Very Good, Jeeves:

‘I should not recommend the move, sir. The posters are, I understand, shortly to appear in that city also, advertising the Bouillon Suprême. Mr Slingsby’s products command a large sale in France. The sight would be painful for you, sir.’

  ‘Then where?’

  ‘If I might make a suggestion, sir, why not adhere to your original intention of cruising in Mrs Travers’ yacht in the Mediterranean? On the yacht you would be free from the annoyance of these advertising displays.’

  The man seemed to me to be drivelling.

  ‘But the yacht started weeks ago. It may be anywhere by now.’

  ‘No, sir. The cruise was postponed for a month owing to the illness of Mr Travers’ chef, Anatole, who contracted influenza. Mr Travers refused to sail without him.’

  ‘You mean they haven’t started?’

  ‘Not yet, sir. The yacht sails from Southampton on Tuesday next.’

  ‘Why, then, dash it, nothing could be sweeter.’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Ring up Aunt Dahlia and tell her we’ll be there.’

  ‘I ventured to take the liberty of doing so a few moments before you arrived, sir.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I thought it probable that the plan would meet with your approval.’

  ‘It does! I’ve wished all along I was going on that cruise.’

  ‘I, too, sir. It should be extremely pleasant.’

  ‘The tang of the salt breezes, Jeeves!’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘The moonlight on the water!’

  ‘Precisely, sir.’

  ‘The gentle heaving of the waves!’

  ‘Exactly, sir.’

  I felt absolutely in the pink. Gwladys – pah! The posters – bah! That was the way I looked at it.

  ‘Yo-ho-ho, Jeeves!’ I said, giving the trousers a bit of a hitch.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘In fact, I will go further. Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!’

  ‘Very good, sir. I will bring it immediately.’

  7 JEEVES AND THE KID CLEMENTINA

  IT HAS BEEN well said of Bertram Wooster by those who know him best that, whatever other sporting functions he may see fit to oil out of, you will always find him battling to his sixteen handicap at the annual Golf tournament of the Drones Club. Nevertheless, when I heard that this year they were holding it at Bingley-on-Sea, I confess I hesitated. As I stood gazing out of the window of my suite at the Splendide on the morning of the opening day, I was not exactly a-twitter, if you understand me, but I couldn’t help feeling I might have been rather rash.

  ‘Jeeves,’ I said, ‘now that we have actually arrived, I find myself wondering if it was quite prudent to come here.’

  ‘It is a pleasant spot, sir.’

  ‘Where every prospect pleases,’ I agreed. ‘But though the spicy breezes blow fair o’er Bingley-on-Sea, we must never forget that this is where my Aunt Agatha’s old friend, Miss Mapleton, runs a girls’ school. If the relative knew I was here, she would expect me to call on Miss Mapleton.’

  ‘Very true, sir.’

  I shivered somewhat.

  ‘I met her once, Jeeves. ’Twas on a summer’s evening in my tent, the day I overcame the Nervii. Or, rather, at lunch at Aunt Agatha’s a year ago come Lammas Eve. It is not an experience I would willingly undergo again.’

  ‘Indeed, sir?’

  ‘Besides, you remember what happened last time I got into a girls’ school?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Secrecy and silence, then. My visit here must be strictly incog. If Aunt Agatha happens to ask you where I spent this week, tell her I went to Harrogate for the cure.’

  ‘Very good, sir. Pardon me, sir, are you proposing to appear in those garments in public?’

  Up to this point our conversation had been friendly and cordial, but I now perceived that the jarring note had been struck. I had been wondering when my new plus-fours would come under discussion, and I was prepared to battle for them like a tigress for her young.

  ‘Certainly, Jeeves,’ I said. ‘Why? Don’t you like them?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘You think them on the bright side?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘A little vivid, they strike you as?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Well, I think highly of them, Jeeves,’ I said firmly.

  There already being a certain amount of chilliness in the air, it seemed to me a suitable moment for springing another item of information which I had been keeping from him for some time.

  ‘Er – Jeeves,’ I said.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘I ran into Miss Wickham the other day. After chatting of this and that, she invited me to join a party she is getting up to go to Antibes this summer.’

  ‘Indeed, sir?’

  He now looked definitely squiggle-eyed. Jeeves, as I think I have mentioned before, does not approve of Bobbie Wickham.

  There was what you might call a tense silence. I braced myself for an exhibition of the good old Wooster determination. I mean to say, one has got to take a firm stand from time to time. The trouble with Jeeves is that he tends occasionally to get above himself. Just because he has surged round and – I admit it freely – done the young master a bit of good in one or two crises, he has a nasty way of conveying the impression that he looks on Bertram Wooster as a sort of idiot child who, but for him, would conk in the first chukka. I resent this.

  ‘I have accepted, Jeeves,’ I said in a quiet, level voice, lighting a cigarette with a careless flick of the wrist.

  ‘Indeed, sir?’

  ‘You will like Antibes.’

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘So shall I.’

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘That’s settled, then.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  I was pleased. The firm stand, I saw, had done its work. It was plain that the man was crushed beneath the iron heel – cowed, if you know what I mean.

  ‘Right-ho, then, Jeeves.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  I had not expected to return from the arena until well on in the evening, but circumstances so arranged themselves that it was barely three o’clock when I found myself back again. I was wandering moodily to and fro on the pier, when I observed Jeeves shimmering towards me.

  ‘Good afternoon, sir,’ he said. ‘I had not supposed that you would be returning quite so soon, or I would have remained at the hotel.’

  ‘I had not supposed that I would be returning quite so soon myself, Jeeves,’ I said, sighing somewhat. ‘I was outed in the first round, I regret to say.’

  ‘Indeed, sir? I am sorry to hear that.’

  ‘And, to increase the mortification of defeat, Jeeves, by a blighter who had not spared himself at the luncheon-table and was quite noticeably sozzled. I couldn’t seem to do anything right.’

  ‘Possibly you omitted to keep your eye on the ball with sufficient assiduity, sir?’

  ‘Something of that nature, no doubt. Anyway, here I am, a game and popular loser and …’ I paused, and scanned the horizon with some interest. ‘Great Scott, Jeeves! Look at that girl just coming on to the pier. I never saw anybody so extraordinarily like Miss Wickham. How do you account for these resemblances?’

  ‘In the present instance, sir, I attribute the similarity to the fact that the young lady is Miss Wickham.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Yes, sir. If you notice, she is waving to you now.’

  ‘But what on earth is she doing down here?’

  ‘I am unable to say, sir.’

  His voice was chilly and seemed to suggest that, whatever had brought Bobbie Wickham to Bingley-on-Sea, it could not, in his opinion, be anything good. He dropped back into the offing, registering alarm and despondency, and I removed the old Homburg and waggled it genially.

  ‘What-ho!’ I said.

  Bobbie came to anchor alongside.

  ‘Hullo, Bertie,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know you were here.’


  ‘I am,’ I assured her.

  ‘In mourning?’ she asked, eyeing the trouserings.

  ‘Rather natty, aren’t they?’ I said, following her gaze. ‘Jeeves doesn’t like them, but then he’s notoriously hidebound in the matter of leg-wear. What are you doing in Bingley?’

  ‘My cousin Clementina is at school here. It’s her birthday and I thought I would come down and see her. I’m just off there now. Are you staying here to-night?’

  ‘Yes. At the Splendide.’

  ‘You can give me dinner there if you like.’

  Jeeves was behind me, and I couldn’t see him, but at these words I felt his eye slap warningly against the back of my neck. I knew what it was that he was trying to broadcast – viz. that it would be tempting Providence to mix with Bobbie Wickham even to the extent of giving her a bite to eat. Dashed absurd, was my verdict. Get entangled with young Bobbie in the intricate life of a country-house, where almost anything can happen, and I’m not saying. But how any doom or disaster could lurk behind the simple pronging of a spot of dinner together, I failed to see. I ignored the man.

  ‘Of course. Certainly. Rather. Absolutely,’ I said.

  ‘That’ll be fine. I’ve got to get back to London to-night for revelry of sorts at the Berkeley, but it doesn’t matter if I’m a bit late. We’ll turn up at about seven-thirty, and you can take us to the movies afterwards.’

  ‘We? Us?’

  ‘Clementina and me.’

  ‘You don’t mean you intend to bring your ghastly cousin?’

  ‘Of course I do. Don’t you want the child to have a little pleasure on her birthday? And she isn’t ghastly. She’s a dear. She won’t be any trouble. All you’ll have to do is take her back to the school afterwards. You can manage that without straining a sinew, can’t you?’

  I eyed her keenly.

  ‘What does it involve?’

  ‘How do you mean, what does it involve?’

  ‘The last time I was lured into a girls’ school, a headmistress with an eye like a gimlet insisted on my addressing the chain-gang on Ideals and the Life To Come. This will not happen to-night?’

  ‘Of course not. You just go to the front door, ring the bell, and bung her in.’

  I mused.

  ‘That would appear to be well within our scope. Eh, Jeeves?’

  ‘I should be disposed to imagine so, sir.’

  The man’s tone was cold and soupy: and, scanning his face, I observed on it an ‘If-you-would-only-be-guided-by-me’ expression which annoyed me intensely. There are moments when Jeeves looks just like an aunt.

  ‘Right,’ I said, ignoring him once more – and rather pointedly, at that. ‘Then I’ll expect you at seven-thirty. Don’t be late. And see,’ I added, just to show the girl that beneath the smiling exterior I was a man of iron, ‘that the kid has her hands washed and does not sniff.’

  I had not, I confess, looked forward with any great keenness to hobnobbing with Bobbie Wickham’s cousin Clementina, but I’m bound to admit that she might have been considerably worse. Small girls as a rule, I have noticed, are inclined, when confronted with me, to giggle a good deal. They snigger and they stare. I look up and find their eyes glued on me in an incredulous manner, as if they were reluctant to believe that I was really true. I suspect them of being in the process of memorizing any little peculiarities of deportment that I may possess, in order to reproduce them later for the entertainment of their fellow-inmates.

  With the kid Clementina there was nothing of this description. She was a quiet, saintlike child of about thirteen – in fact, seeing that this was her birthday, exactly thirteen – and her gaze revealed only silent admiration. Her hands were spotless; she had not a cold in the head; and at dinner, during which her behaviour was unexceptionable, she proved a sympathetic listener, hanging on my lips, so to speak, when with the aid of a fork and two peas I explained to her how my opponent that afternoon had stymied me on the tenth.

  She was equally above criticism at the movies, and at the conclusion of the proceedings thanked me for the treat with visible emotion. I was pleased with the child, and said as much to Bobbie while assisting her into her two-seater.

  ‘Yes, I told you she was a dear,’ said Bobbie, treading on the self-starter in preparation for the dash to London. ‘I always insist that they misjudge her at that school. They’re always misjudging people. They misjudged me when I was there.’

  ‘Misjudge her? How?’

  ‘Oh, in various ways. But, then, what can you expect of a dump like St Monica’s?’

  I started.

  ‘St Monica’s?’

  ‘That’s the name of the place.’

  ‘You don’t mean the kid is at Miss Mapleton’s school?’

  ‘Why shouldn’t she be?’

  ‘But Miss Mapleton is my Aunt Agatha’s oldest friend.’

  ‘I know. It was your Aunt Agatha who got mother to send me there when I was a kid.’

  ‘I say,’ I said earnestly, ‘when you were there this afternoon you didn’t mention having met me down here?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘That’s all right.’ I was relieved. ‘You see, if Miss Mapleton knew I was in Bingley, she would expect me to call. I shall be leaving to-morrow morning, so all will be well. But, dash it,’ I said, spotting the snag, ‘how about to-night?’

  ‘What about to-night?’

  ‘Well, shan’t I have to see her? I can’t just ring the front-door bell, sling the kid in, and leg it. I should never hear the last of it from Aunt Agatha.’

  Bobbie looked at me in an odd, meditative sort of way.

  ‘As a matter of fact, Bertie,’ she said, ‘I had been meaning to touch on that point. I think, if I were you, I wouldn’t ring the front-door bell.’

  ‘Eh? Why not?’

  ‘Well, it’s like this, you see. Clementina is supposed to be in bed. They sent her there just as I was leaving this afternoon. Think of it! On her birthday – right plumb spang in the middle of her birthday – and all for putting sherbet in the ink to make it fizz!’

  I reeled.

  ‘You aren’t telling me that this foul kid came out without leave?’

  ‘Yes, I am. That’s exactly it. She got up and sneaked out when nobody was looking. She had set her heart on getting a square meal. I suppose I really ought to have told you right at the start, but I didn’t want to spoil your evening.’

  As a general rule, in my dealings with the delicately-nurtured, I am the soul of knightly chivalry – suave, genial and polished. But I can on occasion say the bitter, cutting thing, and I said it now.

  ‘Oh?’ I said.

  ‘But it’s all right.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, speaking, if I recollect, between my clenched teeth, ‘nothing could be sweeter, could it? The situation is one which it would be impossible to view with concern, what? I shall turn up with the kid, get looked at through steel-rimmed spectacles by the Mapleton, and after an agreeable five minutes shall back out, leaving the Mapleton to go to her escritoire and write a full account of the proceedings to my Aunt Agatha. And, contemplating what will happen after that, the imagination totters. I confidently expect my Aunt Agatha to beat all previous records.’

  The girl clicked her tongue chidingly.

  ‘Don’t make such heavy weather, Bertie. You must learn not to fuss so.’

  ‘I must, must I?’

  ‘Everything’s going to be all right. I’m not saying it won’t be necessary to exercise a little strategy in getting Clem into the house, but it will be perfectly simple, if you’ll only listen carefully to what I’m going to tell you. First, you will need a good long piece of string.’

  ‘String?’

  ‘String. Surely even you know what string is?’

  I stiffened rather haughtily.

  ‘Certainly,’ I replied. ‘You mean string.’

  ‘That’s right. String. You take this with you—’

  ‘And soften the Mapleton’s heart by doing tricks with it, I suppose
?’

  Bitter, I know. But I was deeply stirred.

  ‘You take this string with you,’ proceeded Bobbie patiently, ‘and when you get into the garden you go through it till you come to a conservatory near the house. Inside it you will find a lot of flower-pots. How are you on recognizing a flower-pot when you see one, Bertie?’

  ‘I am thoroughly familiar with flower-pots. If, as I suppose, you mean those sort of pot things they put flowers in.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I do mean. All right, then. Grab an armful of these flower-pots and go round the conservatory till you come to a tree. Climb this, tie a string to one of the pots, balance it on a handy branch which you will find overhangs the conservatory, and then, having stationed Clem near the front door, retire into the middle distance and jerk the string. The flower-pot will fall and smash the glass, someone in the house will hear the noise and come out to investigate, and while the door is open and nobody near Clem will sneak in and go up to bed.’

  ‘But suppose no one comes out?’

  ‘Then you repeat the process with another pot.’

  It seemed sound enough.

  ‘You’re sure it will work?’

  ‘It’s never failed yet. That’s the way I always used to get in after lock-up when I was at St Monica’s. Now, you’re sure you’ve got it clear, Bertie? Let’s have a quick run-through to make certain, and then I really must be off. String.’

  ‘String.’

  ‘Conservatory.’

  ‘Or greenhouse.’

  ‘Flower-pot.’

  ‘Flower-pot.’

  ‘Tree. Climb. Branch. Climb down. Jerk. Smash. And then off to beddy-bye. Got it?’

  ‘I’ve got it. But,’ I said sternly, ‘let me tell you just one thing—’

  ‘I haven’t time. I must rush. Write to me about it, using one side of the paper only. Good-bye.’

  She rolled off, and after following her with burning eyes for a moment I returned to Jeeves, who was in the background showing the kid Clementina how to make a rabbit with a pocket handkerchief. I drew him aside. I was feeling a little better now, for I perceived that an admirable opportunity had presented itself for putting the man in his place and correcting his view that he is the only member of our establishment with brains and resource.

  ‘Jeeves,’ I said, ‘you will doubtless be surprised to learn that something in the nature of a hitch has occurred.’