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Home -> P.G. Wodehouse -> Right Ho, Jeeves -> Chapter 3

Right Ho, Jeeves - Chapter 3

1. Chapter 1

2. Chapter 2

3. Chapter 3

4. Chapter 4

5. Chapter 5

6. Chapter 6

7. Chapter 7

8. Chapter 8

9. Chapter 9

10. Chapter 10

11. Chapter 11

12. Chapter 12

13. Chapter 13

14. Chapter 14

15. Chapter 15

16. Chapter 16

17. Chapter 17

18. Chapter 18

19. Chapter 19

20. Chapter 20

21. Chapter 21

22. Chapter 22

23. Chapter 23


The first of the telegrams arrived shortly after noon, and Jeeves brought
it in with the before-luncheon snifter. It was from my Aunt Dahlia,
operating from Market Snodsbury, a small town of sorts a mile or two
along the main road as you leave her country seat.

It ran as follows:

_Come at once. Travers._

And when I say it puzzled me like the dickens, I am understating it; if
anything. As mysterious a communication, I considered, as was ever
flashed over the wires. I studied it in a profound reverie for the best
part of two dry Martinis and a dividend. I read it backwards. I read it
forwards. As a matter of fact, I have a sort of recollection of even
smelling it. But it still baffled me.

Consider the facts, I mean. It was only a few hours since this aunt and I
had parted, after being in constant association for nearly two months.
And yet here she was--with my farewell kiss still lingering on her cheek,
so to speak--pleading for another reunion. Bertram Wooster is not
accustomed to this gluttonous appetite for his society. Ask anyone who
knows me, and they will tell you that after two months of my company,
what the normal person feels is that that will about do for the present.
Indeed, I have known people who couldn't stick it out for more than a few

Before sitting down to the well-cooked, therefore, I sent this reply:

_Perplexed. Explain. Bertie._

To this I received an answer during the after-luncheon sleep:

_What on earth is there to be perplexed about, ass? Come at once.

Three cigarettes and a couple of turns about the room, and I had my
response ready:

_How do you mean come at once? Regards. Bertie._

I append the comeback:

_I mean come at once, you maddening half-wit. What did you think I meant?
Come at once or expect an aunt's curse first post tomorrow. Love.

I then dispatched the following message, wishing to get everything quite

_When you say "Come" do you mean "Come to Brinkley Court"? And when you
say "At once" do you mean "At once"? Fogged. At a loss. All the best.

I sent this one off on my way to the Drones, where I spent a restful
afternoon throwing cards into a top-hat with some of the better element.
Returning in the evening hush, I found the answer waiting for me:

_Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. It doesn't matter whether you
understand or not. You just come at once, as I tell you, and for heaven's
sake stop this back-chat. Do you think I am made of money that I can
afford to send you telegrams every ten minutes. Stop being a fathead and
come immediately. Love. Travers._

It was at this point that I felt the need of getting a second opinion. I
pressed the bell.

"Jeeves," I said, "a V-shaped rumminess has manifested itself from the
direction of Worcestershire. Read these," I said, handing him the papers
in the case.

He scanned them.

"What do you make of it, Jeeves?"

"I think Mrs. Travers wishes you to come at once, sir."

"You gather that too, do you?"

"Yes, sir."

"I put the same construction on the thing. But why, Jeeves? Dash it all,
she's just had nearly two months of me."

"Yes, sir."

"And many people consider the medium dose for an adult two days."

"Yes, sir. I appreciate the point you raise. Nevertheless, Mrs. Travers
appears very insistent. I think it would be well to acquiesce in her

"Pop down, you mean?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, I certainly can't go at once. I've an important conference on at
the Drones tonight. Pongo Twistleton's birthday party, you remember."

"Yes, sir."

There was a slight pause. We were both recalling the little
unpleasantness that had arisen. I felt obliged to allude to it.

"You're all wrong about that mess jacket, Jeeves."

"These things are matters of opinion, sir."

"When I wore it at the Casino at Cannes, beautiful women nudged one
another and whispered: 'Who is he?'"

"The code at Continental casinos is notoriously lax, sir."

"And when I described it to Pongo last night, he was fascinated."

"Indeed, sir?"

"So were all the rest of those present. One and all admitted that I had
got hold of a good thing. Not a dissentient voice."

"Indeed, sir?"

"I am convinced that you will eventually learn to love this mess-jacket,

"I fear not, sir."

I gave it up. It is never any use trying to reason with Jeeves on these
occasions. "Pig-headed" is the word that springs to the lips. One sighs
and passes on.

"Well, anyway, returning to the agenda, I can't go down to Brinkley Court
or anywhere else yet awhile. That's final. I'll tell you what, Jeeves.
Give me form and pencil, and I'll wire her that I'll be with her some
time next week or the week after. Dash it all, she ought to be able to
hold out without me for a few days. It only requires will power."

"Yes, sir."

"Right ho, then. I'll wire 'Expect me tomorrow fortnight' or words to
some such effect. That ought to meet the case. Then if you will toddle
round the corner and send it off, that will be that."

"Very good, sir."

And so the long day wore on till it was time for me to dress for Pongo's

Pongo had assured me, while chatting of the affair on the previous night,
that this birthday binge of his was to be on a scale calculated to
stagger humanity, and I must say I have participated in less fruity
functions. It was well after four when I got home, and by that time I was
about ready to turn in. I can just remember groping for the bed and
crawling into it, and it seemed to me that the lemon had scarcely touched
the pillow before I was aroused by the sound of the door opening.

I was barely ticking over, but I contrived to raise an eyelid.

"Is that my tea, Jeeves?"

"No, sir. It is Mrs. Travers."

And a moment later there was a sound like a mighty rushing wind, and the
relative had crossed the threshold at fifty m.p.h. under her own steam.

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