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

convinced my Aunt Agatha that I hadn't lured that blighter into riotous living."
    "I fancy you are right, sir."
    I champed my egg for a bit. I was most awfully moved, don't you know, by the way Jeeves had rallied round. Something seemed to tell me that this was an occasion that called for rich rewards. For a moment I hesitated. Then I made up my mind.
    "Jeeves!"
    "Sir?"
    "That pink tie!"
    "Yes, sir?"
    "Burn it!"
    "Thank you, sir."
    "And, Jeeves!"
    "Yes, sir?"
    "Take a taxi and get me that Longacre hat, as worn by John Drew!"
    "Thank you very much, sir."
    I felt most awfully braced. I felt as if the clouds had rolled away and all was as it used to be. I felt like one of those chappies in the novels who calls off the fight with his wife in the last chapter and decides to forget and forgive. I felt I wanted to do all sorts of other things to show Jeeves that I appreciated him.
    "Jeeves," I said, "it isn't enough. Is there anything else you would like?"
    "Yes, sir. If I may make the suggestion—fifty dollars."
    "Fifty dollars?"
    "It will enable me to pay a debt of honour, sir. I owe it to his lordship."
    "You owe Lord Pershore fifty dollars?"
    "Yes, sir. I happened to meet him in the street the night his lordship was arrested. I had been thinking a good deal about the most suitable method of inducing him to abandon his mode of living, sir. His lordship was a little over–excited at the time and I fancy that he mistook me for a friend of his. At any rate when I took the liberty of wagering him fifty dollars that he would not punch a passing policeman in the eye, he accepted the bet very cordially and won it."
    I produced my pocket–book and counted out a hundred.
    "Take this, Jeeves," I said; "fifty isn't enough. Do you know, Jeeves, you're—well, you absolutely stand alone!"
    "I endeavour to give satisfaction, sir," said Jeeves.

JEEVES AND THE HARD–BOILED EGG
    Sometimes of a morning, as I've sat in bed sucking down the early cup of tea and watched my man Jeeves flitting about the room and putting out the raiment for the day, I've wondered what the deuce I should do if the fellow ever took it into his head to leave me. It's not so bad now I'm in New York, but in London the anxiety was frightful. There used to be all sorts of attempts on the part of low blighters to sneak him away from me. Young Reggie Foljambe to my certain knowledge offered him double what I was giving him, and Alistair Bingham–Reeves, who's got a valet who had been known to press his trousers sideways, used to look at him, when he came to see me, with a kind of glittering hungry eye which disturbed me deucedly. Bally pirates!
    The thing, you see, is that Jeeves is so dashed competent. You can spot it even in the way he shoves studs into a shirt.
    I rely on him absolutely in every crisis, and he never lets me down. And, what's more, he can always be counted on to extend himself on behalf of any pal of mine who happens to be to all appearances knee–deep in the bouillon. Take the rather rummy case, for instance, of dear old Bicky and his uncle, the hard–boiled egg.
    It happened after I had been in America for a few months. I got back to the flat latish one night, and when Jeeves brought me the final drink he said:
    "Mr. Bickersteth called to see you this evening, sir, while you were out."
    "Oh?" I said.
    "Twice, sir. He appeared a trifle agitated."
    "What, pipped?"
    "He gave that impression, sir."
    I sipped the whisky. I was sorry if Bicky was in trouble, but, as a matter of fact, I was rather glad to have something I could discuss freely with Jeeves just then, because things had been a bit strained between us for some time, and it had been rather difficult to hit on anything to talk about that wasn't apt to take a personal turn. You see, I had decided—rightly or wrongly—to grow a moustache and this had cut Jeeves to the quick. He couldn't stick the thing at any price, and I had been living ever since in an atmosphere of bally disapproval till I was