The Essential Works of P. G. Wodehouse. P. G. Wodehouse

yes."

      "Must be years since you came up."

      "Oh, yes."

      "And now you're off for an evening's pleasure."

      He shuddered a bit. He had, I noticed, a hunted air.

      "Pleasure!"

      "Aren't you looking forward to this rout or revel?"

      "Oh, I suppose it'll be all right," he said, in a toneless voice. "Anyway, I ought to be off, I suppose. The thing starts round about eleven. I told my cab to wait.... Will you see if it's there, Jeeves?"

      "Very good, sir."

      There was something of a pause after the door had closed. A certain constraint. I mixed myself a beaker, while Gussie, a glutton for punishment, stared at himself in the mirror. Finally I decided that it would be best to let him know that I was abreast of his affairs. It might be that it would ease his mind to confide in a sympathetic man of experience. I have generally found, with those under the influence, that what they want more than anything is the listening ear.

      "Well, Gussie, old leper," I said, "I've been hearing all about you."

      "Eh?"

      "This little trouble of yours. Jeeves has told me everything."

      He didn't seem any too braced. It's always difficult to be sure, of course, when a chap has dug himself in behind a Mephistopheles beard, but I fancy he flushed a trifle.

      "I wish Jeeves wouldn't go gassing all over the place. It was supposed to be confidential."

      I could not permit this tone.

      "Dishing up the dirt to the young master can scarcely be described as gassing all over the place," I said, with a touch of rebuke. "Anyway, there it is. I know all. And I should like to begin," I said, sinking my personal opinion that the female in question was a sloppy pest in my desire to buck and encourage, "by saying that Madeline Bassett is a charming girl. A winner, and just the sort for you."

      "You don't know her?"

      "Certainly I know her. What beats me is how you ever got in touch. Where did you meet?"

      "She was staying at a place near mine in Lincolnshire the week before last."

      "Yes, but even so. I didn't know you called on the neighbours."

      "I don't. I met her out for a walk with her dog. The dog had got a thorn in its foot, and when she tried to take it out, it snapped at her. So, of course, I had to rally round."

      "You extracted the thorn?"

      "Yes."

      "And fell in love at first sight?"

      "Yes."

      "Well, dash it, with a thing like that to give you a send-off, why didn't you cash in immediately?"

      "I hadn't the nerve."

      "What happened?"

      "We talked for a bit."

      "What about?"

      "Oh, birds."

      "Birds? What birds?"

      "The birds that happened to be hanging round. And the scenery, and all that sort of thing. And she said she was going to London, and asked me to look her up if I was ever there."

      "And even after that you didn't so much as press her hand?"

      "Of course not."

      Well, I mean, it looked as though there was no more to be said. If a chap is such a rabbit that he can't get action when he's handed the thing on a plate, his case would appear to be pretty hopeless. Nevertheless, I reminded myself that this non-starter and I had been at school together. One must make an effort for an old school friend.

      "Ah, well," I said, "we must see what can be done. Things may brighten. At any rate, you will be glad to learn that I am behind you in this enterprise. You have Bertram Wooster in your corner, Gussie."

      "Thanks, old man. And Jeeves, of course, which is the thing that really matters."

      I don't mind admitting that I winced. He meant no harm, I suppose, but I'm bound to say that this tactless speech nettled me not a little. People are always nettling me like that. Giving me to understand, I mean to say, that in their opinion Bertram Wooster is a mere cipher and that the only member of the household with brains and resources is Jeeves.

      It jars on me.

      And tonight it jarred on me more than usual, because I was feeling pretty dashed fed with Jeeves. Over that matter of the mess jacket, I mean. True, I had forced him to climb down, quelling him, as described, with the quiet strength of my personality, but I was still a trifle shirty at his having brought the thing up at all. It seemed to me that what Jeeves wanted was the iron hand.

      "And what is he doing about it?" I inquired stiffly.

      "He's been giving the position of affairs a lot of thought."

      "He has, has he?"

      "It's on his advice that I'm going to this dance."

      "Why?"

      "She is going to be there. In fact, it was she who sent me the ticket of invitation. And Jeeves considered——"

      "And why not as a Pierrot?" I said, taking up the point which had struck me before. "Why this break with a grand old tradition?"

      "He particularly wanted me to go as Mephistopheles."

      I started.

      "He did, did he? He specifically recommended that definite costume?"

      "Yes."

      "Ha!"

      "Eh?"

      "Nothing. Just 'Ha!'"

      And I'll tell you why I said "Ha!" Here was Jeeves making heavy weather about me wearing a perfectly ordinary white mess jacket, a garment not only tout ce qu'il y a de chic, but absolutely de rigueur, and in the same breath, as you might say, inciting Gussie Fink-Nottle to be a blot on the London scene in scarlet tights. Ironical, what? One looks askance at this sort of in-and-out running.

      "What has he got against Pierrots?"

      "I don't think he objects to Pierrots as Pierrots. But in my case he thought a Pierrot wouldn't be adequate."

      "I don't follow that."

      "He said that the costume of Pierrot, while pleasing to the eye, lacked the authority of the Mephistopheles costume."

      "I still don't get it."

      "Well, it's a matter of psychology, he said."

      There was a time when a remark like that would have had me snookered. But long association with Jeeves has developed the Wooster vocabulary considerably. Jeeves has always been a whale for the psychology of the individual, and I now follow him like a bloodhound when he snaps it out of the bag.

      "Oh, psychology?"

      "Yes. Jeeves is a great believer in the moral effect of clothes. He thinks I might be emboldened in a striking costume like this. He said a Pirate Chief would be just as good. In fact, a Pirate Chief was his first suggestion, but I objected to the boots."

      I saw his point. There is enough sadness in life without having fellows like Gussie Fink-Nottle going about in sea boots.

      "And are you emboldened?"

      "Well, to be absolutely accurate, Bertie, old man, no."

      A gust of compassion shook me. After all, though we had lost touch a bit of recent years, this man and I had once thrown inked darts at each other.

      "Gussie," I said, "take an old friend's advice, and don't go within a mile of this binge."

      "But it's my last chance of seeing her. She's off tomorrow to stay with some people in the country. Besides, you don't know."

      "Don't