Pelham Wodehouse - Thank You, Jeeves

I CONFESS that it was in sombre mood that I assembled the stick, the hat, and the lemon-coloured some half-hour later and strode out into the streets of London. But though I did not care to think what existence would be like without Jeeves, I had no thought of weakening. As I fumed the corner into Piccadilly, I was a thing of fire and chilled steel; and I think in about another half-jiffy I should have been snorting, if not actually shouting the ancient battle cry of the Woosters, had I not observed on the skyline a familiar form. This familiar form was none other than that of my boyhood friend, the fifth Baron Chuffnell -the chap, if you remember, whose Aunt Myrtle I had seen the previous night hobnobbingwith the hellhound, Glossop. The sight of him reminded me that I was in the market for a country cottage and that here was the very chap to supply same. I wonder if I have ever told you about Chuffy ?

Stop me if I have. He's a fellow I've known more or less all my life, he and self

having been at private school, Eton and Oxford together. We don't see a frightful lot of one another nowadays, however, as he spends most of his time down at Chuffnell Regis on the coast of Somersetshire, where he owns an enormous great place with about a hundred and hfty rooms and miles of rolling parkland. Don't run away, however, on the strength of this, with the impression that Chuffy is one of my wealthier cronies.

He's dashed hard up, poor bloke, like most fellows who own land, and only lives at Chuffnell Hall because he's stuck with it and can't afford to live anywhere else. If somebody came to him and offered to buy the place, he would kiss him on both cheeks. But who wants to buy a house that size in these times ? He can't even let it. So he sticks on there most of the year, with nobody to talk to except the local doctor and parson and his Aunt Myrtle and her twelve-year-old son, Seabury, who live at the Dower House in the park. A pretty mouldy existence for one who at the University gave bright promise of becoming one of the lads.

Chuffy also owns the village of Chuffnell Regis -not that that does him much good, either. I mean to say, the taxes on the estate and all the expenses of repairs and what not come to pretty nearly as much as he gets out of the rents, making the thing more or less of a washout.

Still, he is the landlord, and, as such, would

Doubtless have dozens of cottages at his disposal and probably only too glad of the chance of easing one of them off on to a reputable tenant like myself. " You're the very chap I wanted to see, Chuffy," I said accordingly, after our initial what-ho-ing, " Come right along with me to the Drones for a bite of lunch. I can put a bit of business in your way." He shook his head, wistfully, I thought. "I'd like it, Bertie, but I'm due at the Carlton in five minutes I'mlunching with a man." " Give him a miss." " I couldn't." " Well, bring him along, then, and we'll make it a threesome." Chuffy smiled rather wanly. " I don't think you'd enjoy it, Bertie. He's Sir Roderick Glossop." I goggled. It's always a bit of a shock, when you've just parted from Bloke A., to meet Bloke B. and have Bloke B. suddenly bring Bloke A. into the conversation. " Sir Roderick Glossop ? " • "Yes." " But I didn't know you knew him."