As an instance of what I mean, I remember meeting Monty Byng in Bond Street one morning, looking the last word in a grey check suit, and I felt I should never be happy till I had one like it. I dug the address of the tailors out of him, and had them working on the thing inside the hour.
"Jeeves," I said that evening. "I'm getting a check suit like that one of Mr. Byng's."
"Injudicious, sir," he said firmly. "It will not become you."
"What absolute rot! It's the soundest thing I've struck for years."
"Unsuitable for you, sir."
Well, the long and the short of it was that the confounded thing came home, and I put it on, and when I caught sight of myself in the glass I nearly swooned. Jeeves was perfectly4 right. I looked a cross between a music-hall comedian5 and a cheap bookie. Yet Monty had looked fine in absolutely the same stuff. These things are just Life's mysteries, and that's all there is to it.
But it isn't only that Jeeves's judgment6 about clothes is infallible, though, of course, that's really the main thing. The man knows everything. There was the matter of that tip on the "Lincolnshire." I forget now how I got it, but it had the aspect of being the real, red-hot tabasco.
"Jeeves," I said, for I'm fond of the man, and like to do him a good turn when I can, "if you want to make a bit of money have something on Wonderchild for the 'Lincolnshire.'"
He shook his head.
"I'd rather not, sir."
"But it's the straight goods. I'm going to put my shirt on him."
"I do not recommend it, sir. The animal is not intended to win. Second place is what the stable is after."
Perfect piffle, I thought, of course. How the deuce could Jeeves know anything about it? Still, you know what happened. Wonderchild led till he was breathing on the wire, and then Banana Fritter came along and nosed him out. I went straight home and rang for Jeeves.
"After this," I said, "not another step for me without your advice. From now on consider yourself the brains of the establishment."
"Very good, sir. I shall endeavour to give satisfaction."
And he has, by Jove! I'm a bit short on brain myself; the old bean would appear to have been constructed more for ornament7 than for use, don't you know; but give me five minutes to talk the thing over with Jeeves, and I'm game to advise any one about anything. And that's why, when Bruce Corcoran came to me with his troubles, my first act was to ring the bell and put it up to the lad with the bulging8 forehead.
"Leave it to Jeeves," I said.
I first got to know Corky when I came to New York. He was a pal9 of my cousin Gussie, who was in with a lot of people down Washington Square way. I don't know if I ever told you about it, but the reason why I left England was because I was sent over by my Aunt Agatha to try to stop young Gussie marrying a girl on the vaudeville10 stage, and I got the whole thing so mixed up that I decided11 that it would be a sound scheme for me to stop on in America for a bit instead of going back and having long cosy12 chats about the thing with aunt. So I sent Jeeves out to find a decent apartment, and settled down for a bit of exile. I'm bound to say that New York's a topping place to be exiled in. Everybody was awfully14 good to me, and there seemed to be plenty of things going on, and I'm a wealthy bird, so everything was fine. Chappies introduced me to other chappies, and so on and so forth15, and it wasn't long before I knew squads16 of the right sort, some who rolled in dollars in houses up by the Park, and others who lived with the gas turned down mostly around Washington Square—artists and writers and so forth. Brainy coves17.
Corky was one of the artists. A portrait-painter, he called himself, but he hadn't painted any portraits. He was sitting on the side-lines with a blanket over his shoulders, waiting for a chance to get into the game. You see, the catch about portrait-painting—I've looked into the thing a bit—is that you can't start painting portraits till people come along and ask you to, and they won't come and ask you to until you've painted a lot first. This makes it kind of difficult for a chappie. Corky managed to get along by drawing an occasional picture for the comic papers—he had rather a gift for funny stuff when he got a good idea—and doing bedsteads and chairs and things for the advertisements. His principal source of income, however, was derived19 from biting the ear of a rich uncle—one Alexander Worple, who was in the jute business. I'm a bit foggy as to what jute is, but it's apparently20 something the populace is pretty keen on, for Mr. Worple had made quite an indecently large stack out of it.
Now, a great many fellows think that having a rich uncle is a pretty soft snap: but, according to Corky, such is not the case. Corky's uncle was a robust21 sort of cove18, who looked like living for ever. He was fifty-one, and it seemed as if he might go to par13. It was not this, however, that distressed22 poor old Corky, for he was not bigoted23 and had no objection to the man going on living. What Corky kicked at was the way the above Worple used to harry24 him.
Corky's uncle, you see, didn't want him to be an artist. He didn't think he had any talent in that direction. He was always urging him to chuck Art and go into the jute business and start at the bottom and work his way up. Jute had apparently become a sort of obsession25 with him. He seemed to attach almost a spiritual importance to it. And what Corky said was that, while he didn't know what they did at the bottom of the jute business, instinct told him that it was something too beastly for words. Corky, moreover, believed in his future as an artist. Some day, he said, he was going to make a hit. Meanwhile, by using the utmost tact26 and persuasiveness27, he was inducing his uncle to cough up very grudgingly28 a small quarterly allowance.
He wouldn't have got this if his uncle hadn't had a hobby. Mr. Worple was peculiar29 in this respect. As a rule, from what I've observed, the American captain of industry doesn't do anything out of business hours. When he has put the cat out and locked up the office for the night, he just relapses into a state of coma30 from which he emerges only to start being a captain of industry again. But Mr. Worple in his spare time was what is known as an ornithologist31. He had written a book called American Birds, and was writing another, to be called More American Birds. When he had finished that, the presumption32 was that he would begin a third, and keep on till the supply of American birds gave out. Corky used to go to him about once every three months and let him talk about American birds. Apparently you could do what you liked with old Worple if you gave him his head first on his pet subject, so these little chats used to make Corky's allowance all right for the time being. But it was pretty rotten for the poor chap. There was the frightful33 suspense34, you see, and, apart from that, birds, except when broiled35 and in the society of a cold bottle, bored him stiff.
To complete the character-study of Mr. Worple, he was a man of extremely uncertain temper, and his general tendency was to think that Corky was a poor chump and that whatever step he took in any direction on his own account, was just another proof of his innate37 idiocy38. I should imagine Jeeves feels very much the same about me.
So when Corky trickled39 into my apartment one afternoon, shooing a girl in front of him, and said, "Bertie, I want you to meet my fiancée, Miss Singer," the aspect of the matter which hit me first was precisely40 the one which he had come to consult me about. The very first words I spoke41 were, "Corky, how about your uncle?"
The poor chap gave one of those mirthless laughs. He was looking anxious and worried, like a man who has done the murder all right but can't think what the deuce to do with the body.
"We're so scared, Mr. Wooster," said the girl. "We were hoping that you might suggest a way of breaking it to him."
Muriel Singer was one of those very quiet, appealing girls who have a way of looking at you with their big eyes as if they thought you were the greatest thing on earth and wondered that you hadn't got on to it yet yourself. She sat there in a sort of shrinking way, looking at me as if she were saying to herself, "Oh, I do hope this great strong man isn't going to hurt me." She gave a fellow a protective kind of feeling, made him want to stroke her hand and say, "There, there, little one!" or words to that effect. She made me feel that there was nothing I wouldn't do for her. She was rather like one of those innocent-tasting American drinks which creep imperceptibly into your system so that, before you know what you're doing, you're starting out to reform the world by force if necessary and pausing on your way to tell the large man in the corner that, if he looks at you like that, you will knock his head off. What I mean is, she made me feel alert and dashing, like a jolly old knight-errant or something of that kind. I felt that I was with her in this thing to the limit.
"I don't see why your uncle shouldn't be most awfully bucked," I said to Corky. "He will think Miss Singer the ideal wife for you."
Corky declined to cheer up.
"You don't know him. Even if he did like Muriel he wouldn't admit it. That's the sort of pig-headed guy he is. It would be a matter of principle with him to kick. All he would consider would be that I had gone and taken an important step without asking his advice, and he would raise Cain automatically. He's always done it."
I strained the old bean to meet this emergency.
"You want to work it so that he makes Miss Singer's acquaintance without knowing that you know her. Then you come along——"
"But how can I work it that way?"
I saw his point. That was the catch.
"There's only one thing to do," I said.
"What's that?"
"Leave it to Jeeves."
And I rang the bell.
"Sir?" said Jeeves, kind of manifesting himself. One of the rummy things about Jeeves is that, unless you watch like a hawk42, you very seldom see him come into a room. He's like one of those weird43 chappies in India who dissolve themselves into thin air and nip through space in a sort of disembodied way and assemble the parts again just where they want them. I've got a cousin who's what they call a Theosophist, and he says he's often nearly worked the thing himself, but couldn't quite bring it off, probably owing to having fed in his boyhood on the flesh of animals slain44 in anger and pie.
The moment I saw the man standing45 there, registering respectful attention, a weight seemed to roll off my mind. I felt like a lost child who spots his father in the offing. There was something about him that gave me confidence.
Jeeves is a tallish man, with one of those dark, shrewd faces. His eye gleams with the light of pure intelligence.
"Jeeves, we want your advice."
"Very good, sir."
I boiled down Corky's painful case into a few well-chosen words.
"So you see what it amount to, Jeeves. We want you to suggest some way by which Mr. Worple can make Miss Singer's acquaintance without getting on to the fact that Mr. Corcoran already knows her. Understand?"
"Perfectly, sir."
"Well, try to think of something."
"I have thought of something already, sir."
"You have!"
"The scheme I would suggest cannot fail of success, but it has what may seem to you a drawback, sir, in that it requires a certain financial outlay46."
"He means," I translated to Corky, "that he has got a pippin of an idea, but it's going to cost a bit."
Naturally the poor chap's face dropped, for this seemed to dish the whole thing. But I was still under the influence of the girl's melting gaze, and I saw that this was where I started in as a knight-errant.
"You can count on me for all that sort of thing, Corky," I said. "Only too glad. Carry on, Jeeves."
"I would suggest, sir, that Mr. Corcoran take advantage of Mr. Worple's attachment47 to ornithology48."
"How on earth did you know that he was fond of birds?"
"It is the way these New York apartments are constructed, sir. Quite unlike our London houses. The partitions between the rooms are of the flimsiest nature. With no wish to overhear, I have sometimes heard Mr. Corcoran expressing himself with a generous strength on the subject I have mentioned."
"Oh! Well?"
"Why should not the young lady write a small volume, to be entitled—let us say—The Children's Book of American Birds, and dedicate it to Mr. Worple! A limited edition could be published at your expense, sir, and a great deal of the book would, of course, be given over to eulogistic49 remarks concerning Mr. Worple's own larger treatise50 on the same subject. I should recommend the dispatching of a presentation copy to Mr. Worple, immediately on publication, accompanied by a letter in which the young lady asks to be allowed to make the acquaintance of one to whom she owes so much. This would, I fancy, produce the desired result, but as I say, the expense involved would be considerable."
I felt like the proprietor52 of a performing dog on the vaudeville stage when the tyke has just pulled off his trick without a hitch53. I had betted on Jeeves all along, and I had known that he wouldn't let me down. It beats me sometimes why a man with his genius is satisfied to hang around pressing my clothes and what-not. If I had half Jeeves's brain, I should have a stab at being Prime Minister or something.
"Jeeves," I said, "that is absolutely ripping! One of your very best efforts."
"Thank you, sir."
The girl made an objection.
"But I'm sure I couldn't write a book about anything. I can't even write good letters."
"Muriel's talents," said Corky, with a little cough "lie more in the direction of the drama, Bertie. I didn't mention it before, but one of our reasons for being a trifle nervous as to how Uncle Alexander will receive the news is that Muriel is in the chorus of that show Choose your Exit at the Manhattan. It's absurdly unreasonable54, but we both feel that that fact might increase Uncle Alexander's natural tendency to kick like a steer55."
I saw what he meant. Goodness knows there was fuss enough in our family when I tried to marry into musical comedy a few years ago. And the recollection of my Aunt Agatha's attitude in the matter of Gussie and the vaudeville girl was still fresh in my mind. I don't know why it is—one of these psychology56 sharps could explain it, I suppose—but uncles and aunts, as a class, are always dead against the drama, legitimate57 or otherwise. They don't seem able to stick it at any price.
But Jeeves had a solution, of course.
"I fancy it would be a simple matter, sir, to find some impecunious58 author who would be glad to do the actual composition of the volume for a small fee. It is only necessary that the young lady's name should appear on the title page."
"That's true," said Corky. "Sam Patterson would do it for a hundred dollars. He writes a novelette, three short stories, and ten thousand words of a serial59 for one of the all-fiction magazines under different names every month. A little thing like this would be nothing to him. I'll get after him right away."
"Fine!"
"Will that be all, sir?" said Jeeves. "Very good, sir. Thank you, sir."
I always used to think that publishers had to be devilish intelligent fellows, loaded down with the grey matter; but I've got their number now. All a publisher has to do is to write cheques at intervals60, while a lot of deserving and industrious61 chappies rally round and do the real work. I know, because I've been one myself. I simply sat tight in the old apartment with a fountain-pen, and in due season a topping, shiny book came along.
I happened to be down at Corky's place when the first copies of The Children's Book of American Birds bobbed up. Muriel Singer was there, and we were talking of things in general when there was a bang at the door and the parcel was delivered.
It was certainly some book. It had a red cover with a fowl62 of some species on it, and underneath63 the girl's name in gold letters. I opened a copy at random64.
"Often of a spring morning," it said at the top of page twenty-one, "as you wander through the fields, you will hear the sweet-toned, carelessly flowing warble of the purple finch65 linnet. When you are older you must read all about him in Mr. Alexander Worple's wonderful book—American Birds."
You see. A boost for the uncle right away. And only a few pages later there he was in the limelight again in connection with the yellow-billed cuckoo. It was great stuff. The more I read, the more I admired the chap who had written it and Jeeves's genius in putting us on to the wheeze66. I didn't see how the uncle could fail to drop. You can't call a chap the world's greatest authority on the yellow-billed cuckoo without rousing a certain disposition67 towards chumminess in him.
"It's a cert!" I said.
"An absolute cinch!" said Corky.
And a day or two later he meandered68 up the Avenue to my apartment to tell me that all was well. The uncle had written Muriel a letter so dripping with the milk of human kindness that if he hadn't known Mr. Worple's handwriting Corky would have refused to believe him the author of it. Any time it suited Miss Singer to call, said the uncle, he would be delighted to make her acquaintance.
Shortly after this I had to go out of town. Divers69 sound sportsmen had invited me to pay visits to their country places, and it wasn't for several months that I settled down in the city again. I had been wondering a lot, of course, about Corky, whether it all turned out right, and so forth, and my first evening in New York, happening to pop into a quiet sort of little restaurant which I go to when I don't feel inclined for the bright lights, I found Muriel Singer there, sitting by herself at a table near the door. Corky, I took it, was out telephoning. I went up and passed the time of day.
"Well, well, well, what?" I said.
"Why, Mr. Wooster! How do you do?"
"Corky around?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"You're waiting for Corky, aren't you?"
"Oh, I didn't understand. No, I'm not waiting for him."
It seemed to me that there was a sort of something in her voice, a kind of thingummy, you know.
"I say, you haven't had a row with Corky, have you?"
"A row?"
"A spat51, don't you know—little misunderstanding—faults on both sides—er—and all that sort of thing."
"Why, whatever makes you think that?"
"Oh, well, as it were, what? What I mean is—I thought you usually dined with him before you went to the theatre."
"I've left the stage now."
Suddenly the whole thing dawned on me. I had forgotten what a long time I had been away.
"Why, of course, I see now! You're married!"
"Yes."
"How perfectly topping! I wish you all kinds of happiness."
"Thank you, so much. Oh Alexander," she said, looking past me, "this is a friend of mine—Mr. Wooster."
I spun70 round. A chappie with a lot of stiff grey hair and a red sort of healthy face was standing there. Rather a formidable Johnnie, he looked, though quite peaceful at the moment.
"I want you to meet my husband, Mr. Wooster. Mr. Wooster is a friend of Bruce's, Alexander."
The old boy grasped my hand warmly, and that was all that kept me from hitting the floor in a heap. The place was rocking. Absolutely.
"So you know my nephew, Mr. Wooster," I heard him say. "I wish you would try to knock a little sense into him and make him quit this playing at painting. But I have an idea that he is steadying down. I noticed it first that night he came to dinner with us, my dear, to be introduced to you. He seemed altogether quieter and more serious. Something seemed to have sobered him. Perhaps you will give us the pleasure of your company at dinner to-night, Mr. Wooster? Or have you dined?"
I said I had. What I needed then was air, not dinner. I felt that I wanted to get into the open and think this thing out.
"Jeeves," I said, "now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of the party. A stiff b.-and-s. first of all, and then I've a bit of news for you."
He came back with a tray and a long glass.
"Better have one yourself, Jeeves. You'll need it."
"Later on, perhaps, thank you, sir."
"All right. Please yourself. But you're going to get a shock. You remember my friend, Mr. Corcoran?"
"Yes, sir."
"And the girl who was to slide gracefully72 into his uncle's esteem73 by writing the book on birds?"
"Perfectly, sir."
"Well, she's slid. She's married the uncle."
"That was always a development to be feared, sir."
"You don't mean to tell me that you were expecting it?"
"It crossed my mind as a possibility."
"Did it, by Jove! Well, I think, you might have warned us!"
"I hardly liked to take the liberty, sir."
Of course, as I saw after I had had a bite to eat and was in a calmer frame of mind, what had happened wasn't my fault, if you come down to it. I couldn't be expected to foresee that the scheme, in itself a cracker-jack, would skid75 into the ditch as it had done; but all the same I'm bound to admit that I didn't relish76 the idea of meeting Corky again until time, the great healer, had been able to get in a bit of soothing77 work. I cut Washington Square out absolutely for the next few months. I gave it the complete miss-in-baulk. And then, just when I was beginning to think I might safely pop down in that direction and gather up the dropped threads, so to speak, time, instead of working the healing wheeze, went and pulled the most awful bone and put the lid on it. Opening the paper one morning, I read that Mrs. Alexander Worple had presented her husband with a son and heir.
I was so darned sorry for poor old Corky that I hadn't the heart to touch my breakfast. I told Jeeves to drink it himself. I was bowled over. Absolutely. It was the limit.
I hardly knew what to do. I wanted, of course, to rush down to Washington Square and grip the poor blighter silently by the hand; and then, thinking it over, I hadn't the nerve. Absent treatment seemed the touch. I gave it him in waves.
But after a month or so I began to hesitate again. It struck me that it was playing it a bit low-down on the poor chap, avoiding him like this just when he probably wanted his pals78 to surge round him most. I pictured him sitting in his lonely studio with no company but his bitter thoughts, and the pathos79 of it got me to such an extent that I bounded straight into a taxi and told the driver to go all out for the studio.
I rushed in, and there was Corky, hunched80 up at the easel, painting away, while on the model throne sat a severe-looking female of middle age, holding a baby.
A fellow has to be ready for that sort of thing.
"Oh, ah!" I said, and started to back out.
Corky looked over his shoulder.
"Halloa, Bertie. Don't go. We're just finishing for the day. That will be all this afternoon," he said to the nurse, who got up with the baby and decanted81 it into a perambulator which was standing in the fairway.
"At the same hour to-morrow, Mr. Corcoran?"
"Yes, please."
"Good afternoon."
"Good afternoon."
Corky stood there, looking at the door, and then he turned to me and began to get it off his chest. Fortunately, he seemed to take it for granted that I knew all about what had happened, so it wasn't as awkward as it might have been.
"It's my uncle's idea," he said. "Muriel doesn't know about it yet. The portrait's to be a surprise for her on her birthday. The nurse takes the kid out ostensibly to get a breather, and they beat it down here. If you want an instance of the irony82 of fate, Bertie, get acquainted with this. Here's the first commission I have ever had to paint a portrait, and the sitter is that human poached egg that has butted83 in and bounced me out of my inheritance. Can you beat it! I call it rubbing the thing in to expect me to spend my afternoons gazing into the ugly face of a little brat84 who to all intents and purposes has hit me behind the ear with a blackjack and swiped all I possess. I can't refuse to paint the portrait because if I did my uncle would stop my allowance; yet every time I look up and catch that kid's vacant eye, I suffer agonies. I tell you, Bertie, sometimes when he gives me a patronizing glance and then turns away and is sick, as if it revolted him to look at me, I come within an ace1 of occupying the entire front page of the evening papers as the latest murder sensation. There are moments when I can almost see the headlines: 'Promising85 Young Artist Beans Baby With Axe86.'"
I kept away from the studio for some time after that, because it didn't seem right to me to intrude88 on the poor chappie's sorrow. Besides, I'm bound to say that nurse intimidated89 me. She reminded me so infernally of Aunt Agatha. She was the same gimlet-eyed type.
But one afternoon Corky called me on the 'phone.
"Bertie."
"Halloa?"
"Are you doing anything this afternoon?"
"Nothing special."
"You couldn't come down here, could you?"
"What's the trouble? Anything up?"
"I've finished the portrait."
"Yes." His voice sounded rather doubtful. "The fact is, Bertie, it doesn't look quite right to me. There's something about it—My uncle's coming in half an hour to inspect it, and—I don't know why it is, but I kind of feel I'd like your moral support!"
I began to see that I was letting myself in for something. The sympathetic co-operation of Jeeves seemed to me to be indicated.
"You think he'll cut up rough?"
"He may."
I threw my mind back to the red-faced chappie I had met at the restaurant, and tried to picture him cutting up rough. It was only too easy. I spoke to Corky firmly on the telephone.
"I'll come," I said.
"Good!"
"But only if I may bring Jeeves!"
"Why Jeeves? What's Jeeves got to do with it? Who wants Jeeves? Jeeves is the fool who suggested the scheme that has led——"
"Listen, Corky, old top! If you think I am going to face that uncle of yours without Jeeves's support, you're mistaken. I'd sooner go into a den36 of wild beasts and bite a lion on the back of the neck."
"Oh, all right," said Corky. Not cordially, but he said it; so I rang for Jeeves, and explained the situation.
"Very good, sir," said Jeeves.
That's the sort of chap he is. You can't rattle him.
We found Corky near the door, looking at the picture, with one hand up in a defensive91 sort of way, as if he thought it might swing on him.
"Stand right where you are, Bertie," he said, without moving. "Now, tell me honestly, how does it strike you?"
The light from the big window fell right on the picture. I took a good look at it. Then I shifted a bit nearer and took another look. Then I went back to where I had been at first, because it hadn't seemed quite so bad from there.
"Well?" said Corky, anxiously.
I hesitated a bit.
"Of course, old man, I only saw the kid once, and then only for a moment, but—but it was an ugly sort of kid, wasn't it, if I remember rightly?"
"As ugly as that?"
I looked again, and honesty compelled me to be frank.
"I don't see how it could have been, old chap."
"You're right quite, Bertie. Something's gone wrong with the darned thing. My private impression is that, without knowing it, I've worked that stunt93 that Sargent and those fellows pull—painting the soul of the sitter. I've got through the mere94 outward appearance, and have put the child's soul on canvas."
"But could a child of that age have a soul like that? I don't see how he could have managed it in the time. What do you think, Jeeves?"
"I doubt it, sir."
"It—it sorts of leers at you, doesn't it?"
"You've noticed that, too?" said Corky.
"I don't see how one could help noticing."
"All I tried to do was to give the little brute95 a cheerful expression. But, as it worked out, he looks positively96 dissipated."
"Just what I was going to suggest, old man. He looks as if he were in the middle of a colossal97 spree, and enjoying every minute of it. Don't you think so, Jeeves?"
"He has a decidedly inebriated98 air, sir."
Corky was starting to say something when the door opened, and the uncle came in.
For about three seconds all was joy, jollity, and goodwill99. The old boy shook hands with me, slapped Corky on the back, said that he didn't think he had ever seen such a fine day, and whacked100 his leg with his stick. Jeeves had projected himself into the background, and he didn't notice him.
"Well, Bruce, my boy; so the portrait is really finished, is it—really finished? Well, bring it out. Let's have a look at it. This will be a wonderful surprise for your aunt. Where is it? Let's——"
And then he got it—suddenly, when he wasn't set for the punch; and he rocked back on his heels.
"Oosh!" he exclaimed. And for perhaps a minute there was one of the scaliest silences I've ever run up against.
"Is this a practical joke?" he said at last, in a way that set about sixteen draughts101 cutting through the room at once.
I thought it was up to me to rally round old Corky.
"You want to stand a bit farther away from it," I said.
"You're perfectly right!" he snorted. "I do! I want to stand so far away from it that I can't see the thing with a telescope!" He turned on Corky like an untamed tiger of the jungle who has just located a chunk102 of meat. "And this—this—is what you have been wasting your time and my money for all these years! A painter! I wouldn't let you paint a house of mine! I gave you this commission, thinking that you were a competent worker, and this—this—this extract from a comic coloured supplement is the result!" He swung towards the door, lashing103 his tail and growling104 to himself. "This ends it! If you wish to continue this foolery of pretending to be an artist because you want an excuse for idleness, please yourself. But let me tell you this. Unless you report at my office on Monday morning, prepared to abandon all this idiocy and start in at the bottom of the business to work your way up, as you should have done half a dozen years ago, not another cent—not another cent—not another—Boosh!"
Then the door closed, and he was no longer with us. And I crawled out of the bombproof shelter.
"Corky, old top!" I whispered faintly.
Corky was standing staring at the picture. His face was set. There was a hunted look in his eye.
"Well, that finishes it!" he muttered brokenly.
"What are you going to do?"
"Do? What can I do? I can't stick on here if he cuts off supplies. You heard what he said. I shall have to go to the office on Monday."
I couldn't think of a thing to say. I knew exactly how he felt about the office. I don't know when I've been so infernally uncomfortable. It was like hanging round trying to make conversation to a pal who's just been sentenced to twenty years in quod.
And then a soothing voice broke the silence.
"If I might make a suggestion, sir!"
It was Jeeves. He had slid from the shadows and was gazing gravely at the picture. Upon my word, I can't give you a better idea of the shattering effect of Corky's uncle Alexander when in action than by saying that he had absolutely made me forget for the moment that Jeeves was there.
"I wonder if I have ever happened to mention to you, sir, a Mr. Digby Thistleton, with whom I was once in service? Perhaps you have met him? He was a financier. He is now Lord Bridgnorth. It was a favourite saying of his that there is always a way. The first time I heard him use the expression was after the failure of a patent depilatory which he promoted."
"Jeeves," I said, "what on earth are you talking about?"
"I mentioned Mr. Thistleton, sir, because his was in some respects a parallel case to the present one. His depilatory failed, but he did not despair. He put it on the market again under the name of Hair-o, guaranteed to produce a full crop of hair in a few months. It was advertised, if you remember, sir, by a humorous picture of a billiard-ball, before and after taking, and made such a substantial fortune that Mr. Thistleton was soon afterwards elevated to the peerage for services to his Party. It seems to me that, if Mr. Corcoran looks into the matter, he will find, like Mr. Thistleton, that there is always a way. Mr. Worple himself suggested the solution of the difficulty. In the heat of the moment he compared the portrait to an extract from a coloured comic supplement. I consider the suggestion a very valuable one, sir. Mr. Corcoran's portrait may not have pleased Mr. Worple as a likeness105 of his only child, but I have no doubt that editors would gladly consider it as a foundation for a series of humorous drawings. If Mr. Corcoran will allow me to make the suggestion, his talent has always been for the humorous. There is something about this picture—something bold and vigorous, which arrests the attention. I feel sure it would be highly popular."
Corky was glaring at the picture, and making a sort of dry, sucking noise with his mouth. He seemed completely overwrought.
And then suddenly he began to laugh in a wild way.
He began to stagger about all over the floor.
"He's right! The man's absolutely right! Jeeves, you're a life-saver! You've hit on the greatest idea of the age! Report at the office on Monday! Start at the bottom of the business! I'll buy the business if I feel like it. I know the man who runs the comic section of the Sunday Star. He'll eat this thing. He was telling me only the other day how hard it was to get a good new series. He'll give me anything I ask for a real winner like this. I've got a gold-mine. Where's my hat? I've got an income for life! Where's that confounded hat? Lend me a fiver, Bertie. I want to take a taxi down to Park Row!"
Jeeves smiled paternally109. Or, rather, he had a kind of paternal108 muscular spasm110 about the mouth, which is the nearest he ever gets to smiling.
"If I might make the suggestion, Mr. Corcoran—for a title of the series which you have in mind—'The Adventures of Baby Blobbs.'"
Corky and I looked at the picture, then at each other in an awed111 way. Jeeves was right. There could be no other title.
"Jeeves," I said. It was a few weeks later, and I had just finished looking at the comic section of the Sunday Star. "I'm an optimist112. I always have been. The older I get, the more I agree with Shakespeare and those poet Johnnies about it always being darkest before the dawn and there's a silver lining113 and what you lose on the swings you make up on the roundabouts. Look at Mr. Corcoran, for instance. There was a fellow, one would have said, clear up to the eyebrows114 in the soup. To all appearances he had got it right in the neck. Yet look at him now. Have you seen these pictures?"
"I took the liberty of glancing at them before bringing them to you, sir. Extremely diverting."
"They have made a big hit, you know."
"I anticipated it, sir."
I leaned back against the pillows.
"You know, Jeeves, you're a genius. You ought to be drawing a commission on these things."
"I have nothing to complain of in that respect, sir. Mr. Corcoran has been most generous. I am putting out the brown suit, sir."
"No, I think I'll wear the blue with the faint red stripe."
"Not the blue with the faint red stripe, sir."
"But I rather fancy myself in it."
"Not the blue with the faint red stripe, sir."
"Oh, all right, have it your own way."
"Very good, sir. Thank you, sir."
Of course, I know it's as bad as being henpecked; but then Jeeves is always right. You've got to consider that, you know. What?
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
ace
|
|
| n.A牌；发球得分；佼佼者；adj.杰出的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
inquiries
|
|
| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
omniscience
|
|
| n.全知，全知者，上帝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
comedian
|
|
| n.喜剧演员；滑稽演员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
judgment
|
|
| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
ornament
|
|
| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
bulging
|
|
| 膨胀； 凸出（部）； 打气； 折皱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
pal
|
|
| n.朋友，伙伴，同志；vi.结为友 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
vaudeville
|
|
| n.歌舞杂耍表演 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
cosy
|
|
| adj.温暖而舒适的，安逸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
par
|
|
| n.标准，票面价值，平均数量；adj.票面的，平常的，标准的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
awfully
|
|
| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
squads
|
|
| n.（军队中的）班( squad的名词复数 )；（暗杀）小组；体育运动的运动（代表）队；（对付某类犯罪活动的）警察队伍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
coves
|
|
| n.小海湾( cove的名词复数 )；家伙 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
cove
|
|
| n.小海湾，小峡谷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
derived
|
|
| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
robust
|
|
| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
distressed
|
|
| 痛苦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
bigoted
|
|
| adj.固执己见的，心胸狭窄的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
harry
|
|
| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
obsession
|
|
| n.困扰，无法摆脱的思想(或情感) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
tact
|
|
| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
persuasiveness
|
|
| 说服力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
grudgingly
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
coma
|
|
| n.昏迷，昏迷状态 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
ornithologist
|
|
| n.鸟类学家 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
presumption
|
|
| n.推测，可能性，冒昧，放肆，[法律]推定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
frightful
|
|
| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
suspense
|
|
| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
broiled
|
|
| a.烤过的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
den
|
|
| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
innate
|
|
| adj.天生的，固有的，天赋的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
idiocy
|
|
| n.愚蠢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
trickled
|
|
| v.滴( trickle的过去式和过去分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
precisely
|
|
| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
spoke
|
|
| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
hawk
|
|
| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
weird
|
|
| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
slain
|
|
| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
outlay
|
|
| n.费用，经费，支出；v.花费 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
attachment
|
|
| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
ornithology
|
|
| n.鸟类学 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
eulogistic
|
|
| adj.颂扬的，颂词的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
treatise
|
|
| n.专著；(专题)论文 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
spat
|
|
| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
proprietor
|
|
| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
hitch
|
|
| v.免费搭(车旅行)；系住；急提；n.故障；急拉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
unreasonable
|
|
| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
steer
|
|
| vt.驾驶，为…操舵；引导；vi.驾驶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
psychology
|
|
| n.心理，心理学，心理状态 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
legitimate
|
|
| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
impecunious
|
|
| adj.不名一文的，贫穷的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
serial
|
|
| n.连本影片，连本电视节目；adj.连续的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
intervals
|
|
| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
industrious
|
|
| adj.勤劳的，刻苦的，奋发的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
fowl
|
|
| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
underneath
|
|
| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
random
|
|
| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
finch
|
|
| n.雀科鸣禽(如燕雀，金丝雀等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
wheeze
|
|
| n.喘息声，气喘声；v.喘息着说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
disposition
|
|
| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
meandered
|
|
| （指溪流、河流等）蜿蜒而流( meander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
divers
|
|
| adj.不同的；种种的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
spun
|
|
| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
lair
|
|
| n.野兽的巢穴；躲藏处 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
gracefully
|
|
| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
esteem
|
|
| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
rattle
|
|
| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
skid
|
|
| v.打滑 n.滑向一侧；滑道 ，滑轨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
relish
|
|
| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
soothing
|
|
| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
pals
|
|
| n.朋友( pal的名词复数 )；老兄；小子；（对男子的不友好的称呼）家伙 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
pathos
|
|
| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
hunched
|
|
| （常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦）耸肩弓身的，伏首前倾的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
decanted
|
|
| v.将（酒等）自瓶中倒入另一容器( decant的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
irony
|
|
| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
butted
|
|
| 对接的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
brat
|
|
| n.孩子；顽童 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
promising
|
|
| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
axe
|
|
| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
scout
|
|
| n.童子军，侦察员；v.侦察，搜索 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
intrude
|
|
| vi.闯入；侵入；打扰，侵扰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
intimidated
|
|
| v.恐吓；威胁adj.害怕的；受到威胁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
defensive
|
|
| adj.防御的；防卫的；防守的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
groaned
|
|
| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
stunt
|
|
| n.惊人表演，绝技，特技；vt.阻碍...发育，妨碍...生长 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
brute
|
|
| n.野兽，兽性 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
positively
|
|
| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
colossal
|
|
| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
inebriated
|
|
| adj.酒醉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
goodwill
|
|
| n.善意，亲善，信誉，声誉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
whacked
|
|
| a.精疲力尽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
draughts
|
|
| n. <英>国际跳棋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
chunk
|
|
| n.厚片，大块，相当大的部分（数量） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
lashing
|
|
| n.鞭打；痛斥；大量；许多v.鞭打( lash的现在分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
growling
|
|
| n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
likeness
|
|
| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
massaging
|
|
| 按摩，推拿( massage的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
hysterical
|
|
| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
paternal
|
|
| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
paternally
|
|
| adv.父亲似地；父亲一般地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
spasm
|
|
| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
awed
|
|
| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
optimist
|
|
| n.乐观的人，乐观主义者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
lining
|
|
| n.衬里，衬料 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
eyebrows
|
|
| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |