one of these dubious establishments without you. Especially a place where, as I understand your story, squads of policemen are incessantly chasing platinum-haired girls hither and thither, and probably even worse things happening as the long night wears on. No, Stilton, dismiss these thoughts – which, if you will allow me to say so, are unworthy of you – and … Ah, here is Jeeves,’ 1 said, noting with relief that the sterling fellow, who had just oozed in, was carrying the old familiar shaker. ‘What have you there, Jeeves? Some of your specials?’
‘Yes, sir. I fancied that Mr. Cheesewright might possibly be glad of refreshment.’
‘He’s just in the vein for it. I won’t join you, Stilton, because, as you know, with this Darts tournament coming on, I am in more or less strict training these days, but I must insist on your trying one of these superb mixtures of Jeeves’s. You have been anxious … worried … disturbed … and it will pull you together. Oh, by the way, Jeeves.’
‘Sir?’
‘I wonder if you remember, when I came home last night after chatting with Mr. Cheesewright at the Drones, my saying to you that I was going straight to bed with an improving book?’
‘Certainly, sir.’
‘
The Mystery of the Pink Crayfish
, was it not?’
‘Precisely, sir.’
‘I think I said something to the effect that I could hardly wait till I could get at it?’
‘As I recollect, those were your exact words, sir. You were, you said, counting the minutes until you could curl up with the volume in question.’
‘Thank you, Jeeves.’
‘Not at all, sir.’
He oozed off, and I turned to Stilton, throwing the arms out in a sort of wide gesture. I don’t suppose I have ever come closer in my life to saying ‘
Voilà
’!
‘You heard?’ I said. ‘If that doesn’t leave me without a stain on my character, it is difficult to see what it does leave me without. But let me help you to your special. You will find it rare and refreshing.’
It’s a curious thing about those specials of Jeeves’s, and one on which many revellers have commented, that while, as I mentioned earlier, they wake the sleeping tiger in you, they also work the other way round. I mean, if the tiger in you isn’t sleeping but on the contrary up and doing with a heart for any fate, they lull it. You come in like a lion, you take your snootful, and you go out like a lamb. Impossible to explain it, of course. One can merely state the facts.
It was so now with Stilton. In his pre-special phase he had been all steamed up and fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils, as the fellow said, and he became a better, kindlier man beneath my very gaze. Half-way through the initial snifter he was admitting in the friendliest way that he had wronged me. I might be the most consummate ass that ever eluded the vigilance of the talent scouts of Colney Hatch, he said, but it was obvious that I had not taken Florence to The Mottled Oyster. And dashed lucky for me I hadn’t, he added, for had such been the case, he would have broken my spine in three places. In short, all very chummy and cordial.
‘Harking back to the earlier portion of our conversation, Stilton,’ I said, changing the subject after we had agreed that his Uncle Joseph was a cockeyed fathead who would do well to consult some good oculist, ‘I noticed that when you spoke of Florence, you used the expression “My fiancée”. Am I to infer from this that the dove of peace has pulled a quick one since I saw you last? That broken engagement, has it been soldered?’
He nodded.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I made certain concessions and yielded certain points.’ Here his hand strayed to his upper lip and a look of pain passed over his face. ‘A reconciliation took place this morning.’
‘Splendid!’
‘You’re pleased?’
‘Of course.’
‘Ho!’
‘Eh?’
He eyed me fixedly.
‘Wooster, come off it. You know you’re in love with her
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