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    The Inimitable Jeeves
    The Inimitable Jeeves
    The Inimitable Jeeves
    Ebook266 pages4 hours

    The Inimitable Jeeves

    By P. G. Wodehouse

    4/5

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    One of the earliest and best collections of stories about hapless aristocrat Bertie Wooster and his supremely efficient valet Jeeves, this volume centers on the romantic travails of Bertie's school chum, Bingo Little. A splendid introduction to P. G. Wodehouse's most popular characters, these comic gems recount Bertie's reluctant involvement in Bingo's misadventures and Jeeves' uncanny ability to rescue his employer from every scrape.
    In the opening entry, "Jeeves Exerts the Old Cerebellum," Bingo seeks help in persuading his wealthy guardian to accept his socially undesirable fiancée. Mabel the waitress is only the first in a succession of Bingo's romantic interests, which include a parson's niece, a Communist, and Bertie's own fiancée—among others. Eighteen connected stories trace Bingo and Bertie's shenanigans at home and abroad and introduce assorted Wooster relatives, from the terrifying Aunt Agatha to Claude and Eustace, the fun-loving, trouble-making twins. The collection is particularly distinguished by the inclusion of a Wodehouse masterpiece, "The Great Sermon Handicap," in which bets are placed on the length of a Sunday oration and hilarity ensues.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDover Publications
    Release dateFeb 13, 2019
    ISBN9780486838182
    Author

    P. G. Wodehouse

    P.G. Wodehouse (1881-1975) nació en Surrey. Tras trabajar un tiempo como periodista en Inglaterra, se trasladó a los Estados Unidos. Escribió numerosas obras de teatro y comedias musicales, y más de noventa novelas. Creador de personajes inolvidables -Jeeves, Bertie Wooster, su tía Agatha, Ukridge, Psmith, Lord Emsworth, los lechuguinos del Club de los Zánganos, y tantos otros, sus obras se reeditan continuamente, como corresponde a uno de los grandes humoristas del siglo.

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    Reviews for The Inimitable Jeeves

    4/5

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    • 4/5
      Once again, Bertie Wooster's bacon is saved by his valet Jeeves.

      Due to a healthy inheritance, Bertie is able to enjoy the good life, spending time at the clubs or various country homes or just going about town to all the good places. That is unless his Aunt Agatha commands he appearance/participation in some sort of event while trying to marry this confirmed bachelor off. Or when his good friend Bingo needs help with his latest love, which are ever changing. Or when Claude and Eustace, the twins, need watching.

      Jeeves' connections and talent for creative solutions come into play to resolve the current fix that has bound his master up. Even if Jeeves doesn't approve of the purple socks or the old Etonian Spats that Bertie has added to his sartorial style. Jeeves also prefers the quiet life.

      Good for smiles and laughs in the style of 1923 when Wodehouse wrote the series. A good, fun read.
    • 3/5
      I enjoy the narration as much, if not more, than the story itself.

      I've been listening to these wildly out of order - it was fun to hear the backstory for some of the shenanigans in books I'd already heard :)
    • 4/5
      Jeeves is the perfect butler. He is always in the background fulfilling his master's needs and ensuring he maintains a proper wardrobe. Bertie Wooster is lucky to have such a man since he needs the help dealing with his aunt who is bent on getting him married and his friends who are always imposing on him to participate in betting pools and intervening between them and their families. Whenever Bertie finds himself in trouble, Jeeves always manages to head off disaster.I listened to this in audio form and the reader had the perfect posh British accent to voice the characters. A smashing time!
    • 4/5
      reader good. story very frothy.
    • 4/5
      Another collection of stories about Bertie Wooster and Reginald Jeeves. It is enjoyable to watch Jeeves master every situation that Bertie can get into, whether due to his own bumbling or the machinations of his relatives. In this case, Aunt Agatha who is trying to set Bertie up for matrimony. Of course this would destroy Bertie's character and may even require him to fire Jeeves. In story after story, Jeeves executes the most unexpected solution to a seemingly impossible problem. The book got off to a slow start, but did provide the expected surprises and humor to make for an enjoyable read. This book, unlike the other stories (that I've read) is a novel as opposed to a collection of short stories, but feels like short stories with recurrent and common themes. As with the others, this book is a light read and fairly quick, and worth the time.
    • 3/5
      Frothy and blithe and meant to be read basking outside with blue skies and hella sun.More of a series of quickly Oh Bertie! episodes; moves everything along at a lightening clip, but also makes me miss some of the rumbling cacophony of the more elaborately orchestrated Wodehouse plots.
    • 3/5
      This is my second Wodehouse book, but my first foray into the world of Jeeves and Wooster, and I have to say ... I'm a bit disappointed.My first Wodehouse was Leave it to Psmith, and I'm trying to figure out why I loved that and not The Inimitable Jeeves. Perhaps it's because The Inimitable Jeeves is a short story collection. I like short stories, but after one story after another of Bingo Little falling in love, he and Bertie getting into a scrape, and Jeeves helping them out of it, it all got a little tired and redundant. Perhaps reading them separately rather than back to back would have helped: they originally appeared serially. But then I miss the wonderful, crazy, interwoven plot lines in Leave it to Psmith, so perhaps I should just stick to Wodehouse's novels. There are bits of Psmith I remember to this day: his hilarious advertisement, his bungled meeting with Freddie Threepwood, his proposal to Eve, Baxter and his flowerpots. The Inimitable Jeeves, while funny, had nothing on that level of comic brilliance, in my opinion.Of course, The Inimitable Jeeves was not only my introduction to Bertie and co., but the world's as well. Maybe they got better as they went along. I certainly hope so.
    • 1/5
      I can't believe this but I must be the only person in the WORLD (well maybe there is one more person) who doesn't like P.G. Wodehouse. This is the second one I have read and I just find them dull. Wish I liked them!
    • 4/5
      What I enjoyed most about this novel was all the British expressions and the dry humor, not to mention how Jeeves has his employer wrapped around his little finger. I loved how he always managed to make Bertie get rid of clothing that Jeeves didn't like.
    • 4/5
      Bertie Wooster is entangled in his friend Bingo's romantic life, and as always tries to help out, assisted by Jeeves. This is the book where Bertie attempts to soften Bingo's uncle's heart by taking on an unlikely impersonation, and it's also the book containing the famous 'Great Sermon Handicap'. Brilliantly funny in places.
    • 5/5
      I can certainly understand why people like these stories! I don't even know what I can say about them except that they're very fun, very good, and very well-written.It's not a novel so much as a series of short stories loosely strung together. And the short stories I previously read seem to slot into the middle of here somewhere. Although I could be wrong. They're certainly allowed to pop over to the States more than once.I think it's the voice that really carries this. The comedic situations and scrapes would be fine, but without the personality and the voice of the narrator, it just would not work even a tenth as well.I do keep hearing Hugh Laurie. (And Stephen Fry to a lesser extent.) But that's really just helping it. :)Writing this reminds me I need to track down the next book.
    • 3/5
      You would be forgiven for thinking that the stories all seemed the same. Essentially they follow a formula. But try not to read them one right after the other and I think you'll get along nicely. These are, after all, Wodehouse at his best.
    • 5/5
      "The Inimitable Jeeves" is a collection of short stories that shows Wodehouse's command of the form, but this volume, focusing as many of the stories do on the romantic escapades of Bingo Little, has a little bit more unity than others. As Bingo is almost as funny a feckless idiot (in the words of Aunt Agatha) as Bertie, it is thoroughly enjoyable. Best stories are "No Wedding Bells for Bingo" and, of course, "The Great Sermon Handicap" and "The Purity of the Turf."
    • 4/5
      Wodehouse had Dickens gift for names: Bingo Little, Gussie Finknottle, Honoria Glossop, Claude and Eustace, etc...
    • 4/5
      England, ca 1920Indeholder kapitlerne "1. Jeeves snor sine hjernevindinger", "2. Ingen bryllupsklokker for Bingo", "3. Tante Agatha siger sin mening", "4. Perler betyder tårer", "5. Woosternes stolthed bliver såret", "6. Heltens belønning", "7. Hvor Claude og Eustace optræder", "8. Sir Roderick kommer til frokost", "9. Et introduktionsbrev", "10. Elevatomandens fine sokker", "11. Borger Bingo", "12. Bingo er uheldig ved Goodwood", "13. Det store præste-handicap", "14. Et pust fra storstaden", "15. Claude og Eustaces forsinkede afrejse", "16. Bingo får en hjertenskær", "17. Når enden er god -".Bertie Wooster er en uforbedrelig døgenigt af en ungkarl. Hans uforlignelige butler Jeeves er superb til at vikle Bertie ud af alskens kniber, hvilket der er rig lejlighed til i denne bog. Vennen Bingo Little forelsker sig i diverse underlige damemennesker, Bertie bliver sat til at forberede Bingos onkel på at fordoble Bingos underholdsbidrag men det går i vasken på flere måder. Jeeves misbilliger Berties røde lændeskærf og hans spinatgrønne sokker og får sin vilje mod at redde Bertie fra tante Agatha. Jeeves redder også tante Agatha fra at få stjålet sine perler af et svindlerpar forklædt som en præst og hans søster. Et plot hvor Bertie skubber Oswald i vandet for at Bingo skal redde ham og indynde sig ved Oswalds søster Honoria går helt i fisk. Bingo dukker ikke op og Bertie forsøger at redde Oswald, der imidlertid svømmer som en fisk og sladrer om at det var Bertie, der skubbede ham i. Honoria kaster sig nu over Bertie for at blive gift med ham og få ham opdraget ordentligt - hvilket blandt andet vil medføre at Jeeves skal ud. Heldigvis skal Bertie godkendes af Honorias far, Sir Roderick Glossop, som vil sikre sig at Bertie ikke er helt skør. Det får Jeeves på mesterlig vis til at gå op i en absurd historie, hvor Claude og Eustace hugger Rodericks hat, som dukker op i Berties lejlighed sammen med 20 katte og en meget død laks. Jeeves foreslår Bertie at stikke af til New York bagefter og det falder i god jord.I New York møder de Cyril Bassington-Bassington og spænder i god overensstemmelse med Tante Agathas ønsker ben for dennes skuespilkarriere.Bingo forelsker sig så i Charlotte Corday Rowbotham der er datter af en mand med et glødende had til bourgeoisiet. Bingo forklæder sig som en af flokken, men afsløres af en rival i kampen om Charlotte - ikke ganske uden hjælp af Jeeves. Bingo har tabt sine sidste skillinger på en hest i Goodwood løbene og tager job som huslærer i Twing Hall. Her vrimler det med præster og Claude og Eustace har organiseret et væddemål over hvilke præster der kan holde de længste taler. Jeeves er ikke overraskende ene vinder. Bingo har forelsket sig i lady Cynthia men får også her en kurv. Så forelsker han sig i Mary Burgess og her er chancerne så små at folk i landsbyerne omkring vædder på dem. Han organiserer en revue, men den går så grueligt i vasken at man tror det er løgn. Og selvfølgelig indkasserer Jeeves også på det resultat.Tilbage i London får Bertie ansvaret for at få sendt Claude og Eustace til Sydafrika, men de misser selvfølgelig båden og voldgæster Bertie mens de begge bager på en Marion Wardour. Jeeves løser alle problemer endda på så elegant måde at Bertie først blamerer sig ved at påstå at han selv har løst problemerne og derefter må indse og tilstå at det var Jeeves, der stod bag.Bingo ender med at blive gift med en serveringsdame, hvilket er fint. Det er derimod en katastrofe at hun faktisk er Rosie M. Banks, hvilket Bertie er blevet overtalt af Bingo til at udgive sig for. Det giver en rædselsfuld skandale, som Bertie flygter for mens Jeeves ordner sagerne. Da Bertie kommer tilbage igen, går det op for ham at Jeeves har klaret det ved at udlægge Bertie som totalt skør.Men Bertie tilgiver Jeeves i løbet af to minutter, da han lægger mærke til alle de perfekte detaljer i hvordan Jeeves pusler om ham.Bertie har en rygrad af gelatine og Jeeves en hjerne som en springfjeder.Meget underholdende situationskomik
    • 4/5
      I'm still new to the Jeeves stories, but this was a pleasant book - gentle humour, witty dialogue guided by the amiable but thick-headed Bertie Wooster. I'll have to sample the rest of the series eventually.
    • 2/5
      I found this first installment of Bertie and Jeeves to be rather tiresome. The adventures sometimes featured Aunt Agatha, a friend named Bingo who had an uncle that also figure prominently, and a string of female acquaintances of Bingo's. I wonder if part of the reason I grew tired of it is the similarity in plot of several of the stories that loosely belong sequentially together and the continued "introduction" to some of the characters. It was first serialized and later put into book form. Jeeves does have a way of handling most any situation. I listened to the audio version of the book. I suspect others might enjoy it more than I did. I'm not much into gambling, and that was central to several stories.
    • 4/5
      I love the Jeeves stories. Yes, I know that it's really the same story told over and over again in the same book and in different books and the only things that change -- occasionally -- are the character names, but still... it's funny every damn time. And that is why, when I really need something sharp to make me chortle, I turn to Wodehouse's Jeeves. Those who do not appreciate British humor or who don't have any understanding of the old class system will probably lose patience with these books quite quickly, but for the rest of us, there is no one like Jeeves. And, of course, our ridiculous narrator, Bertie Wooster. The antics of the aforementioned individuals -- though "antic" really only describes one of them -- inform a hundred other novels and authors, from Evelyn Waugh to Terry Pratchett to Connie Willis. Anyone who thinks the classics are stuffy should read a good bit of Wodehouse. Recommended.
    • 4/5
      Wonderful. Even, dare I say it, inimitable! This is the first Jeeves and Wooster book I've read and honestly I can't say why it too me so long to get round to reading it.
    • 3/5
      This is a collection of short stories with Bertie Wooster and his "gentleman" Jeeves. These entertaining stories surround Bertie supporting the love issues of his friend who falls in love every other day with someone new. if you'd like a good chuckle, read on.!
    • 5/5
      “How does he look, Jeeves?""Sir?""What does Mr Bassington-Bassington look like?""It is hardly my place, sir, to criticize the facial peculiarities of your friends.”Another fresh breeze from the wonderland of Wodehouse. The best of the Jeeves and Wooster-short story collections I have read so far. Bertie and Jeeves again and again have to help love-struck Bingo Little out of scrapes as he continues to fall in love at first sight. However the most funny story is not about Bingo Little, but “The Great Sermon Handicap” as Wooster and his friends tries to predict which priest will deliver the longest sermon on a given sunday. Of course there’s a lot of foul play - and Jeeves outsmarts them all. Hilarious.“What are the chances of a cobra biting Harold, Jeeves?""Slight, I should imagine, sir. And in such an event, knowing the boy as intimately as I do, my anxiety would be entirely for the snake.”Honoria, you see, is one of those robust, dynamic girls with the muscles of a welter-weight and a laugh like a squadron of cavalary charging over a tin bridge.
    • 4/5
      This early Jeeves book is more of a collection of short stories, most involving Bertie Wooster's pal Bingo Little, than a novel. While highly amusing, it isn't quite as hilarious as "The Code of the Woosters" or "Jeeves in the Morning". However, I think it is a good introduction to the world of Jeeves & Wooster.Jonathan Cecil continues to delight me with his narration of Jeeves, Bertie, and the rest. I was a little taken aback at first by his voice for Bingo, which has the slightest trace of a lisp, but I quickly got used to it.
    • 3/5
      This is the first Jeeves & Wooster book I've actually read - although I have watched the TV series several times over. I really enjoyed it but I suspect that all the Jeeves and Wooster books are written along a similar formula. Still; some very amusing characters, plots and sub-plots which kept me entertained.
    • 4/5
      Jeeves is arguably P. G. Wodehouse’s greatest character creation. In this volume Jeeves hovers around in the background until brought forth by Bertie Wooster to help him or a friend out of a tight spot.This isn’t a novel in the strictest sense but more of a chronology of short stories with running themes and reoccurring characters. Some chapters work better than others. The best ones feature some top quality humour.A dashed good read.
    • 4/5
      Thoroughly enjoyed it. The plot barely matters, its P.G. Wodehouse's way with words. I would rate it higher but this is my first stroll with Wodehouse and I want to leave room for his even better stuff.
    • 4/5
      Wodehouse breaks every rule in comic timing, and it works perfectly.
    • 3/5
      I don't know what I was expecting from my first P. G. Wodehouse, but I can't say I was either disappointed or much surprised with this series of inter-connected short stories. The ongoing gag of Jeeves getting upset at Bertie for making what he considers to be sartorial faux-pas was amusing, as was Bertie's friend Bingo's insistence on falling helplessly in love with every girl he laid his eyes on. It's a kind of old-fashioned British humour that is comforting and elicited a few chuckles. I was warned that Wodehouse is best appreciated in short bursts, since the stories tend to get repetitious after a while, and though I heeded the warning, I still found the stories a bit tiresome after a while. I thought the audiobook was a good introduction because a proper British accent does go a long way sometimes. I have the second Jeeves book on my shelves, but I can't say I'm dying to get to it. I won't toss it out either, because sometimes blandness is just the kind of thing I'm in the mood for. That said, when it comes to 1920s British upper class humour, I think I'd rather read Vile Bodies all over again any day, though of course it's not nearly as relaxing.
    • 5/5
      I’ve said it before (in my 3/21/14 review of My Man Jeeves, to be specific), and I’ll say it again: the prose of P. G. Wodehouse is delísh … the bee’s knees … or if “hell-brew” (p. 67) is your choice for metaphor, good to the last drop! How he does it, how he nails it with every word and never grows stale or hackneyed remains a complete mystery to me. I can only imagine what it must’ve cost him to remain so piquantly original in his wit—not just line after line, but book after book.

      In the vernacular peculiar to Wodehouse, people don’t just drop in for a spot of tea or a chat, they “toddle round” to the same end and “have a dash at it” (both on p. 11). They also “curvet” (p. 83); “scud off” (p. 84); “pop off” (p. 86); “whizz for” (p. 88); “pour [silently] in” (p. 89); “sally forth (p. 97); and “trickle round” (p. 210). One of Wodehouse’s characters doesn’t just look a bit down on his luck, but rather resembles “a sheep with a secret sorrow” (p. 30). When Bertie — the principal character, along with Jeeves, of almost all of Wodehouse’s books — himself runs into a little unexpected luck, the right words to express his pleasure come roiling out: “Well, then, dash it, I’m on velvet. Absolutely reclining on the good old plush!” (p. 36). And if you should happen to visit the same archly conservative Senior Liberal Club where Bingo and Bertie decide to meet one day, you may also conclude — if somewhat less colorfully — that it is indeed “the eel’s eyebrows” (p. 205).

      I could easily strike up the band all day with P. G.’s metaphors and similes, but I’d prefer to leave that little surprise to you, a possible reader of The Inimitable Jeeves (just for starters). Instead, I’ll strike up that same band with the opening paragraph of Chapter 10 (“Startling Dressiness of a Lift Attendant”):

      “The part which old George had written for the chump Cyril took up about two pages of typescript; bit it might have been Hamlet, the way that poor, misguided pinhead worked himself to the bone over it. I suppose, if I heard him read his lines once I did it a dozen times in the first couple of days. He seemed to think that my only feeling about the whole affair was one of enthusiastic admiration, and that he could rely on my support and sympathy. What with trying to imagine how Aunt Agatha was going to take this thing, and being woken up out of the dreamless in the small hours every other night to give my opinion of some new bit of business which Cyril had invented, I became more or less the good old shadow. And all the time Jeeves remained still pretty cold and distant about the purple socks. It’s this sort of thing that ages a chappie, don’t you know, and makes his youthful joie-de-vivre go a bit groggy in the knees” (p. 87).

      If I had to venture a guess as to what it is (other than his choice of vocabulary – or ‘vocab,’ as P. G. would no doubt have it) that Wodehouse employs in the way of literary device to achieve his comedic effect, I’d have to say that it’s his peculiar combination, often in close proximity if not in precise juxtaposition, of hyperbole and typical British understatement. This combination is a source of constant titillation to whatever cluster of sympathetic ganglia rides herd from a reader’s eye, via the brain, clear down to that same reader’s funny-bone.

      It takes a true master, however, to do this and not overdo it — and P. G. Wodehouse is just such a master.

      And as Wodehouse would no doubt write if he were reading this claptrap that passes for a review: “‘Sorry to interrupt the feast of reason and flow of soul and so forth, but—’” (p. 88).

      RRB
      04/18/14
      Brooklyn, New York, U.S.A.

    • 5/5
      My ultimate comfort read. Superb.
    • 4/5
      Wodehouse is truly a classic, and if you ever need a lift and want something funny to read, you cannot fail by choosing any Jeeves novel. Jeeves is Bertie’s butler. Bertie is the stereotypical British upper crust, living on inherited money, avoiding work at all costs, who thinks he’s brilliant, but really is dumber than a post, and who needs Jeeves to get him out of all sorts of bizarre scrapes. The common thread in this series of vignettes is Bertie’s friend Bingo, who manages to fall in love with every woman he meets, declaring each is perfect and the love of his life. My favorite is the time Bingo fell for the daughter of a revolutionary radical. In order to ingratiate himself with the girl and her family, Bingo bought a beard and disguised himself as a fellow comrade, denouncing his uncle, old Lord Bittlesham, in public. Of course, had Bingo actually married the girl, he would have been disinherited and forced to go to work, an unconscionable outcome. So in typical Jeeves fashion, the butler just mentions to a jealous suitor that Bingo is not what he appears to be. “I fear I may carelessly have disclosed Mr. Little’s (Bingo) identity to Mr. Butt (jealous suitor) . . .Indeed, now that I recall the incident, sir, I distinctly remember saying that Mr. Little’s work for the Cause really seemed to me to deserve something in the nature of public recognition.” The public unmasking that resulted led to the termination of the relationship between Bingo and the young lady. Bingo continues to make a fool of himself, requiring the assistance of Bertie (for money) and Jeeves (for intelligence). I find the series to be a savage indictment of the British upper crust who can’t seem to do anything without their butlers, far superior in ability, but who regardless think they are smarter than anyone, positive drones on society.

    Book preview

    The Inimitable Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse

    THE INIMITABLE

    JEEVES

    P. G. WODEHOUSE

    DOVER PUBLICATIONS, INC.

    MINEOLA, NEW YORK

    Bibliographical Note

    This Dover edition, first published in 2019, is an unabridged republication of the work originally published in book form by Herbert Jenkins Limited, London, in 1923. See the Bibliography at the end of the book for the complete publication history of each story.

    Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

    Names: Wodehouse, P. G. (Pelham Grenville), 1881-1975, author.

    Title: The inimitable Jeeves / P. G. Wodehouse.

    Description: Mineola, New York : Dover Publications, Inc., 2018. | This Dover edition, first published in 2018, is an unabridged republication of the work originally published in book form by Herbert Jenkins Limited, London, in 1923.

    Identifiers: LCCN 2018030266| ISBN 978-0-4868-2677-6| ISBN 0486826775

    Subjects: LCSH: Jeeves (Fictitious character)—Fiction. | Wooster, Bertie (Fictitious character)—Fiction. | Valets—England—Fiction. | Upper class—England—Fiction. | England—Social life and customs—Fiction. | LCGFT: Humorous fiction.

    Classification: LCC PR6045.O53 I56 2018 | DDC 823/.912—dc23

    LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018030266

    Manufactured in the United States by LSC Communications

    82677501 2019

    www.doverpublications.com

    Contents

    I. Jeeves Exerts the Old Cerebellum

    II. No Wedding Bells for Bingo

    III. Aunt Agatha Speaks Her Mind

    IV. Pearls Mean Tears

    V. The Pride of the Woosters is Wounded

    VI. The Hero’s Reward

    VII. Introducing Claude and Eustace

    VIII. Sir Roderick Comes to Lunch

    IX. A Letter of Introduction

    X. Startling Dressiness of a Lift-Attendant

    XI. Comrade Bingo

    XII. Bingo Has a Bad Goodwood

    XIII. The Great Sermon Handicap

    XIV. The Purity of the Turf

    XV. The Metropolitan Touch

    XVI. The Delayed Exit of Claude and Eustace

    XVII. Bingo and the Little Woman

    XVIII. All’s Well

    Bibliography

    I. Jeeves Exerts the Old Cerebellum

    "M ORNING, Jeeves," I said.

    Good morning, sir, said Jeeves.

    He put the good old cup of tea softly on the table by my bed, and I took a refreshing sip. Just right, as usual. Not too hot, not too sweet, not too weak, not too strong, not too much milk, and not a drop spilled in the saucer. A most amazing cove, Jeeves. So dashed competent in every respect. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. I mean to say, take just one small instance. Every other valet I’ve ever had used to barge into my room in the morning while I was still asleep, causing much misery: but Jeeves seems to know when I’m awake by a sort of telepathy. He always floats in with the cup exactly two minutes after I come to life. Makes a deuce of a lot of difference to a fellow’s day.

    How’s the weather, Jeeves?

    Exceptionally clement, sir.

    Anything in the papers?

    Some slight friction threatening in the Balkans, sir. Otherwise, nothing.

    I say, Jeeves, a man I met at the club last night told me to put my shirt on Privateer for the two o’clock race this afternoon. How about it?

    I should not advocate it, sir. The stable is not sanguine.

    That was enough for me. Jeeves knows. How, I couldn’t say, but he knows. There was a time when I would laugh lightly, and go ahead, and lose my little all against his advice, but not now.

    Talking of shirts, I said, have those mauve ones I ordered arrived yet?

    Yes, sir. I sent them back.

    Sent them back?

    Yes, sir. They would not have become you.

    Well, I must say I’d thought fairly highly of those shirtings, but I bowed to superior knowledge. Weak? I don’t know. Most fellows, no doubt, are all for having their valets confine their activities to creasing trousers and what not without trying to run the home; but it’s different with Jeeves. Right from the first day he came to me, I have looked on him as a sort of guide, philosopher, and friend.

    Mr. Little rang up on the telephone a few moments ago, sir. I informed him that you were not yet awake.

    Did he leave a message?

    No, sir. He mentioned that he had a matter of importance to discuss with you, but confided no details.

    Oh, well, I expect I shall be seeing him at the club.

    No doubt, sir.

    I wasn’t what you might call in a fever of impatience. Bingo Little is a chap I was at school with, and we see a lot of each other still. He’s the nephew of old Mortimer Little, who retired from business recently with a goodish pile. (You’ve probably heard of Little’s Liniment—It Limbers Up the Legs.) Bingo biffs about London on a pretty comfortable allowance given him by his uncle, and leads on the whole a fairly unclouded life. It wasn’t likely that anything which he described as a matter of importance would turn out to be really so frightfully important. I took it that he had discovered some new brand of cigarette which he wanted me to try, or something like that, and didn’t spoil my breakfast by worrying.

    After breakfast I lit a cigarette and went to the open window to inspect the day. It certainly was one of the best and brightest.

    Jeeves, I said.

    Sir? said Jeeves. He had been clearing away the breakfast things, but at the sound of the young master’s voice cheesed it courteously.

    You were absolutely right about the weather. It is a juicy morning.

    Decidedly, sir.

    Spring and all that.

    Yes, sir.

    In the spring, Jeeves, a livelier iris gleams upon the burnished dove.

    So I have been informed, sir.

    Right ho! Then bring me my whangee, my yellowest shoes, and the old green Homburg. I’m going into the Park to do pastoral dances.

    I don’t know if you know that sort of feeling you get on these days round about the end of April and the beginning of May, when the sky’s a light blue, with cotton-wool clouds, and there’s a bit of a breeze blowing from the west? Kind of uplifted feeling. Romantic, if you know what I mean. I’m not much of a ladies’ man, but on this particular morning it seemed to me that what I really wanted was some charming girl to buzz up and ask me to save her from assassins or something. So that it was a bit of an anti-climax when I merely ran into young Bingo Little, looking perfectly foul in a crimson satin tie decorated with horseshoes.

    Hallo, Bertie, said Bingo.

    My God, man! I gargled. The cravat! The gent’s neckwear! Why? For what reason?

    Oh, the tie? He blushed. I—er—I was given it.

    He seemed embarrassed, so I dropped the subject. We toddled along a bit, and sat down on a couple of chairs by the Serpentine.

    Jeeves tells me you want to talk to me about something, I said.

    Eh? said Bingo, with a start. Oh yes, yes. Yes.

    I waited for him to unleash the topic of the day, but he didn’t seem to want to get going. Conversation languished. He stared straight ahead of him in a glassy sort of manner.

    I say, Bertie, he said, after a pause of about an hour and a quarter.

    Hallo!

    Do you like the name Mabel?

    No.

    No?

    No.

    You don’t think there’s a kind of music in the word, like the wind rustling gently through the tree-tops?

    No.

    He seemed disappointed for a moment; then cheered up.

    Of course, you wouldn’t. You always were a fat-headed worm without any soul, weren’t you?

    Just as you say. Who is she? Tell me all.

    For I realised now that poor old Bingo was going through it once again. Ever since I have known him—and we were at school together—he has been perpetually falling in love with someone, generally in the spring, which seems to act on him like magic. At school he had the finest collection of actresses’ photographs of anyone of his time; and at Oxford his romantic nature was a byword.

    You’d better come along and meet her at lunch, he said, looking at his watch.

    A ripe suggestion, I said. Where are you meeting her? At the Ritz?

    Near the Ritz.

    He was geographically accurate. About fifty yards east of the Ritz there is one of those blighted tea-and-bun shops you see dotted about all over London, and into this, if you’ll believe me, young Bingo dived like a homing rabbit; and before I had time to say a word we were wedged in at a table, on the brink of a silent pool of coffee left there by an early luncher.

    I’m bound to say I couldn’t quite follow the development of the scenario. Bingo, while not absolutely rolling in the stuff, has always had a fair amount of the ready. Apart from what he got from his uncle, I knew that he had finished up the jumping season well on the right side of the ledger. Why, then, was he lunching the girl at this Godforsaken eatery? It couldn’t be because he was hard up.

    Just then the waitress arrived. Rather a pretty girl.

    Aren’t we going to wait? I started to say to Bingo, thinking it somewhat thick that, in addition to asking a girl to lunch with him in a place like this, he should fling himself on the foodstuffs before she turned up, when I caught sight of his face, and stopped.

    The man was goggling. His entire map was suffused with a rich blush. He looked like the Soul’s Awakening done in pink.

    Hallo, Mabel! he said, with a sort of gulp.

    Hallo! said the girl.

    Mabel, said Bingo, this is Bertie Wooster, a pal of mine.

    Pleased to meet you, she said. Nice morning.

    Fine, I said.

    You see I’m wearing the tie, said Bingo.

    It suits you beautiful, said the girl.

    Personally, if anyone had told me that a tie like that suited me, I should have risen and struck them on the mazzard, regardless of their age and sex; but poor old Bingo simply got all flustered with gratification, and smirked in the most gruesome manner.

    Well, what’s it going to be to-day? asked the girl, introducing the business touch into the conversation.

    Bingo studied the menu devoutly.

    I’ll have a cup of cocoa, cold veal and ham pie, slice of fruit cake, and a macaroon. Same for you, Bertie?

    I gazed at the man, revolted. That he could have been a pal of mine all these years and think me capable of insulting the old turn with this sort of stuff cut me to the quick.

    Or how about a bit of hot steak-pudding, with a sparkling limado to wash it down? said Bingo.

    You know, the way love can change a fellow is really frightful to contemplate. This chappie before me, who spoke in that absolutely careless way of macaroons and limado, was the man I had seen in happier days telling the head-waiter at Claridge’s exactly how he wanted the chef to prepare the sole frite au gourmet aux champignons, and saying he would jolly well sling it back if it wasn’t just right. Ghastly! Ghastly!

    A roll and butter and a small coffee seemed the only things on the list that hadn’t been specially prepared by the nastier-minded members of the Borgia family for people they had a particular grudge against, so I chose them, and Mabel hopped it.

    Well? said Bingo rapturously.

    I took it that he wanted my opinion of the female poisoner who had just left us.

    Very nice, I said.

    He seemed dissatisfied.

    You don’t think she’s the most wonderful girl you ever saw? he said wistfully.

    Oh, absolutely! I said, to appease the blighter. Where did you meet her?

    At a subscription dance at Camberwell.

    What on earth were you doing at a subscription dance at Camberwell?

    Your man Jeeves asked me if I would buy a couple of tickets. It was in aid of some charity or other.

    Jeeves? I didn’t know he went in for that sort of thing.

    Well, I suppose he has to relax a bit every now and then. Anyway, he was there, swinging a dashed efficient shoe. I hadn’t meant to go at first, but I turned up for a lark. Oh, Bertie, think what I might have missed!

    What might you have missed? I asked, the old lemon being slightly clouded.

    Mabel, you chump. If I hadn’t gone I shouldn’t have met Mabel.

    Oh, ah!

    At this point Bingo fell into a species of trance, and only came out of it to wrap himself round the pie and macaroon.

    Bertie, he said, I want your advice.

    Carry on.

    At least, not your advice, because that wouldn’t be much good to anybody. I mean, you’re a pretty consummate old ass, aren’t you? Not that I want to hurt your feelings, of course.

    No, no, I see that.

    What I wish you would do is to put the whole thing to that fellow Jeeves of yours, and see what he suggests. You’ve often told me that he has helped other pals of yours out of messes. From what you tell me, he’s by way of being the brains of the family.

    He’s never let me down yet.

    Then put my case to him.

    What case?

    My problem.

    What problem?

    Why, you poor fish, my uncle, of course. What do you think my uncle’s going to say to all this? If I sprang it on him cold, he’d tie himself in knots on the hearthrug.

    One of these emotional johnnies, eh?

    Somehow or other his mind has got to be prepared to receive the news. But how?

    Ah!

    That’s a lot of help, that ‘ah’! You see, I’m pretty well dependent on the old boy. If he cut off my allowance, I should be very much in the soup. So you put the whole binge to Jeeves and see if he can’t scare up a happy ending somehow. Tell him my future is in his hands, and that, if the wedding bells ring out, he can rely on me, even unto half my kingdom. Well, call it ten quid. Jeeves would exert himself with ten quid on the horizon, what?

    Undoubtedly, I said.

    I wasn’t in the least surprised at Bingo wanting to lug Jeeves into his private affairs like this. It was the first thing I would have thought of doing myself if I had been in any hole of any description. As I have frequently had occasion to observe, he is a bird of the ripest intellect, full of bright ideas. If anybody could fix things for poor old Bingo, he could.

    I stated the case to him that night after dinner.

    Jeeves.

    Sir?

    Are you busy just now?

    No, sir.

    I mean, not doing anything in particular?

    No, sir. It is my practice at this hour to read some improving book; but, if you desire my services, this can easily be postponed, or, indeed, abandoned altogether.

    Well, I want your advice. It’s about Mr. Little.

    Young Mr. Little, sir, or the elder Mr. Little, his uncle, who lives in Pounceby Gardens?

    Jeeves seemed to know everything. Most amazing thing. I’d been pally with Bingo practically all my life, and yet I didn’t remember ever having heard that his uncle lived anywhere is particular.

    How did you know he lived in Pounceby Gardens? I said.

    I am on terms of some intimacy with the elder Mr. Little’s cook, sir. In fact, there is an understanding.

    I’m bound to say that this gave me a bit of a start. Somehow I’d never thought of Jeeves going in for that sort of thing.

    Do you mean you’re engaged?

    It may be said to amount to that, sir.

    Well, well!

    She is a remarkably excellent cook, sir, said Jeeves, as though he felt called on to give some explanation. What was it you wished to ask me about Mr. Little?

    I sprang the details on him.

    And that’s how the matter stands, Jeeves, I said. I think we ought to rally round a trifle and help poor old Bingo put the thing through. Tell me about old Mr. Little. What sort of a chap is he?

    A somewhat curious character, sir. Since retiring from business he has become a great recluse, and now devotes himself almost entirely to the pleasures of the table.

    Greedy hog, you mean?

    I would not, perhaps, take the liberty of describing him in precisely those terms, sir. He is what is usually called a gourmet. Very particular about what he eats, and for that reason sets a high value on Miss Watson’s services.

    The cook?

    Yes, sir.

    Well, it looks to me as though our best plan would be to shoot young Bingo in on him after dinner one night. Melting mood, I mean to say, and all that.

    The difficulty is, sir, that at the moment Mr. Little is on a diet, owing to an attack of gout.

    Things begin to look wobbly.

    No, sir, I fancy that the elder Mr. Little’s misfortune may be turned to the younger Mr. Little’s advantage. I was speaking only the other day to Mr. Little’s valet, and he was telling me that it has become his principal duty to read to Mr. Little in the evenings. If I were in your place, sir, I should send young Mr. Little to read to his uncle.

    Nephew’s devotion, you mean? Old man touched by kindly action, what?

    Partly that, sir. But I would rely more on young Mr. Little’s choice of literature.

    "That’s no good. Jolly old Bingo has a kind face, but when it comes to literature he stops at the Sporting Times."

    That difficulty may be overcome. I would be happy to select books for Mr. Little to read. Perhaps I might explain my idea further?

    I can’t say I quite grasp it yet.

    The method which I advocate is what, I believe, the advertisers call Direct Suggestion, sir, consisting as it does of driving an idea home by constant repetition. You may have had experience of the system?

    You mean they keep on telling you that some soap or other is the best, and after a bit you come under the influence and charge round the corner and buy a cake?

    Exactly, sir. The same method was the basis of all the most valuable propaganda during the recent war. I see no reason why it should not be adopted to bring about the desired result with regard to the subject’s views on class distinctions. If young Mr. Little were to read day after day to his uncle a series of narratives in which marriage with young persons of an inferior social status was held up as both feasible and admirable, I fancy it would prepare the elder Mr. Little’s mind for the reception of the information that his nephew wishes to marry a waitress in a tea-shop.

    "Are there any books of that sort nowadays? The only ones I ever see mentioned in the papers are about married couples who find life grey, and can’t stick each other at any price."

    Yes, sir, there are a great many, neglected by the reviewers but widely read. You have never encountered ‘All for Love,’ by Rosie M. Banks?

    No.

    Nor ‘A Red, Red Summer Rose,’ by the same author?

    No,

    I have an aunt, sir, who owns an almost complete set of Rosie M. Banks’. I could easily borrow as many volumes as young Mr. Little might require. They make very light, attractive reading.

    Well, it’s worth trying.

    I should certainly recommend the scheme, sir.

    All right, then. Toddle round to your aunt’s to-morrow and grab a couple of the fruitiest. We can but have a dash at it.

    Precisely, sir.

    II. No Wedding Bells for Bingo

    BINGO reported three days later that Rosie M. Banks was the goods and beyond a question the stuff to give the troops. Old Little had jibbed somewhat at first at the proposed change of literary diet, he not being much of a lad for fiction and having stuck hitherto exclusively to the heavier monthly reviews; but Bingo had got chapter one of All for Love past his guard before he knew what was happening, and after that there was nothing to it. Since then they had finished A Red, Red Summer Rose, Madcap Myrtle and Only a Factory Girl, and were half-way through The Courtship of Lord Strathmorlick.

    Bingo told me all this in a husky voice over an egg beaten up in sherry. The only

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