‘Mens sana in corpore sano,’ observed the Prof.
‘I shouldn’t wonder,’ I said cordially.
At this point, when everything was going as sweet as a nut and I was feeling on top of my form, Mrs Pringle suddenly soaked me on the base of the skull with a sandbag. Not actually, I don’t mean. No, no. I speak figuratively, as it were.
‘Roderick is very late,’ she said.
You may think it strange that the sound of that name should have sloshed into my nerve centres like a half-brick. But, take it from me, to a man who has had any dealings with Sir Roderick Glossop there is only one Roderick in the world – and that is one too many.
‘Roderick?’ I gurgled.
‘My brother-in-law, Sir Roderick Glossop, comes to Cambridge to-night,’ said the Prof. ‘He lectures at St. Luke’s tomorrow. He is coming here to dinner.’
And while I stood there, feeling like the hero when he discovers that he is trapped in the den of the Secret Nine, the door opened.
‘Sir Roderick Glossop,’ announced the maid or some such person, and in he came.
One of the things that get this old crumb so generally disliked among the better element of the community is the fact that he has a head like the dome of St. Paul’s and eyebrows that want bobbing or shingling to reduce them to anything like reasonable size. It is a nasty experience to see this bald and bushy bloke advancing on you when you haven’t prepared the strategic railways in your rear.
As he came into the room I backed behind a sofa and commended my soul to God. I didn’t need to have my hand read to know that trouble was coming to me through a dark man.
He didn’t spot me at first. He shook hands with the Prof and wife, kissed Heloise and waggled his head at the Exhibits.
‘I fear I am somewhat late,’ he said. ‘A slight accident on the road, affecting what my chauffeur termed the—’
And then he saw me lurking on the outskirts and gave a startled grunt, as if I hurt him a good deal internally.
‘This—’ began the Prof, waving in my direction.
‘I am already acquainted with Mr Wooster.’
‘This,’ went on the Prof, ‘is Miss Sipperley’s nephew, Oliver. You remember Miss Sipperley?’
‘What do you mean?’ barked Sir Roderick. Having had so much to do with loonies has given him a rather sharp and authoritative manner on occasion. ‘This is that wretched young man, Bertram Wooster. What is all this nonsense about Olivers and Sipperleys?’
The Prof was eyeing me with some natural surprise. So were the others. I beamed a bit weakly.
‘Well, as a matter of fact—’ I said.
The Prof was wrestling with the situation. You could hear his brain buzzing.
‘He said he was Oliver Sipperley,’ he moaned.
‘Come here!’ bellowed Sir Roderick. ‘Am I to understand that you have inflicted yourself on this household under the pretence of being the nephew of an old friend?’
It seemed a pretty accurate description of the facts.
‘Well – er – yes,’ I said.
Sir Roderick shot an eye at me. It entered the body somewhere about the top stud, roamed around inside for a bit and went out at the back.
‘Insane! Quite insane, as I knew from the first moment I saw him.’
‘What did he say?’ asked Aunt Jane.
‘Roderick says this young man is insane,’ roared the Prof.
‘Ah!’ said Aunt Jane, nodding. ‘I thought so. He climbs down water-pipes.’
‘Does what?’
‘I’ve seen him – ah, many a time!’
Sir Roderick snorted violently.
‘He ought to be under proper restraint. It is abominable that a person in his mental condition should be permitted to roam the world at large. The next stage may quite easily be homicidal.’
It seemed to me that, even at the expense of giving old Sippy away, I must be cleared of this frightful charge. After all, Sippy’s number was up anyway.
‘Let me explain,’ I said. ‘Sippy asked me to come here.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He couldn’t come himself, because he was jugged for biffing a cop on Boat-Race Night.’
Well, it wasn’t easy to make them get the hang of the story, and even when I’d done it it didn’t seem to make them any chummier towards me. A certain coldness about expresses it, and when dinner was announced I counted myself out and pushed off rapidly to my room. I could have done with a bit of dinner, but the atmosphere didn’t seem just right.
‘Jeeves,’ I said, having shot in and pressed the bell, ‘we’re sunk.’
‘Sir?’
‘Hell’s foundations are quivering and the game is up.’
He listened attentively.
‘The contingency was one always to have been anticipated as a possibility, sir. It only remains to take the obvious step.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Go and see Miss Sipperley, sir.’
‘What on earth for?’
‘I think it would be judicious to apprise her of the facts yourself, sir, instead of allowing her to hear of them through the medium of a letter from Professor Pringle. That is to say, if you are still anxious to do all in your power to assist Mr Sipperley.’
‘I can’t let Sippy down. If you think it’s any good—’
‘We can but try it, sir. I have an idea, sir, that we may find Miss Sipperley disposed to look leniently upon Mr Sipperley’s misdemeanour.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘It is just a feeling that I have, sir.’
‘Well, if you think it would be worth trying—How do we get there?’
‘The distance is about a hundred and fifty miles, sir. Our best plan would be to hire a car.’
‘Get it at once,’ I said.
The idea of being a hundred and fifty miles away from Heloise Pringle, not to mention Aunt Jane and Sir Roderick Glossop, sounded about as good to me as anything I had ever heard.
The Paddock, Beckley-on-the-Moor, was about a couple of parasangs from the village, and I set out for it next morning, after partaking of a hearty breakfast at the local inn, practically without a tremor. I suppose when a fellow has been through it as I had in the last two weeks his system becomes hardened. After all, I felt, whatever this aunt of Sippy’s might be like, she wasn’t Sir Roderick Glossop, so I was that much on velvet from the start.
The Paddock was one of those medium-sized houses with a goodish bit of very tidy garden and a carefully rolled gravel drive curving past a shrubbery that looked as if it had just come back from the dry cleaner – the sort of house you take one look at and say to yourself, ‘Somebody’s aunt lives there.’ I pushed up on the drive, and as I turned the bend I observed in the middle distance a woman messing about by a flower-bed with a trowel in her hand. If this wasn’t the female I was after, I was very much mistaken, so I halted, cleared the throat and gave tongue.
‘Miss Sipperley?’
She had had her back to me, and at the sound of my voice she executed a sort of leap or bound, not unlike a barefoot dancer who steps on a tin-tack half-way through the Vision of Salome. She came to earth and goggled at me in a rather goofy manner. A large, stout female with a reddish face.
‘Hope I didn’t startle you,’ I said.
‘Who are you?’
‘My name’s Wooster. I’m a pal of your nephew, Oliver.’
Her breathing had become more regular.
‘Oh?’ she said. ‘When I heard your voice I thought you were someone else.’
‘No, that’s who I am. I came up here to tell you about Oliver.’
‘What about him?’
I hesitated. Now that we were approaching what you might call the nub, or crux, of the situation, a good deal of my breezy confidence seemed to have slipped from me.
‘Well, it’s rather a painful tale, I must warn you.’
‘Oliver isn’t ill? He hasn’t had an accident?’
She spoke anxiously,
and I was pleased at this evidence of human feeling. I decided to shoot the works with no more delay.
‘Oh, no, he isn’t ill,’ I said; ‘and as regards having accidents, it depends on what you call an accident. He’s in chokey.’
‘In what?’
‘In prison.’
‘In prison!’
‘It was entirely my fault. We were strolling along on Boat-Race Night and I advised him to pinch a policeman’s helmet.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Well, he seemed depressed, don’t you know; and rightly or wrongly, I thought it might cheer him up if he stepped across the street and collared a policeman’s helmet. He thought it a good idea, too, so he started doing it, and the man made a fuss and Oliver sloshed him.’
‘Sloshed him?’
‘Biffed him – smote him a blow – in the stomach.’
‘My nephew Oliver hit a policeman in the stomach?’
‘Absolutely in the stomach. And next morning the beak sent him to the bastille for thirty days without the option.’
I was looking at her a bit anxiously all this while to see how she was taking the thing, and at this moment her face seemed suddenly to split in half. For an instant she appeared to be all mouth, and then she was staggering about the grass, shouting with laughter and waving the trowel madly.
It seemed to me a bit of luck for her that Sir Roderick Glossop wasn’t on the spot. He would have been sitting on her head and calling for the strait-waistcoat in the first half-minute.
‘You aren’t annoyed?’ I said.
‘Annoyed?’ She chuckled happily. ‘I’ve never heard such a splendid thing in my life.’
I was pleased and relieved. I had hoped the news wouldn’t upset her too much, but I had never expected it to go with such a roar as this.
‘I’m proud of him,’ she said.
‘That’s fine.’
‘If every young man in England went about hitting policemen in the stomach, it would be a better country to live in.’
I couldn’t follow her reasoning, but everything seemed to be all right; so after a few more cheery words I said good-bye and legged it.
‘Jeeves,’ I said when I got back to the inn, ‘everything’s fine. But I am far from understanding why.’
‘What actually occurred when you met Miss Sipperley, sir?’
‘I told her Sippy was in the jug for assaulting the police. Upon which she burst into hearty laughter, waved her trowel in a pleased manner and said she was proud of him.’
‘I think I can explain her apparently eccentric behaviour, sir. I am informed that Miss Sipperley has had a good deal of annoyance at the hands of the local constable during the past two weeks. This has doubtless resulted in a prejudice on her part against the force as a whole.’
‘Really? How was that?’
‘The constable has been somewhat over-zealous in the performance of his duties, sir. On no fewer than three occasions in the last ten days he has served summonses upon Miss Sipperley – for exceeding the speed limit in her car; for allowing her dog to appear in public without a collar; and for failing to abate a smoky chimney. Being in the nature of an autocrat, if I may use the term, in the village, Miss Sipperley has been accustomed to do these things in the past with impunity, and the constable’s unexpected zeal has made her somewhat ill-disposed to policemen as a class and consequently disposed to look upon such assaults as Mr Sipperley’s in a kindly and broad-minded spirit.’
I saw his point.
‘What an amazing bit of luck, Jeeves!’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Where did you hear all this?’
‘My informant was the constable himself, sir. He is my cousin.’
I gaped at the man. I saw, so to speak, all.
‘Good Lord, Jeeves! You didn’t bribe him?’
‘Oh, no, sir. But it was his birthday last week, and I gave him a little present. I have always been fond of Egbert, sir.’
‘How much?’
‘A matter of five pounds, sir.’
I felt in my pocket.
‘Here you are,’ I said. ‘And another fiver for luck.’
‘Thank you very much, sir.’
‘Jeeves,’ I said, ‘you move in a mysterious way your wonders to perform. You don’t mind if I sing a bit, do you?’
‘Not at all, sir,’ said Jeeves.
8 FIXING IT FOR FREDDIE
‘JEEVES,’ I SAID looking in on him one afternoon on my return from the club, ‘I don’t want to interrupt you.’
‘No, sir?’
‘But I would like a word with you.’
‘Yes, sir?’
He had been packing a few of the Wooster necessaries in the old kit-bag against our approaching visit to the seaside, and he now rose and stood bursting with courteous zeal.
‘Jeeves,’ I said, ‘a somewhat disturbing situation has arisen with regard to a pal of mine.’
‘Indeed, sir?’
‘You know Mr Bullivant?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Well, I slid into the Drones this morning for a bite of lunch, and found him in a dark corner of the smoking-room looking like the last rose of summer. Naturally I was surprised. You know what a bright lad he is as a rule. The life and soul of every gathering he attends.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Quite the little lump of fun, in fact.’
‘Precisely, sir.’
‘Well, I made inquiries, and he told me that he had had a quarrel with the girl he’s engaged to. You knew he was engaged to Miss Elizabeth Vickers?’
‘Yes, sir. I recall reading the announcement in the Morning Post.’
‘Well, he isn’t any longer. What the row was about he didn’t say, but the broad facts, Jeeves, are that she has scratched the fixture. She won’t let him come near her, refuses to talk on the ’phone, and sends back his letters unopened.’
‘Extremely trying, sir.’
‘We ought to do something, Jeeves. But what?’
‘It is somewhat difficult to make a suggestion, sir.’
‘Well, what I’m going to do for a start is to take him down to Marvis Bay with me. I know these birds who have been handed their hat by the girl of their dreams, Jeeves. What they want is complete change of scene.’
‘There is much in what you say, sir.’
‘Yes. Change of scene is the thing. I heard of a man. Girl refused him. Man went abroad. Two months later girl wired him “Come back, Muriel.” Man started to write out a reply; suddenly found that he couldn’t remember girl’s surname; so never answered at all, and lived happily ever after. It may well be, Jeeves, that after Freddie Bullivant has had a few weeks of Marvis Bay he will get completely over it.’
‘Very possibly, sir.’
‘And, if not, it is quite likely that, refreshed by sea air and good simple food, you will get a brain-wave and think up some scheme for bringing these two misguided blighters together again.’
‘I will do my best, sir.’
‘I knew it, Jeeves, I knew it. Don’t forget to put in plenty of socks.’
‘No, sir.’
‘Also of tennis shirts not a few.’
‘Very good, sir.’
I left him to his packing, and a couple of days later we started off for Marvis Bay, where I had taken a cottage for July and August.
I don’t know if you know Marvis Bay? It’s in Dorsetshire; and, while not what you would call a fiercely exciting spot, has many good points. You spend the day there bathing and sitting on the sands, and in the evening you stroll out on the shore with the mosquitoes. At nine p.m. you rub ointment on the wounds and go to bed. It was a simple, healthy life, and it seemed to suit poor old Freddie absolutely. Once the moon was up and the breeze sighing in the trees, you couldn’t drag him from that beach with ropes. He became quite a popular pet with the mosquitoes. They would hang round waiting for him to come out, and would give a miss to perfectly good strollers just so as to be in good condition for him.
> It was during the day that I found Freddie, poor old chap, a trifle heavy as a guest. I suppose you can’t blame a bloke whose heart is broken, but it required a good deal of fortitude to bear up against this gloom-crushed exhibit during the early days of our little holiday. When he wasn’t chewing a pipe and scowling at the carpet, he was sitting at the piano, playing ‘The Rosary’ with one finger. He couldn’t play anything except ‘The Rosary,’ and he couldn’t play much of that. However firmly and confidently he started off, somewhere around the third bar a fuse would blow out and he would have to start all over again.
He was playing it as usual one morning when I came in from bathing: and it seemed to me that he was extracting more hideous melancholy from it even than usual. Nor had my senses deceived me.
‘Bertie,’ he said in a hollow voice, skidding on the fourth crotchet from the left as you enter the second bar and producing a distressing sound like the death-rattle of a sand-eel, ‘I’ve seen her!’
‘Seen her?’ I said. ‘What, Elizabeth Vickers? How do you mean, you’ve seen her? She isn’t down here.’
‘Yes, she is. I suppose she’s staying with relations or something. I was down at the post office, seeing if there were any letters, and we met in the doorway.’
‘What happened?’
‘She cut me dead.’
He started ‘The Rosary’ again, and stubbed his finger on a semi-quaver.
‘Bertie,’ he said, ‘you ought never to have brought me here. I must go away.’
‘Go away? Don’t talk such rot. This is the best thing that could have happened. It’s a most amazing bit of luck, her being down here. This is where you come out strong.’
‘She cut me.’
‘Never mind. Be a sportsman. Have another dash at her.’
‘She looked clean through me.’
‘Well, don’t mind that. Stick at it. Now, having got her down here, what you want,’ I said, ‘is to place her under some obligation to you. What you want is to get her timidly thanking you. What you want—’
‘What’s she going to thank me timidly for?’
I thought for a while. Undoubtedly he had put his finger on the nub of the problem. For some moments I was at a loss, not to say nonplussed. Then I saw the way.
‘What you want,’ I said, ‘is to look out for a chance and save her from drowning.’