My Man Jeeves by P. G. Wodehouse Read Free Book Online

time Lady Malvern got back."
    "Exactly, sir."
    The more I looked at it in that way, the sounder this prison wheeze seemed to me. There was no doubt in the world that prison was just what the doctor ordered for Motty. It was the only thing that could have pulled him up. I was sorry for the poor blighter, but, after all, I reflected, a chappie who had lived all his life with Lady Malvern, in a small village in the interior of Shropshire, wouldn't have much to kick at in a prison. Altogether, I began to feel absolutely braced again. Life became like what the poet Johnnie says—one grand, sweet song. Things went on so comfortably and peacefully for a couple of weeks that I give you my word that I'd almost forgotten such a person as Motty existed. The only flaw in the scheme of things was that Jeeves was still pained and distant. It wasn't anything he said or did, mind you, but there was a rummy something about him all the time. Once when I was tying the pink tie I caught sight of him in the looking–glass. There was a kind of grieved look in his eye.
    And then Lady Malvern came back, a good bit ahead of schedule. I hadn't been expecting her for days. I'd forgotten how time had been slipping along. She turned up one morning while I was still in bed sipping tea and thinking of this and that. Jeeves flowed in with the announcement that he had just loosed her into the sitting–room. I draped a few garments round me and went in.
    There she was, sitting in the same arm–chair, looking as massive as ever. The only difference was that she didn't uncover the teeth, as she had done the first time.
    "Good morning," I said. "So you've got back, what?"
    "I have got back."
    There was something sort of bleak about her tone, rather as if she had swallowed an east wind. This I took to be due to the fact that she probably hadn't breakfasted. It's only after a bit of breakfast that I'm able to regard the world with that sunny cheeriness which makes a fellow the universal favourite. I'm never much of a lad till I've engulfed an egg or two and a beaker of coffee.
    "I suppose you haven't breakfasted?"
    "I have not yet breakfasted."
    "Won't you have an egg or something? Or a sausage or something? Or something?"
    "No, thank you."
    She spoke as if she belonged to an anti–sausage society or a league for the suppression of eggs. There was a bit of a silence.
    "I called on you last night," she said, "but you were out."
    "Awfully sorry! Had a pleasant trip?"
    "Extremely, thank you."
    "See everything? Niag'ra Falls, Yellowstone Park, and the jolly old Grand Canyon, and what–not?"
    "I saw a great deal."
    There was another slightly
frappé
silence. Jeeves floated silently into the dining–room and began to lay the breakfast–table.
    "I hope Wilmot was not in your way, Mr. Wooster?"
    I had been wondering when she was going to mention Motty.
    "Rather not! Great pals! Hit it off splendidly."
    "You were his constant companion, then?"
    "Absolutely! We were always together. Saw all the sights, don't you know. We'd take in the Museum of Art in the morning, and have a bit of lunch at some good vegetarian place, and then toddle along to a sacred concert in the afternoon, and home to an early dinner. We usually played dominoes after dinner. And then the early bed and the refreshing sleep. We had a great time. I was awfully sorry when he went away to Boston."
    "Oh! Wilmot is in Boston?"
    "Yes. I ought to have let you know, but of course we didn't know where you were. You were dodging all over the place like a snipe—I mean, don't you know, dodging all over the place, and we couldn't get at you. Yes, Motty went off to Boston."
    "You're sure he went to Boston?"
    "Oh, absolutely." I called out to Jeeves, who was now messing about in the next room with forks and so forth: "Jeeves, Lord Pershore didn't change his mind about going to Boston, did he?"
    "No, sir."
    "I thought I was right. Yes, Motty went to Boston."
    "Then how do you account, Mr. Wooster, for the fact