'It must be quiet and secluded. I shall be playing the banjolele a good deal.'
'I've got the very shack for you. On the edge of the harbour and not a neighbour within a mile except Police Sergeant Voules. And he plays the harmonium. You could do duets.'
'Fine!'
'And there's a troupe of nigger minstrels down there this year. You could study their technique.'
'Chuffy, it sounds like heaven. And we shall be able to see something of each other for a change.'
'You don't come playing your damned banjolele at the Hall.'
'No, old man. But I'll drop over to lunch with you most days.'
'Thanks.'
'Don't mention it.'
'By the way, what has Jeeves got to say about all this? I shouldn't have thought he would have cared about leaving London.'
I stiffened a little.
'Jeeves has nothing to say on that or any other subject. We have parted brass-rags.'
'What!'
I had anticipated that the news would stagger him.
'Yes,' I said, 'from now on, Jeeves will take the high road and I'll take the low road. He had the immortal rind to tell me that if I didn't give up my banjolele he would resign. I accepted his portfolio.'
'You've really let him go?'
'I have.'
'Well, well, well!'
I waved a hand nonchalantly.
'These things happen,' I said. 'I'm not pretending I'm pleased, of course, but I can bite the bullet. My self- respect would not permit me to accept the man's terms. You can push a Wooster just so far. 'Very good, Jeeves,' I said to him. 'So be it. I shall watch your future career with considerable interest.' And that was that.'
We walked on for a bit in silence.
'So you've parted with Jeeves, have you?' said Chuffy, in a thoughtful sort of voice. 'Well, well, well! Any objection to my looking in and saying good-bye to him?'
'None whatever.'
'It would be a graceful act.'
'Quite.'
'I've always admired his intellect.'
'Me too. No one more.'
'I'll go round to the flat after lunch.'
'Follow the green line,' I said, and my manner was airy and even careless. This parting of the ways with Jeeves had made me feel a bit as if I had just stepped on a bomb and was trying to piece myself together again in a bleak world, but we Woosters can keep the stiff upper lip.
I lunched at the Drones and spent the afternoon there. I had much to think of. Chuffy's news that there was a troupe of nigger minstrels performing on the Chuffnell Regis sands had definitely weighed the scale down on the side of the advantages of the place. The fact that I would be in a position to forgather with these experts and possibly pick up a hint or two from their banjoist on fingering and execution enabled me to bear with fortitude the prospect of being in a spot where I would probably have to meet the Dowager Lady Chuffnell and her son Seabury pretty frequently. I had often felt how tough it must be for poor old Chuffy having this pair of pustules popping in and out all the time. And in saying this I am looking straight at little Seabury, a child who should have been strangled at birth. I have no positive proof, but I have always been convinced that it was he who put the lizard in my bed the last time I stayed at the Hall.
But, as I say, I was prepared to put up with this couple in return for the privilege of being in close communication with a really hot banjoist, and most of these nigger minstrel chaps can pick the strings like nobody's business. It was not, therefore, the thought of them which, as I returned to the flat to dress for dinner, was filling me with a strange moodiness.
No. We Woosters can be honest with ourselves. What was giving me the pip was the reflection that Jeeves was about to go out of my life. There never had been anyone like Jeeves, I felt, as I climbed sombrely into the soup and fish, and there never would be. A wave of not unmanly sentiment poured over me. I was conscious of a pang. And when my toilet was completed and I stood before the mirror, surveying that perfectly pressed coat, those superbly creased trousers, I came to a swift decision.
Abruptly, I went into the sitting-room and leaned on the bell.
'Jeeves,' I said. A word.'
'Yes, sir?'
'Jeeves,' I said, 'touching on our conversation this morning.'
'Yes, sir?'
'Jeeves,' I said, 'I have been thinking things over. I have come to the conclusion that we have both been hasty. Let us forget the past. You may stay on.'
'It is very kind of you, sir, but ... are you still proposing to continue the study of that instrument?'
I froze.
'Yes, Jeeves, I am.'
'Then I fear, sir ...'
It was enough. I nodded haughtily.
'Very good, Jeeves. That is all. I will, of course, give you an excellent recommendation.'
'Thank you, sir. It will not be necessary. This afternoon I entered the employment of Lord Chuffnell.'
I started.
'Did Chuffy sneak round here this afternoon and scoop you in?'
'Yes, sir. I go with him to Chuffnell Regis in about a week's time.'
'You do, do you? Well, it may interest you to know that I repair to Chuffnell Regis to-morrow.'
'Indeed, sir?'
'Yes. I have taken a cottage there. We shall meet at Philippi, Jeeves.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Or am I thinking of some other spot?'
'No, sir, Philippi is correct.'
'Very good, Jeeves.'
'Very good, sir.'
Such, then, is the sequence of events which led up to Bertram Wooster, on the morning of July the fifteenth, standing at the door of Seaview Cottage, Chuffnell Regis, surveying the scene before him through the aromatic smoke of a meditative cigarette.
3 RE-ENTER THE DEAD PAST
You know, the longer I live, the more I feel that the great wheeze in life is to be jolly well sure what you want and not let yourself be put off by pals who think they know better than you do. When I had announced at the Drones, my last day in the metropolis, that I was retiring to this secluded spot for an indeterminate period, practically everybody had begged me, you might say with tears in their eyes, not to dream of doing such a cloth- headed thing. They said I should be bored stiff.
But I had carried on according to plan, and here I was, on the fifth morning of my visit, absolutely in the pink and with no regrets whatsoever. The sun was shining. The sky was blue. And London seemed miles away – which it was, of course. I wouldn't be exaggerating if I said that a great peace enveloped the soul.
A thing I never know when I'm telling a story is how much scenery to bung in. I've asked one or two scriveners of my acquaintance, and their views differ. A fellow I met at a cocktail party in Bloomsbury said that he
