Aunt Dahlia. It was a telegraph-boy with telegram. I opened it, read it, and carried it back to the bedroom, the brow a bit knitted.

‘Jeeves,’ I said. ‘A rummy communication has arrived. From Mr Glossop.’

‘Indeed, sir?’

‘I will read it to you. Handed in at Upper Bleaching. Message runs as follows:

When you come tomorrow, bring my football boots. Also, if humanly possible, Irish water-spaniel. Urgent. Regards. Tuppy
.

‘What do you make of that, Jeeves?’

‘As I interpret the document, sir, Mr Glossop wishes you, when you come tomorrow, to bring his football boots. Also, if humanly possible, an Irish water-spaniel. He hints that the matter is urgent, and sends his regards.’

‘Yes, that’s how I read it, too. But why football boots?’

‘Perhaps Mr Glossop wishes to play football, sir.’

I considered this.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘That may be the solution. But why would a man, staying peacefully at a country-house, suddenly develop a craving to play football?’

‘I could not say, sir.’

‘And why an Irish water-spaniel?’

‘There again I fear I can hazard no conjecture, sir.’

‘What
is
an Irish water-spaniel?’

‘A water-spaniel of a variety bred in Ireland, sir.’

‘You think so?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Well, perhaps you’re right. But why should I sweat about the place collecting dogs – of whatever nationality – for young Tuppy? Does he think I’m Santa Claus? Is he under the impression that my feelings towards him, after that Drones Club incident, are those of kindly benevolence? Irish water-spaniels, indeed! Tchah!’

‘Sir?’

‘Tchah, Jeeves.’

‘Very good, sir.’

The front-door bell buzzed again.

‘A busy morning, Jeeves.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘All right. I’ll go.’

This time it was Aunt Dahlia. She charged in with the air of a woman with something on her mind – giving tongue, in fact, while actually on the very doormat.

‘Bertie,’ she boomed, in that ringing voice of hers which cracks window-panes and upsets vases, ‘I’ve come about that young hound, Glossop.’

‘It’s quite all right, Aunt Dahlia,’ I replied soothingly. ‘I have the situation well in hand. The Giant Squirt and the Luminous Rabbit are even now being packed.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I don’t for a moment suppose you do, either,’ said the relative somewhat brusquely, ‘but, if you’ll kindly stop gibbering, I’ll tell you what I mean. I have had a most disturbing letter from Katherine. About this reptile. Of course, I haven’t breathed a word to Angela. She’d hit the ceiling.’

This Angela is Aunt Dahlia’s daughter. She and young Tuppy are generally supposed to be more or less engaged, though nothing definitely ‘Morning Posted’ yet.

‘Why?’ I said.

‘Why what?’

‘Why would Angela hit the ceiling?’

‘Well, wouldn’t you, if you were practically engaged to a fiend in human shape and somebody told you he had gone off to the country and was flirting with a dog-girl?’

‘With a what was that, once again?’

‘A dog-girl. One of these dashed open-air flappers in thick boots and tailor-made tweeds who infest the rural districts and go about the place followed by packs of assorted dogs. I used to be one of them myself in my younger days, so I know how dangerous they are. Her name is Dalgleish. Old Colonel Dalgleish’s daughter. They live near Bleaching.’

I saw a gleam of daylight.

‘Then that must be what his telegram was about. He’s just wired, asking me to bring down an Irish water-spaniel. A Christmas present for this girl, no doubt.’

‘Probably. Katherine tells me he seems to be infatuated with her. She says he follows her about like one of her dogs, looking like a tame cat and bleating like a sheep.’

‘Quite the private zoo, what?’

‘Bertie,’ said Aunt Dahlia – and I could see her generous nature was stirred to its depths – ‘one more crack like that out of you, and I shall forget that I am an aunt and hand you one.’

I became soothing. I gave her the old oil.

‘I shouldn’t worry,’ I said. ‘There’s probably nothing in it. Whole thing no doubt much exaggerated.’

‘You think so, eh? Well, you know what he’s like. You remember the trouble we had when he ran after that singing-woman.’

I recollected the case. You will find it elsewhere in the archives. Cora Bellinger was the female’s name. She was studying for Opera, and young Tuppy thought highly of her. Fortunately, however, she punched him in the eye during Beefy Bingham’s clean, bright entertainment in Bermondsey East, and love died.

‘Besides,’ said Aunt Dahlia, ‘There’s something I haven’t told you. Just before he went to Bleaching, he and Angela quarrelled.’

‘They did?’

‘Yes. I got it out of Angela this morning. She was crying her eyes out, poor angel. It was something about her last hat. As far as I could gather, he told her it made her look like a Pekingese, and she told him she never wanted to see him again in this world or the next. And he said “Right ho!” and breezed off. I can see what has happened. This dog-girl has caught him on the rebound and, unless something is done quick, anything may happen. So place the facts before Jeeves, and tell him to take action the moment you get down there.’

I am always a little piqued, if you know what I mean, at this assumption on the relative’s part that Jeeves is so dashed essential on these occasions. My manner, therefore, as I replied, was a bit on the crisp side.

‘Jeeve’s services will not be required,’ I said. ‘I can handle this business. The programme which I have laid out will be quite sufficient to take young Tuppy’s mind off love-making. It is my intention to insert the Luminous Rabbit in his room at the first opportunity that presents itself. The Luminous Rabbit shines in the dark and jumps about, making odd, squeaking noises. It will sound to young Tuppy like the Voice of Conscience, and I anticipate that a single treatment will make him retire into a nursing-home for a couple of weeks or so. At the end of which period he will have forgotten all about the bally girl.’

‘Bertie,’ said Aunt Dahlia, with a sort of frozen calm, ‘You are the Abysmal Chump. Listen to me. It’s simply because I am fond of you and have influence with the Lunacy Commissioners that you weren’t put in a padded cell years ago. Bungle this business, and I withdraw my protection. Can’t you understand that this thing is far too serious for any fooling about? Angela’s whole happiness is at stake. Do as I tell you, and put it up to Jeeves.’

‘Just as you say, Aunt Dahlia,’ I said stiffly.

‘All right, then. Do it now.’

I went back to the bedroom.

‘Jeeves,’ I said, and I did not trouble to conceal my chagrin, ‘you need not pack the Luminous Rabbit.’

‘Very good, sir.’

‘Nor the Giant Squirt.’

‘Very good, sir.’

‘They have been subjected to destructive criticism, and the zest has gone. Oh, and, Jeeves.’

‘Sir?’

‘Mrs Travers wishes you, on arriving at Bleaching Court, to disentangle Mr Glossop from a dog-girl.’

‘Very good, sir. I will attend to the matter and will do my best to give satisfaction.’

That Aunt Dahlia had not exaggerated the perilous nature of the situation was made clear to me on the following afternoon. Jeeves and I drove down to Bleaching in the two-seater, and we were tooling along about half-way between the village and the Court when suddenly there appeared ahead of us a sea of dogs and in the middle of it young Tuppy frisking round one of those largish, corn-fed girls. He was bending towards her in a devout sort of way, and even at a considerable distance I could see that his ears were pink. His attitude, in short, was unmistakably that of a man endeavouring to push a good thing along; and when I came closer and noted that the girl wore tailor-made tweeds and thick boots, I had no further doubts.

‘You observe, Jeeves?’ I said in a low, significant voice.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘The girl, what?’

‘Yes, sir.’

I tooted amiably on the horn and yodelled a bit. They turned – Tuppy, I fancied, not any too pleased.

‘Oh, hullo, Bertie,’ he said.

‘Hullo,’ I said.

‘My friend, Bertie Wooster,’ said Tuppy to the girl, in what seemed to me rather an apologetic manner. You know – as if he would have preferred to hush me up.

‘Hullo,’ said the girl.

‘Hullo,’ I said.

‘Hullo, Jeeves,’ said Tuppy.

‘Good afternoon, sir,’ said Jeeves.

There was a somewhat constrained silence.

‘Well, goodbye, Bertie,’ said young Tuppy. ‘You’ll be wanting to push along, I expect.’

We Woosters can take a hint as well as the next man.

‘See you later,’ I said.

‘Oh, rather,’ said Tuppy.

I set the machinery in motion again, and we rolled off.

‘Sinister, Jeeves,’ I said. ‘You noticed that the subject was looking like a stuffed frog?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And gave no indication of wanting us to stop and join the party?’

‘No, sir.’

‘I think Aunt Dahlia’s fears are justified. The thing seems serious.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Well, strain the brain, Jeeves.’

‘Very good, sir.’

It wasn’t till I was dressing for dinner that night that I saw young Tuppy again. He trickled in just as I was arranging the tie.

‘Hullo!’ I said.

‘Hullo!’ said Tuppy.

‘Who was the girl?’ I asked, in that casual, snaky way of mine – off-hand, I mean.

‘A Miss Dalgleish,’ said Tuppy, and I noticed that he blushed a spot.

‘Staying here?’

‘No. She lives in that house just before you come to the gates of this place. Did you bring my football boots?’

‘Yes. Jeeves has got them somewhere.’

‘And the water-spaniel?’

‘Sorry. No water-spaniel.’

‘Dashed nuisance. She’s set her heart on an Irish water-spaniel.’

‘Well, what do you care?’

‘I wanted to give her one.’

‘Why?’

Tuppy became a trifle haughty. Frigid. The rebuking eye.

‘Colonel and Mrs Dalgleish,’ he said, ‘have been extremely kind to me since I got here. They have entertained me. I naturally wish to make some return for their hospitality. I don’t want them to look upon me as one of those ill-mannered modern young men you read about in the papers who grab everything they can lay their hooks on and never buy back. If people ask you to lunch and tea and what not, they appreciate it if you make them some little present in return.’

‘Well, give them your football boots. In passing, why did you want the bally things?’

‘I’m playing in a match next Thursday.’

‘Down here?’

‘Yes. Upper Bleaching versus Hockley-cum-Meston. Apparently it’s the big game of the year.’

‘How did you get roped in?’

‘I happened to mention in the course of conversation the other day that, when in London, I generally turn out on Saturdays for the Old Austinians, and Miss Dalgleish seemed rather keen that I should help the village.’

‘Which village?’

‘Upper Bleaching, of course.’

‘Ah, then you’re going to play for Hockley?’

‘You needn’t be funny, Bertie. You may not know it, but I’m pretty hot stuff on the football field. Oh, Jeeves.’

‘Sir?’ said Jeeves, entering right centre.

‘Mr Wooster tells me you have my football boots.’

‘Yes, sir. I have placed them in your room.’

‘Thanks. Jeeves, do you want to make a bit of money?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then put a trifle on Upper Bleaching for the annual encounter with Hockley-cum-Meston next Thursday,’ said Tuppy, exiting with swelling bosom.

‘Mr Glossop is going to play on Thursday,’ I explained as the door closed.

‘So I was informed in the Servants’ Hall, sir.’

‘Oh? And what’s the general feeling there about it?’

‘The impression I gathered, sir, was that the Servants’ Hall considers Mr Glossop ill-advised.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘I am informed by Mr Mulready, Sir Reginald’s butler, sir, that this contest differs in some respects from the ordinary football game. Owing to the fact that there has existed for many years considerable animus between the two villages, the struggle is conducted, it appears, on somewhat looser and more primitive lines than is usually the case when two teams meet in friendly rivalry. The primary object of the players, I am given to understand, is not so much to score points as to inflict violence.’

‘Good Lord, Jeeves!’

‘Such appears to be the case, sir. The game is one that would have a great interest for the antiquarian. It was played first in the reign of King Henry VIII, when it lasted from noon till sundown over an area covering several square miles. Seven deaths resulted on that occasion.’

‘Seven!’

‘Not inclusive of two of the spectators, sir. In recent years, however, the casualties appear to have been confined to broken limbs and other minor injuries. The opinion of the Servants’ Hall is that it would be
more
judicious on Mr Glossop’s part, were he to refrain from mixing himself up in the affair.’

I was more or less aghast. I mean to say, while I had made it my mission in life to get back at young Tuppy for that business at the Drones, there still remained certain faint vestiges, if vestiges is the word I want, of the old friendship and esteem. Besides, there are limits to one’s thirst for vengeance. Deep as my resentment was for the ghastly outrage he had perpetrated on me, I had no wish to see him toddle unsuspiciously into the arena and get all chewed up by wild villagers. A Tuppy scared stiff by a Luminous Rabbit – yes. Excellent business. The happy ending, in fact. But a Tuppy carried off on a stretcher in half a dozen pieces – no. Quite a different matter. All wrong. Not to be considered for a moment.