No matter how much of a twitter he was in, he should have had sense enough to see that he was throwing a spanner into the works. No girl, when she has been led to expect that a man is about to pour forth his soul in a fervour or passion, like to find him suddenly shelving the whole topic in favour of an address on aquatic Salamandridae.
(from Right Ho, Jeeves, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)
"Good morning, sir," said Jeeves. "Mr. Fink-Nottle is not feeling well."
Nor was I. Gussie had begun to make low, bubbling noise, and I could no longer disguise it from myself that something must have gone seriously wrong with the works. I mean, I know marriage is a pretty solemn business and the realization that he is in for it frequently churns a chap up a bit, but I had never come across a case of a newly-engaged man taking it on the chin quite so completely as this.
Gussie looked up. His eye was dull. He clutched the thatch.
"Goodbye, Bertie," he said, rising. I seemed to spot an error.
"You mean 'Hullo,' don't you?"
"No, I don't. I mean goodbye. I'm off."
"Off where?
"To the kitchen garden. To drown myself."
"Don't be an ass."
"I'm not an ass . . . Am I an ass, Jeeves?"
"Possibly a little injudicious, sir."
"Drowning myself, you mean?
"Yes, sir."
"You think, on the whole, not drown myself?"
"I should not advocate it, sir."
"Very well, Jeeves. I accept your ruling. After all, it would be unpleasant for Mrs. Travers to find a swollen body floating in her pond."
(from Right Ho, Jeeves, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)
"Perhaps you understand now why I want you to go and jump in that pond. I might have known that some hideous disaster would s trike this house like a thunderbolt if once you wriggled your way into it and started trying to be clever."
Harsh words, of course, as from aunt to nephew, but I bore her no resentment. No doubt, if you looked at it from a certain angle, Bertram might be considered to have made something of a floater.
"I am sorry."
"What's the good of being sorry?"
"I acted for what I deemed the best."
"Another time try acting for the worst. Then we may possibly escape with a mere flesh wound."
(from Right Ho, Jeeves, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)
Though never for an instant faltering in my opinion that Augustus Fink-Nottle was Nature's final word in cloth-headed guffins, I liked the man, wished him sell, and could not have felt more deeply involved in the success of his wooing if I, and not he, had been the bloke under the ether.
The thought that by this time he might quite easily have completed the preliminary pour parlers and be deep in an informal discussion of honeymoon plans, was very pleasant to me.
Of course, considering the sort of girl Madeline Bassett was - stars and rabbits and all that, I mean - you might say that a sober sadness would have been more fitting. But in these matters you have got to realize that tastes differ. The impulse of right-thinking men might be to run a mile when they saw the Bassett, but for some reason she appealed to the depths in Gussie, so that was that.
(from Right Ho, Jeeves, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)
"Dash it, there are hundreds of things you can say. Talk about the sunset."
"The sunset?"
"Certainly. Half the married men you meet began by talking about the sunset."
"But what can I say about the sunset?"
"Well, Jeeves got off a good one the other day. I met him siring the dog in the park one evening, and he said, 'Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, sir, and all the air a solemn stillness holds.' You might use that."
"What sort of landscape?"
"Glimmering. G for 'gastritis,' L for 'lizard' - "
"Oh, glimmering? Yes, that's not bad. Glimmering landscape, solemn stillness. . . . Yes, I call that pretty good."
"You could then say that you have often thought that the stars are God's daisy chain."
"But I haven't."
"I dare say not. But she has. Hand her that one, and I don't see how she can help feeling that you are a twin soul."
(from Right Ho, Jeeves, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)
After I had been splashing about in the porcelain for a bit, composure began to return. I have always found that in moments of heart-bowed-downness there is nothing that calms the bruised spirit like a good go at soap and water. I don't say I actually sang in the tub, but there were times when it was a mere spin of the coin whether I would do so or not.
The spiritual anguish induced by that tactless speech had become noticeably lessened.
The discovery of a toy duck in the soap dish, presumably the property of some former juvenile visitor, contributed not a little to this new and happier frame of mind. What with one thing and another, I hadn't played with toy ducks in my bath for years, and I found the novel experience most invigorating. For the benefit of those interested, I may mention that if you shove the thing under the surface with the sponge and then let it go, it shoots out of the water in a manner calculated to divert the most careworn. Ten minutes of this and I was enabled to return to the bedchambr much more the old merry Bertram.
(from Right Ho, Jeeves, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)
