P G Wodehouse - Much Obliged, Jeeves

'He has retired to bed, sir, with an attack of indigestion consequent upon a too liberal indulgence in Monsieur Anatole's cooking at lunch. I am undertaking his duties for the time being.'

'Very white of you, and very white of you to pop up at this particular moment. I have had a shock, Jeeves.'

'I am sorry to hear that, sir.'

'Did you know Spode was here?'

'Yes, sir.'

'And Miss Bassett?'

'Yes, sir.'

'We might as well be at Totleigh Towers.'

'I can appreciate your dismay, sir, but fellow guests are easily avoided.'

'Yes, and if you avoid them, what do they do? They go about telling men in Panama hats you're a sort of cross between Raffles and one of those fellows who pinch bags at railway stations,' I said, and in a few crisp words I gave him a resume of Spode's remarks.

'Most disturbing, sir.'

'Very. You know and I know how sound my motives were for everything I did at Totleigh, but what if Spode tells Aunt Agatha?'

'An unlikely contingency, sir.'

'I suppose it is.'

'But I know just how you feel, sir. Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing; 'twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands. But he who filches from me my good name robs me of that which not enriches him and makes me poor indeed.'

'Neat, that. Your own?'

'No, sir. Shakespeare's.'

'Shakespeare said some rather good things.'

'I understand that he has given uniform satisfaction, sir. Shall I mix you another?'

'Do just that thing, Jeeves, and with all convenient speed.' He had completed his St. Bernard act and withdrawn, and I was sipping my second rather more slowly than the first, when the door opened and Aunt Dahlia bounded in, all joviality and rosy complexion.

CHAPTER Six

I never see this relative without thinking how odd it is that one sister -- call her Sister A can be so unlike another sister, whom we will call Sister B. My Aunt Agatha, for instance, is tall and thin and looks rather like a vulture in the Gobi desert, while Aunt Dahlia is short and solid, like a scrum half in the game of Rugby football. In disposition, too, they differ widely. Aunt Agatha is cold and haughty, though presumably unbending a bit when conducting human sacrifices at the time of the full moon, as she is widely rumoured to do, and her attitude towards me has always been that of an austere governess, causing me to feel as if I were six years old and she had just caught me stealing jam from the jam cupboard; whereas Aunt Dahlia is as jovial and bonhomous as a pantomime dame in a Christmas pantomime. Curious.

I welcomed her with a huge 'Hello', in both syllables of which a nephew's love and esteem could be easily detected, and went so far as to imprint an affectionate kiss on her brow. Later I would take her roundly to task for filling the house with Spodes and Madeline Bassetts and bulging bounders in Panama hats, but that could wait.

She returned my greeting with one of her uncouth hunting cries --'Yoicks', if I remember correctly. Apparently, when you've been with the Quorn and the Pytchley for some time, you drop into the habit of departing from basic English.

'So here you are, young Bertie.'

'You never spoke a truer word. Up and doing, with a heart for any fate.'

'As thirsty as ever, I observe. I thought I would find you tucking into the drinks.'

'Purely medicinal. I've had a shock.'

'What gave you that?'

'Suddenly becoming apprised of the fact that the blighter Spode was my fellow guest,' I said, feeling that I couldn't have a better cue for getting down to my recriminations. 'What on earth was the idea of inviting a fiend in human shape like that here?' I said, for I knew she shared my opinion of the seventh Earl of Sidcup. 'You have told me many a time and oft that you consider him one of Nature's gravest blunders. And yet you go out of your way to court his society, if court his society is the expression I want. You must have been off your onion, old ancestor.'

It was a severe ticking-off, and you would have expected the blush of shame to have mantled her cheeks, not that you would have noticed it much, her complexion being what it was after all those winters in the hunting field, but she was apparently imp - something, impervious that's the word, to remorse. She remained what Anatole would have called as cool as some cucumbers.

'Ginger asked me to. He wanted Spode to speak for him at this election. He knows him slightly.'

'Far the best way of knowing Spode.'

'He needs all the help he can get, and Spode's one of those silver-tongued orators you read about. Extraordinary gift of the gab he has. He could get into Parliament without straining a sinew.'

I dare say she was right, but I resented any praiseof Spode. I made clear my displeasure by responding curtly:

'Then why doesn't he ? '

'He can't, you poor chump. He's a lord.'

'Don't they allow lords in?'

'No, they don't.'

'I see,' I said, rather impressed by this proof that the House of Commons drew the line somewhere. 'Well, I suppose you aren't so much to blame as I had thought. How do you get on with him? '