received offers, lucrative offers, to accept service elsewhere. You may judge of my dismay,
Mr. Wooster, when only this morning the bolt fell. She gave notice!”
“Good Lord!”
“Your consternation does credit, if I may say so, to the heart of the author of A Red, Red Summer Rose. But I am thankful to say the worst has not happened. The matter has been adjusted. Jane is not leaving me.”
“Good egg!”
“Good egg, indeed—though the expression is not familiar to me. I do not remember having come across it in your books. And, speaking of your books, may I say that what has impressed me about them even more than the moving poignancy of the actual narrative, is your philosophy of life. If there were more men like you, Mr. Wooster, London would be a better place.”
This was dead opposite to my Aunt Agatha’s philosophy of life, she having always rather given me to understand that it is the presence in it of chappies like me that makes London more or less of a plague spot; but I let it go.
“Let me tell you, Mr. Wooster, that I appreciate your splendid defiance of the outworn fetishes of a purblind social system. I appreciate it! You are big enough to see that rank is but the guinea stamp and that, in the magnificent words of Lord Bletchmore in Only a Factory Girl, ‘Be her origin ne’er so humble, a good woman is the equal of the finest lady on earth!’ ”
I sat up.
“I say! Do you think that?”
“I do, Mr. Wooster. I am ashamed to say that there was a time when I was like other men, a slave to the idiotic convention which we call Class Distinction. But, since I read your books—”
I might have known it. Jeeves had done it again.
“You think it’s all right for a chappie in what you might call a certain social position to marry a girl of what you might describe as the lower classes?”
“Most assuredly I do, Mr. Wooster.”
I took a deep breath, and slipped him the good news.
“Young Bingo—your nephew, you know—wants to marry a waitress,” I said.
“I honour him for it,” said old Little.
“You don’t object?”
“On the contrary.”
I took another deep breath and shifted to the sordid side of the business.
“I hope you won’t think I’m butting in, don’t you know,” I said, “but—er—well, how about it?”
“I fear I do not quite follow you.”
“Well, I mean to say, his allowance and all that. The money you’re good enough to give him. He was rather hoping that you might see your way to jerking up the total a bit.”
Old Little shook his head regretfully.
“I fear that can hardly be managed. You see, a man in my position is compelled to save every penny. I will gladly continue my nephew’s existing allowance, but beyond that I cannot go. It would not be fair to my wife.”
“What! But you’re not married?”
“Not yet. But I propose to enter upon that holy state almost immediately. The lady who for years has cooked so well for me honoured me by accepting my hand this very morning.” A cold gleam of triumph came into his eye. “Now let ’em try to get her away from me!” he muttered, defiantly.
“Young Mr. Little has been trying frequently during the afternoon to reach you on the telephone, sir,” said Jeeves that night, when I got home.
“I’ll bet he has,” I said. I had sent poor old Bingo an outline of the situation by messenger-boy shortly after lunch.
“He seemed a trifle agitated.”
“I don’t wonder. Jeeves,” I said, “so brace up and bite the bullet. I’m afraid I’ve bad news for you.”
“That scheme of yours—reading those books to old Mr. Little and all that—has blown out a fuse.”
“They did not soften him?”
“They did. That’s the whole bally trouble. Jeeves, I’m sorry to say that fiancée of yours—Miss Watson, you know—the cook, you know—well, the long and the short of it is that she’s chosen riches instead of honest worth, if you know what I mean.”
“Sir?”
“She’s handed you the mitten and gone and got engaged to old Mr. Little!”
“Indeed, sir?”
“You don’t seem much upset.”
“The fact is, sir, I had anticipated some such outcome.”
I stared at him. “Then what on earth did you suggest the scheme for?”
“To tell you the truth, sir, I was not wholly averse from a severance of my relations with Miss Watson. In fact, I greatly desired it. I respect Miss Watson exceedingly, but I have seen for a long time that we were not suited. Now, the other young person with whom I have an understanding—”
“Great Scott, Jeeves! There isn’t another?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“For some weeks, sir. I was greatly attracted by her when I first met her at a subscription dance at Camberwell.”
“My sainted aunt! Not—”
Jeeves inclined his head gravely.
“Yes, sir. By an odd coincidence it is the same young person that young Mr. Little—I have placed the cigarettes on the small table. Good night, sir.”
Aunt Agatha Makes a Bloomer
I suppose in the case of a chappie of really fine fibre and all that sort of thing, a certain amount of gloom and anguish would have followed this dishing of young Bingo’s matrimonial plans. I mean, if mine had been a noble nature, I would have been all broken up. But, what with one thing and another, I can’t say I let it weigh on me very heavily. The fact that less than a week after he had had the bad news I came on young Bingo dancing like an untamed gazelle at Ciro’s helped me to bear up.
A resilient bird, Bingo. He may be down, but he is never out. While these little love-affairs of his are actually on, nobody could be more earnest and blighted; but once the fuse has blown out and the girl has handed him his hat and begged him as a favour never to let her see him again, up he bobs as merry and bright as ever. If I’ve seen it happen once, I’ve
