‘Well, you are a sportsman!’ observed the young person, with considerable enthusiasm. And she proceeded to kiss me – in connection with which I have only to say that I was sorry she had just been devouring some sticky species of sweetmeat.
‘Jeeves, you’ve hit it!’ said Mr Wooster. ‘A sound, even fruity, scheme. I say, I suppose I’d better know your name and all that, if I’m a friend of your father’s.’
‘My name’s Peggy Mainwaring, thanks awfully,’ said the young person. ‘And my father’s Professor Mainwaring. He’s written a lot of books. You’ll be expected to know that.’
‘Author of the well-known series of philosophical treatises, sir,’ I ventured to interject. ‘They have a great vogue, though, if the young lady will pardon my saying so, many of the Professor’s opinions strike me personally as somewhat empirical. Shall I drive on to the school, sir?’
‘Yes, carry on. I say, Jeeves, it’s a rummy thing. Do you know, I’ve never been inside a girls’ school in my life.’
‘Indeed, sir?’
‘Ought to be a dashed interesting experience, Jeeves, what?’
‘I fancy that you may find it so, sir,’ I said.
We drove on a matter of half a mile down a lane, and, directed by the young person, I turned in at the gates of a house of imposing dimensions, bringing the car to a halt at the front door. Mr Wooster and the child entered, and presently a parlourmaid came out.
‘You’re to take the car round to the stables, please,’ she said.
‘Ah!’ I said. ‘Then everything is satisfactory, eh? Where has Mr Wooster gone?’
‘Miss Peggy has taken him off to meet her friends. And cook says she hopes you’ll step round to the kitchen later and have a cup of tea.’
‘Inform her that I shall be delighted. Before I take the car to the stables, would it be possible for me to have a word with Miss Tomlinson?’
A moment later I was following her into the drawing-room.
Handsome but strong-minded – that was how I summed up Miss Tomlinson at first glance. In some ways she recalled to my mind Mr Wooster’s Aunt Agatha. She had the same penetrating gaze and that indefinable air of being reluctant to stand any nonsense.
‘I fear I am possibly taking a liberty, madam,’ I began, ‘but I am hoping that you will allow me to say a word with respect to my employer. I fancy I am correct in supposing that Mr Wooster did not tell you a great deal about himself?’
‘He told me nothing about himself, except that he was a friend of Professor Mainwaring.’
‘He did not inform you, then, that he was the Mr Wooster?’
‘The Mr Wooster?’
‘Bertram Wooster, madam.’
I will say for Mr Wooster that, mentally negligible though he no doubt is, he has a name that suggests almost infinite possibilities. He sounds, if I may elucidate my meaning, like Someone – especially if you have just been informed that he is an intimate friend of so eminent a man as Professor Mainwaring. You might not, no doubt, be able to say off-hand whether he was Bertram Wooster the novelist, or Bertram Wooster the founder of a new school of thought; but you would have an uneasy feeling that you were exposing your ignorance if you did not give the impression of familiarity with the name. Miss Tomlinson, as I had rather foreseen, nodded brightly.
‘Oh, Bertram Wooster!’ she said.
‘He is an extremely retiring gentleman, madam, and would be the last to suggest it himself, but, knowing him as I do, I am sure that he would take it as a graceful compliment if you were to ask him to address the young ladies. He is an excellent extempore speaker.’
‘A very good idea,’ said Miss Tomlinson decidedly. ‘I am very much obliged to you for suggesting it. I will certainly ask him to talk to the girls.’
‘And should he make a pretence – through modesty – of not wishing—’
‘I shall insist.’
‘Thank you, madam. I am obliged. You will not mention my share in the matter? Mr Wooster might think that I had exceeded my duties.’
I drove round to the stables and halted the car in the yard. As I got out, I looked at it somewhat intently. It was a good car, and appeared to be in excellent condition, but somehow I seemed to feel that something was going to go wrong with it – something serious – something that would not be able to be put right again for at least a couple of hours.
One gets these presentiments.
It may have been some half-hour later that Mr Wooster came into the stable-yard as I was leaning against the car enjoying a quiet cigarette.
‘No, don’t chuck it away, Jeeves,’ he said, as I withdrew the cigarette from my mouth. ‘As a matter of fact, I’ve come to touch you for a smoke. Got one to spare?’
‘Only gaspers, I fear, sir.’
‘They’ll do,’ responded Mr Wooster, with no little eagerness. I observed that his manner was a trifle fatigued and his eye somewhat wild. ‘It’s a rummy thing, Jeeves, I seem to have lost my cigarette-case. Can’t find it anywhere.’
‘I am sorry to hear that, sir. It is not in the car.’
‘No? Must have dropped it somewhere, then.’ He drew at his gasper with relish. ‘Jolly creatures, small girls, Jeeves,’ he remarked, after a pause.
‘Extremely so, sir.’
‘Of course, I can imagine some fellows finding them a bit exhausting in – er—’
‘En masse, sir?’
‘That’s the word. A bit exhausting en masse.’
‘I must confess, sir, that that is how they used to strike me. In my younger days, at the outset of my career, sir, I was at one time page-boy in a school for young ladies.’
‘No, really? I never knew that before. I say, Jeeves – er – did the – er – dear little souls giggle much in your day?’
‘Practically without cessation, sir.’
‘Makes a fellow feel a bit of an ass, what? I shouldn’t wonder if they usedn’t to stare at you from time to time, too, eh?’
‘At the school where I was employed, sir, the young ladies had a regular game which they were accustomed to play when a male visitor arrived. They would stare fixedly at him and giggle, and there was a small prize for the one who made him blush first.’
‘Oh no, I say, Jeeves, not really?’
‘Yes, sir. They derived great enjoyment from the pastime.’
‘I’d no idea small girls were such demons.’
‘More deadly than the male, sir.’
Mr Wooster passed a handkerchief over his brow.
‘Well, we’re going to have tea in a few minutes, Jeeves. I expect I shall feel better after tea.’
‘We will hope so, sir.’
But I was by no means sanguine.
I had an agreeable tea in the kitchen. The buttered toast was good and the maids nice girls, though with little conversation. The parlourmaid, who joined us towards the end of the meal, after performing her duties in the school dining-room, reported that Mr Wooster was sticking it pluckily, but seemed feverish. I went back to the stable-yard, and I was just giving the car another look over when the young Mainwaring child appeared.
‘Oh, I say,’ she said, ‘will you give this to Mr Wooster when you see him?’ She held out Mr Wooster’s cigarette-case. ‘He must have dropped it somewhere. I say,’ she proceeded, ‘it’s an awful lark. He’s going to give a lecture to the school.’
‘Indeed, miss?’
‘We love it when there are lectures. We sit and stare at the poor dears, and try to make them dry up. There was a man last term who got hiccoughs. Do you think Mr Wooster will get hiccoughs?’
‘We can but hope for the best, miss.’
‘It would be such a lark, wouldn’t it?’
‘Highly enjoyable, miss.’
‘Well, I must be getting back. I want to get a front seat.’
And she scampered off. An engaging child. Full of spirits.
She had hardly gone when there was an agitated noise, and round the corner came Mr Wooster. Perturbed. Deeply so.
; ‘Jeeves!’
‘Sir?’
‘Start the car!’
‘Sir?’
‘I’m off!’
‘Sir?’
Mr Wooster danced a few steps.
‘Don’t stand there saying “sir?” I tell you I’m off. Bally off! There’s not a moment to waste. The situation’s desperate. Dash it, Jeeves, do you know what’s happened? The Tomlinson female has just sprung it on me that I’m expected to make a speech to the girls! Got to stand up there in front of the whole dashed collection and talk! I can just see myself! Get that car going, Jeeves, dash it all. A little speed, a little speed!’
‘Impossible, I fear, sir. The car is out of order.’
Mr Wooster gaped at me. Very glassily he gaped.
‘Out of order!’
‘Yes, sir. Something is wrong. Trivial, perhaps, but possibly a matter of some little time to repair.’ Mr Wooster, being one of those easygoing young gentlemen who will drive a car but never take the trouble to study its mechanism, I felt justified in becoming technical. ‘I think it is the differential gear, sir. Either that or the exhaust.’
I am fond of Mr Wooster, and I admit I came very near to melting as I looked at his face. He was staring at me in a sort of dumb despair that would have touched anybody.
‘Then I’m sunk! Or’ – a slight gleam of hope flickered across his drawn features – ‘do you think I could sneak out and leg it across country, Jeeves?’
‘Too late, I fear, sir.’ I indicated with a slight gesture the approaching figure of Miss Tomlinson, who was advancing with a serene determination in his immediate rear.
‘Ah, there you are, Mr Wooster.’
He smiled a sickly smile.
‘Yes – er – here I am!’
‘We are all waiting for you in the large schoolroom.’
‘But, I say, look here,’ said Mr Wooster, ‘I – I don’t know a bit what to talk about.’
‘Why, anything, Mr Wooster. Anything that comes into your head. Be bright,’ said Miss Tomlinson. ‘Bright and amusing.’
‘Oh, bright and amusing?’
‘Possibly tell them a few entertaining stories. But, at the same time, do not neglect the graver note. Remember that my girls are on the threshold of life, and will be eager to hear something brave and helpful and stimulating – something which they can remember in after years. But, of course, you know the sort of thing, Mr Wooster. Come. The young people are waiting.’
I have spoken earlier of resource and the part it plays in the life of a gentleman’s personal gentleman. It is a quality peculiarly necessary if one is to share in scenes not primarily designed for one’s co-operation. So much that is interesting in life goes on apart behind closed doors that your gentleman’s gentleman, if he is not to remain hopelessly behind the march of events, should exercise his wits in order to enable himself to be – if not a spectator – at least an auditor when there is anything of interest toward. I deprecate as vulgar and undignified the practice of listening at keyholes, but without lowering myself to that, I have generally contrived to find a way.
In the present case it was simple. The large schoolroom was situated on the ground floor, with commodious French windows, which, as the weather was clement, remained open throughout the proceedings. By stationing myself behind a pillar on the porch or verandah which adjoined the room, I was enabled to see and hear all. It was an experience which I should be sorry to have missed. Mr Wooster, I may say at once, indubitably excelled himself.
Mr Wooster is a young gentleman with practically every desirable quality except one. I do not mean brains, for in an employer brains are not desirable. The quality to which I allude is hard to define, but perhaps I might call it the gift of dealing with the Unusual Situation. In the presence of the Unusual, Mr Wooster is too prone to smile weakly and allow his eyes to protrude. He lacks Presence. I have often wished that I had the power to bestow upon him some of the savoir-faire of a former employer of mine, Mr Montague-Todd, the well-known financier, now in the second year of his sentence. I have known men call upon Mr Todd with the express intention of horsewhipping him and go away half an hour later laughing heartily and smoking one of his cigars. To Mr Todd it would have been child’s play to speak a few impromptu words to a schoolroom full of young ladies; in fact, before he had finished, he would probably have induced them to invest all their pocket-money in one of his numerous companies; but to Mr Wooster it was plainly an ordeal of the worst description. He gave one look at the young ladies, who were all staring at him in an extremely unwinking manner, then blinked and started to pick feebly at his coat-sleeve. His aspect reminded me of that of a bashful young man who, persuaded against his better judgment to go on the platform and assist a conjurer in his entertainment, suddenly discovers that rabbits and hardboiled eggs are being taken out of the top of his head.
The proceedings opened with a short but graceful speech of introduction from Miss Tomlinson.
‘Girls,’ said Miss Tomlinson, ‘some of you have already met Mr Wooster – Mr Bertram Wooster, and you all, I hope, know him by reputation.’ Here, I regret to say, Mr Wooster gave a hideous, gurgling laugh and, catching Miss Tomlinson’s eye, turned a bright scarlet. Miss Tomlinson resumed: ‘He has very kindly consented to say a few words to you before he leaves, and I am sure that you will all give him your very earnest attention. Now, please.’
She gave a spacious gesture with her right hand as she said the last two words, and Mr Wooster, apparently under the impression that they were addressed to him, cleared his throat and began to speak. But it appeared that her remark was directed to the young ladies, and was in the nature of a cue or signal, for she had no sooner spoken them than the whole school rose to its feet in a body and burst into a species of chant, of which I am glad to say I can remember the words, though the tune eludes me. The words ran as follows: –
‘Many greetings to you!
Many greetings to you!
Many greetings, dear stranger,
Many greetings,
Many greetings,
Many greetings to you!
Many greetings to you!
To you!’
Considerable latitude of choice was given to the singers in the matter of key, and there was little of what I might call co-operative effort. Each child went on till she had reached the end, then stopped and waited for the stragglers to come up. It was an unusual performance, and I, personally, found it extremely exhilarating. It seemed to smite Mr Wooster, however, like a blow. He recoiled a couple of steps and flung up an arm defensively. Then the uproar died away, and an air of expectancy fell upon the room. Miss Tomlinson directed a brightly authoritative gaze upon Mr Wooster, and he blinked, gulped once or twice, and tottered forward.
‘Well, you know—’ he said.
Then it seemed to strike him that this opening lacked the proper formal dignity.
‘Ladies—’
A silvery peal of laughter from the front row stopped him again.
‘Girls!’ said Miss Tomlinson. She spoke in a low, soft voice, but the effect was immediate. Perfect stillness instantly descended upon all present. I am bound to say that, brief as my acquaintance with Miss Tomlinson had been, I could recall few women I had admired more. She had grip.
I fancy that Miss Tomlinson had gauged Mr Wooster’s oratorical capabilities pretty correctly by this time, and had come to the conclusion that little in the way of a stirring address was to be expected from him.
‘Perhaps,’ she said, ‘as it is getting late, and he has not very much time to spare, Mr Wooster will just give you some little word of advice which may be helpful to you in after-life, and then we will sing the school song and disperse to our evening lessons.’
She looked at Mr Wooster. He passed a finger round the inside of his collar.
‘Advice? After-life? What? Well, I don’t know—’
‘Just some brief word of counsel, Mr Wooster,’ said Miss Tomlinson firmly.
‘Oh, well—Well, yes
—Well—’ It was painful to see Mr Wooster’s brain endeavouring to work. ‘Well, I’ll tell you something that’s often done me a bit of good, and it’s a thing not many people know. My old Uncle Henry gave me the tip when I first came to London. “Never forget, my boy,” he said, “that, if you stand outside Romano’s in the Strand, you can see the clock on the wall of the Law Courts down in Fleet Street. Most people who don’t know don’t believe it’s possible, because there are a couple of churches in the middle of the road, and you would think they would be in the way. But you can, and it’s worth knowing. You can win a lot of money betting on it with fellows who haven’t found it out.” And, by Jove, he was perfectly right, and it’s a thing to remember. Many a quid have I—’
Miss Tomlinson gave a hard, dry cough, and he stopped in the middle of a sentence.
‘Perhaps it will be better, Mr Wooster,’ she said, in a cold, even voice, ‘if you were to tell my girls some little story. What you say is, no doubt, extremely interesting, but perhaps a little—’
‘Oh, ah, yes,’ said Mr Wooster. ‘Story? Story?’ He appeared completely distraught, poor young gentleman. ‘I wonder if you’ve heard the one about the stockbroker and the chorus-girl?’
‘We will now sing the school song,’ said Miss Tomlinson, rising like an iceberg.
I decided not to remain for the singing of the school song. It seemed probable to me that Mr Wooster would shortly be requiring the car, so I made my way back to the stable-yard, to be in readiness.
I had not long to wait. In a very few moments he appeared, tottering. Mr Wooster’s is not one of those inscrutable faces which it is impossible to read. On the contrary, it is a limpid pool in which is mirrored each passing emotion. I could read it now like a book, and his first words were very much on the lines I had anticipated.
‘Jeeves,’ he said hoarsely, ‘is that damned car mended yet?’