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I don't know if it has happened to you at all, but a thing I've noticedwith myself is that, when I'm confronted by a problem which seems for themoment to stump and baffle, a good sleep will often bring the solution inthe morning.
It was so on the present occasion.
The nibs who study these matters claim, I believe, that this has gotsomething to do with the subconscious mind, and very possibly they may beright. I wouldn't have said off-hand that I had a subconscious mind, butI suppose I must without knowing it, and no doubt it was there, sweatingaway diligently at the old stand, all the while the corporeal Wooster wasgetting his eight hours.
For directly I opened my eyes on the morrow, I saw daylight. Well, Idon't mean that exactly, because naturally I did. What I mean is that Ifound I had the thing all mapped out. The good old subconscious m. haddelivered the goods, and I perceived exactly what steps must be taken inorder to put Augustus Fink-Nottle among the practising Romeos.
I should like you, if you can spare me a moment of your valuable time, tothrow your mind back to that conversation he and I had had in the gardenon the previous evening. Not the glimmering landscape bit, I don't meanthat, but the concluding passages of it. Having done so, you will recallthat when he informed me that he never touched alcoholic liquor, I shookthe head a bit, feeling that this must inevitably weaken him as a forcewhere proposing to girls was concerned.
And events had shown that my fears were well founded.
Put to the test, with nothing but orange juice inside him, he had proveda complete bust. In a situation calling for words of molten passion of anature calculated to go through Madeline Bassett like a red-hot gimletthrough half a pound of butter, he had said not a syllable that couldbring a blush to the cheek of modesty, merely delivering a well-phrasedbut, in the circumstances, quite misplaced lecture on newts.
A romantic girl is not to be won by such tactics. Obviously, beforeattempting to proceed further, Augustus Fink-Nottle must be induced tothrow off the shackling inhibitions of the past and fuel up. It must be aprimed, confident Fink-Nottle who squared up to the Bassett for Round No.2.
Only so could the _Morning Post_ make its ten bob, or whatever it is, forprinting the announcement of the forthcoming nuptials.
Having arrived at this conclusion I found the rest easy, and by the timeJeeves brought me my tea I had evolved a plan complete in every detail.This I was about to place before him--indeed, I had got as far as thepreliminary "I say, Jeeves"--when we were interrupted by the arrival ofTuppy.
He came listlessly into the room, and I was pained to observe that anight's rest had effected no improvement in the unhappy wreck'sappearance. Indeed, I should have said, if anything, that he was lookingrather more moth-eaten than when I had seen him last. If you canvisualize a bulldog which has just been kicked in the ribs and had itsdinner sneaked by the cat, you will have Hildebrand Glossop as he nowstood before me.
"Stap my vitals, Tuppy, old corpse," I said, concerned, "you're lookingpretty blue round the rims."
Jeeves slid from the presence in that tactful, eel-like way of his, and Imotioned the remains to take a seat.
"What's the matter?" I said.
He came to anchor on the bed, and for awhile sat picking at the coverletin silence.
"I've been through hell, Bertie."
"Through where?"
"Hell."
"Oh, hell? And what took you there?"
Once more he became silent, staring before him with sombre eyes.Following his gaze, I saw that he was looking at an enlarged photographof my Uncle Tom in some sort of Masonic uniform which stood on themantelpiece. I've tried to reason with Aunt Dahlia about this photographfor years, placing before her two alternative suggestions: (a) To burnthe beastly thing; or (b) if she must preserve it, to shove me inanother room when I come to stay. But she declines to accede. She saysit's good for me. A useful discipline, she maintains, teaching me thatthere is a darker side to life and that we were not put into this worldfor pleasure only.
"Turn it to the wall, if it hurts you, Tuppy," I said gently.
"Eh?"
"That photograph of Uncle Tom as the bandmaster."
"I didn't come here to talk about photographs. I came for sympathy."
"And you shall have it. What's the trouble? Worrying about Angela, Isuppose? Well, have no fear. I have another well-laid plan forencompassing that young shrimp. I'll guarantee that she will be weepingon your neck before yonder sun has set."
He barked sharply.
"A fat chance!"
"Tup, Tushy!"
"Eh?"
"I mean 'Tush, Tuppy.' I tell you I will do it. I was just going todescribe this plan of mine to Jeeves when you came in. Care to hear it?"
"I don't want to hear any of your beastly plans. Plans are no good. She'sgone and fallen in love with this other bloke, and now hates my gizzard."
"Rot."
"It isn't rot."
"I tell you, Tuppy, as one who can read the female heart, that thisAngela loves you still."
"Well, it didn't look much like it in the larder last night."
"Oh, you went to the larder last night?"
"I did."
"And Angela was there?"
"She was. And your aunt. Also your uncle."
I saw that I should require foot-notes. All this was new stuff to me. Ihad stayed at Brinkley Court quite a lot in my time, but I had no ideathe larder was such a social vortex. More like a snack bar on arace-course than anything else, it seemed to have become.
"Tell me the whole story in your own words," I said, "omitting no detail,however apparently slight, for one never knows how important the mosttrivial detail may be."
He inspected the photograph for a moment with growing gloom.
"All right," he said. "This is what happened. You know my views aboutthat steak-and-kidney pie."
"Quite."
"Well, round about one a.m. I thought the time was ripe. I stole from myroom and went downstairs. The pie seemed to beckon me."
I nodded. I knew how pies do.
"I got to the larder. I fished it out. I set it on the table. I foundknife and fork. I collected salt, mustard, and pepper. There were somecold potatoes. I added those. And I was about to pitch in when I heard asound behind me, and there was your aunt at the door. In a blue-and-yellowdressing gown."
"Embarrassing."
"Most."
"I suppose you didn't know where to look."
"I looked at Angela."
"She came in with my aunt?"
"No. With your uncle, a minute or two later. He was wearing mauve pyjamasand carried a pistol. Have you ever seen your uncle in pyjamas and apistol?"
"Never."
"You haven't missed much."
"Tell me, Tuppy," I asked, for I was anxious to ascertain this, "aboutAngela. Was there any momentary softening in her gaze as she fixed it onyou?"
"She didn't fix it on me. She fixed it on the pie."
"Did she say anything?"
"Not right away. Your uncle was the first to speak. He said to your aunt,'God bless my soul, Dahlia, what are you doing here?' To which shereplied, 'Well, if it comes to that, my merry somnambulist, what areyou?' Your uncle then said that he thought there must be burglars in thehouse, as he had heard noises."
I nodded again. I could follow the trend. Ever since the scullery windowwas found open the year Shining Light was disqualified in the Cesarewitchfor boring, Uncle Tom has had a marked complex about burglars. I canstill recall my emotions when, paying my first visit after he had barsput on all the windows and attempting to thrust the head out in order toget a sniff of country air, I nearly fractured my skull on a sort of irongrille, as worn by the tougher kinds of mediaeval prison.
"'What sort of noises?' said your aunt. 'Funny noises,' said your uncle.Whereupon Angela--with a nasty, steely tinkle in her voice, the littlebuzzard--observed, 'I expect it was Mr. Glossop eating.' And then she didgive me a look. It was the sort of wonderi
ng, revolted look a veryspiritual woman would give a fat man gulping soup in a restaurant. Thekind of look that makes a fellow feel he's forty-six round the waist andhas great rolls of superfluous flesh pouring down over the back of hiscollar. And, still speaking in the same unpleasant tone, she added, 'Iought to have told you, father, that Mr. Glossop always likes to have agood meal three or four times during the night. It helps to keep himgoing till breakfast. He has the most amazing appetite. See, he haspractically finished a large steak-and-kidney pie already'."
As he spoke these words, a feverish animation swept over Tuppy. His eyesglittered with a strange light, and he thumped the bed violently with hisfist, nearly catching me a juicy one on the leg.
"That was what hurt, Bertie. That was what stung. I hadn't so much asstarted on that pie. But that's a woman all over."
"The eternal feminine."
"She continued her remarks. 'You've no idea,' she said, 'how Mr. Glossoploves food. He just lives for it. He always eats six or seven meals aday, and then starts in again after bedtime. I think it's ratherwonderful.' Your aunt seemed interested, and said it reminded her of aboa constrictor. Angela said, didn't she mean a python? And then theyargued as to which of the two it was. Your uncle, meanwhile, poking aboutwith that damned pistol of his till human life wasn't safe in thevicinity. And the pie lying there on the table, and me unable to touchit. You begin to understand why I said I had been through hell."
"Quite. Can't have been at all pleasant."
"Presently your aunt and Angela settled their discussion, deciding thatAngela was right and that it was a python that I reminded them of. Andshortly after that we all pushed back to bed, Angela warning me in amotherly voice not to take the stairs too quickly. After seven or eightsolid meals, she said, a man of my build ought to be very careful,because of the danger of apoplectic fits. She said it was the same withdogs. When they became very fat and overfed, you had to see that theydidn't hurry upstairs, as it made them puff and pant, and that was badfor their hearts. She asked your aunt if she remembered the late spaniel,Ambrose; and your aunt said, 'Poor old Ambrose, you couldn't keep himaway from the garbage pail'; and Angela said, 'Exactly, so do please becareful, Mr. Glossop.' And you tell me she loves me still!"
I did my best to encourage.
"Girlish banter, what?"
"Girlish banter be dashed. She's right off me. Once her ideal, I am nowless than the dust beneath her chariot wheels. She became infatuated withthis chap, whoever he was, at Cannes, and now she can't stand the sightof me."
I raised my eyebrows.
"My dear Tuppy, you are not showing your usual good sense in thisAngela-chap-at-Cannes matter. If you will forgive me saying so, you havegot an _idee fixe_."
"A what?"
"An _idee fixe_. You know. One of those things fellows get. Like UncleTom's delusion that everybody who is known even slightly to the police islurking in the garden, waiting for a chance to break into the house. Youkeep talking about this chap at Cannes, and there never was a chap atCannes, and I'll tell you why I'm so sure about this. During those twomonths on the Riviera, it so happens that Angela and I were practicallyinseparable. If there had been somebody nosing round her, I should havespotted it in a second."
He started. I could see that this had impressed him.
"Oh, she was with you all the time at Cannes, was she?"
"I don't suppose she said two words to anybody else, except, of course,idle conv. at the crowded dinner table or a chance remark in a throng atthe Casino."
"I see. You mean that anything in the shape of mixed bathing andmoonlight strolls she conducted solely in your company?"
"That's right. It was quite a joke in the hotel."
"You must have enjoyed that."
"Oh, rather. I've always been devoted to Angela."
"Oh, yes?"
"When we were kids, she used to call herself my little sweetheart."
"She did?"
"Absolutely."
"I see."
He sat plunged in thought, while I, glad to have set his mind at rest,proceeded with my tea. And presently there came the banging of a gongfrom the hall below, and he started like a war horse at the sound of thebugle.
"Breakfast!" he said, and was off to a flying start, leaving me to broodand ponder. And the more I brooded and pondered, the more did it seem tome that everything now looked pretty smooth. Tuppy, I could see, despitethat painful scene in the larder, still loved Angela with all the oldfervour.
This meant that I could rely on that plan to which I had referred tobring home the bacon. And as I had found the way to straighten out theGussie-Bassett difficulty, there seemed nothing more to worry about.
It was with an uplifted heart that I addressed Jeeves as he came in toremove the tea tray.
Right Ho, Jeeves Page 12