Carry On Jeeves Page #14

Carry On, Jeeves is a collection of ten short stories by P. G. Wodehouse. It was first published in the United Kingdom on 9 October 1925 by Herbert Jenkins, London, and in the United States on 7 October 1927 by George H. Doran, New York.

• Short story

								

Gingery Stories.

'What ho!' I said.

'What ho!' said Motty.

'What ho! What ho!'

'What ho! What ho! What ho!'

After that it seemed rather difficult to go on with the conversation.

'How are you feeling this morning?' I asked.

'Topping!' replied Motty, blithely and with abandon. 'I say, you know,
that fellow of yours--Jeeves, you know--is a corker. I had a most
frightful headache when I woke up, and he brought me a sort of rummy
dark drink, and it put me right again at once. Said it was his own
invention. I must see more of that lad. He seems to me distinctly one
of the ones.'

I couldn't believe that this was the same blighter who had sat and
sucked his stick the day before.

'You ate something that disagreed with you last night, didn't you?' I
said, by way of giving him a chance to slide out of it if he wanted to.
But he wouldn't have it at any price.

'No!' he replied firmly. 'I didn't do anything of the kind. I drank
too much. Much too much. Lots and lots too much. And, what's more, I'm
going to do it again. I'm going to do it every night. If ever you see
me sober, old top,' he said, with a kind of holy exaltation, 'tap me
on the shoulder and say, "Tut! Tut!" and I'll apologize and remedy the
defect.'

'But I say, you know, what about me?'

'What about you?'

'Well, I'm, so to speak, as it were, kind of responsible for you. What
I mean to say is, if you go doing this sort of thing I'm apt to get in
the soup somewhat.'

'I can't help your troubles,' said Motty firmly. 'Listen to me, old
thing: this is the first time in my life that I've had a real chance to
yield to the temptations of a great city. What's the use of a great
city having temptations if fellows don't yield to them? Makes it so
bally discouraging for the great city. Besides, mother told me to keep
my eyes open and collect impressions.'

I sat on the edge of the bed. I felt dizzy.

'I know just how you feel, old dear,' said Motty consolingly. 'And,
if my principles would permit it, I would simmer down for your sake.
But duty first! This is the first time I've been let out alone, and I
mean to make the most of it. We're only young once. Why interfere with
life's morning? Young man, rejoice in thy youth! Tra-la! What ho!'

Put like that, it did seem reasonable.

'All my bally life, dear boy,' Motty went on, 'I've been cooped up in
the ancestral home at Much Middlefold, in Shropshire, and till you've
been cooped up in Much Middlefold you don't know what cooping is. The
only time we get any excitement is when one of the choir-boys is caught
sucking chocolate during the sermon. When that happens, we talk about
it for days. I've got about a month of New York, and I mean to store
up a few happy memories for the long winter evenings. This is my only
chance to collect a past, and I'm going to do it. Now tell me, old
sport, as man to man, how does one get in touch with that very decent
bird Jeeves? Does one ring a bell or shout a bit? I should like to
discuss the subject of a good stiff b-and-s with him.'

       *       *       *       *       *

I had had a sort of vague idea, don't you know, that if I stuck close
to Motty and went about the place with him, I might act as a bit of a
damper on the gaiety. What I mean is, I thought that if, when he was
being the life and soul of the party, he were to catch my reproving eye
he might ease up a trifle on the revelry. So the next night I took him
along to supper with me. It was the last time. I'm a quiet, peaceful
sort of bloke who has lived all his life in London, and I can't stand
the pace these swift sportsmen from the rural districts set. What I
mean to say is, I'm all for rational enjoyment and so forth, but I
think a chappie makes himself conspicuous when he throws soft-boiled
eggs at the electric fan. And decent mirth and all that sort of thing
are all right, but I do bar dancing on tables and having to dash all
over the place dodging waiters, managers, and chuckers-out, just when
you want to sit still and digest.

Directly I managed to tear myself away that night and get home, I made
up my mind that this was jolly well the last time that I went about
with Motty. The only time I met him late at night after that was once
when I passed the door of a fairly low-down sort of restaurant and had
to step aside to dodge him as he sailed through the air en route for
the opposite pavement, with a muscular sort of looking fellow peering
out after him with a kind of gloomy satisfaction.

In a way, I couldn't help sympathizing with the chap. He had about
four weeks to have the good time that ought to have been spread over
about ten years, and I didn't wonder at his wanting to be pretty busy.
I should have been just the same in his place. Still, there was no
denying that it was a bit thick. If it hadn't been for the thought of
Lady Malvern and Aunt Agatha in the background, I should have regarded
Motty's rapid work with an indulgent smile. But I couldn't get rid of
the feeling that, sooner or later, I was the lad who was scheduled
to get it behind the ear. And what with brooding on this prospect,
and sitting up in the old flat waiting for the familiar footstep, and
putting it to bed when it got there, and stealing into the sick-chamber
next morning to contemplate the wreckage, I was beginning to lose
weight. Absolutely becoming the good old shadow, I give you my honest
word. Starting at sudden noises and what-not.

And no sympathy from Jeeves. That was what cut me to the quick. The man
was still thoroughly pipped about the hat and tie, and simply wouldn't
rally round. One morning I wanted comforting so much that I sank the
pride of the Woosters and appealed to the fellow direct.

'Jeeves,' I said, 'this is getting a bit thick!'

'Sir?'

'You know what I mean. This lad seems to have chucked all the
principles of a well-spent boyhood. He has got it up his nose!'

'Yes, sir.'

'Well, I shall get blamed, don't you know. You know what my Aunt Agatha
is.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Very well, then.'

I waited a moment, but he wouldn't unbend.

'Jeeves,' I said, 'haven't you any scheme up your sleeve for coping
with this blighter?'

'No, sir.'

And he shimmered off to his lair. Obstinate devil! So dashed absurd,
don't you know. It wasn't as if there was anything wrong with that
Broadway Special hat. It was a remarkably priceless effort, and much
admired by the lads. But, just because he preferred the White House
Wonder, he left me flat.

It was shortly after this that young Motty got the idea of bringing
pals back in the small hours to continue the gay revels in the home.
This was where I began to crack under the strain. You see, the part
of town where I was living wasn't the right place for that sort of
thing. I knew lots of chappies down Washington Square way who started
the evening at about two a.m.--artists and writers and so forth who
frolicked considerably till checked by the arrival of the morning
milk. That was all right. They like that sort of thing down there. The
neighbours can't get to sleep unless there's someone dancing Hawaiian
								Rate this book:0.0 / 0 votes