the sort of thing a chappie would wish to fi nd in his sitting-room

  before breakfast.

  Motty, the son, was about twenty-three, tall and thin and meek-

  looking. He had the same yellow hair as his mother, but he wore

  it plastered down and parted in the middle. His eyes bulged, too,

  but they weren’t bright. Th

  ey were a dull grey with pink rims. His

  chin gave up the struggle about half-way down, and he didn’t appear

  to have any eyelashes. A mild, furtive, sheepish sort of blighter, in

  short.

  “Awfully glad to see you,” I said. “So you’ve popped over, eh?

  Making a long stay in America?”

  “About a month. Your aunt gave me your address and told me to

  be sure and call on you.”

  I was glad to hear this, as it showed that Aunt Agatha was be-

  ginning to come round a bit. Th

  ere had been some unpleasantness a

  year before, when she had sent me over to New York to disentangle

  my Cousin Gussie from the clutches of a girl on the music-hall stage.

  When I tell you that by the time I had fi nished my operations, Gussie

  had not only married the girl but had gone on the stage himself, and

  was doing well, you’ll understand that Aunt Agatha was upset to no

  small extent. I simply hadn’t dared go back and face her, and it was

  a relief to fi nd that time had healed the wound and all that sort of

  thing enough to make her tell her pals to look me up. What I mean

  24

  MY MAN JEEVES

  is, much as I liked America, I didn’t want to have England barred

  to me for the rest of my natural; and, believe me, England is a jolly

  sight too small for anyone to live in with Aunt Agatha, if she’s really

  on the warpath. So I braced on hearing these kind words and smiled

  genially on the assemblage.

  “Your aunt said that you would do anything that was in your

  power to be of assistance to us.”

  “Rather? Oh, rather! Absolutely!”

  “Th

  ank you so much. I want you to put dear Motty up for a little

  while.”

  I didn’t get this for a moment.

  “Put him up? For my clubs?”

  “No, no! Darling Motty is essentially a home bird. Aren’t you,

  Motty darling?”

  Motty, who was sucking the knob of his stick, uncorked

  himself.

  “Yes, mother,” he said, and corked himself up again.

  “I should not like him to belong to clubs. I mean put him up

  here. Have him to live with you while I am away.”

  Th

  ese frightful words trickled out of her like honey. Th

  e woman

  simply didn’t seem to understand the ghastly nature of her proposal.

  I gave Motty the swift east-to-west. He was sitting with his mouth

  nuzzling the stick, blinking at the wall. Th

  e thought of having this

  planted on me for an indefi nite period appalled me. Absolutely ap-

  palled me, don’t you know. I was just starting to say that the shot

  wasn’t on the board at any price, and that the fi rst sign Motty gave of

  trying to nestle into my little home I would yell for the police, when

  she went on, rolling placidly over me, as it were.

  Th

  ere was something about this woman that sapped a chappie’s

  will-power.

  “I am leaving New York by the midday train, as I have to pay a

  visit to Sing-Sing prison. I am extremely interested in prison condi-

  tions in America. After that I work my way gradually across to the

  coast, visiting the points of interest on the journey. You see, Mr.

  Wooster, I am in America principally on business. No doubt you

  read my book, India and the Indians? My publishers are anxious for me to write a companion volume on the United States. I shall not be

  able to spend more than a month in the country, as I have to get back

  for the season, but a month should be ample. I was less than a month

  25

  P. G. WODEHOUSE

  in India, and my dear friend Sir Roger Cremorne wrote his America

  from Within after a stay of only two weeks. I should love to take dear Motty with me, but the poor boy gets so sick when he travels by

  train. I shall have to pick him up on my return.”

  From where I sat I could see Jeeves in the dining-room, laying

  the breakfast-table. I wished I could have had a minute with him

  alone. I felt certain that he would have been able to think of some

  way of putting a stop to this woman.

  “It will be such a relief to know that Motty is safe with you, Mr.

  Wooster. I know what the temptations of a great city are. Hitherto

  dear Motty has been sheltered from them. He has lived quietly with

  me in the country. I know that you will look after him carefully, Mr.

  Wooster. He will give very little trouble.” She talked about the poor

  blighter as if he wasn’t there. Not that Motty seemed to mind. He

  had stopped chewing his walking-stick and was sitting there with

  his mouth open. “He is a vegetarian and a teetotaller and is devoted

  to reading. Give him a nice book and he will be quite contented.”

  She got up. “Th

  ank you so much, Mr. Wooster! I don’t know what

  I should have done without your help. Come, Motty! We have just

  time to see a few of the sights before my train goes. But I shall have

  to rely on you for most of my information about New York, darling.

  Be sure to keep your eyes open and take notes of your impressions! It

  will be such a help. Good-bye, Mr. Wooster. I will send Motty back

  early in the afternoon.”

  Th

  ey went out, and I howled for Jeeves.

  “Jeeves! What about it?”

  “Sir?”

  “What’s to be done? You heard it all, didn’t you? You were in the

  dining-room most of the time. Th

  at pill is coming to stay here.”

  “Pill, sir?”

  “Th

  e excrescence.”

  “I beg your pardon, sir?”

  I looked at Jeeves sharply. Th

  is sort of thing wasn’t like him. It

  was as if he were deliberately trying to give me the pip. Th

  en I un-

  derstood. Th

  e man was really upset about that tie. He was trying to

  get his own back.

  “Lord Pershore will be staying here from to-night, Jeeves,” I said

  coldly.

  “Very good, sir. Breakfast is ready, sir.”

  26

  MY MAN JEEVES

  I could have sobbed into the bacon and eggs. Th

  at there wasn’t

  any sympathy to be got out of Jeeves was what put the lid on it. For

  a moment I almost weakened and told him to destroy the hat and

  tie if he didn’t like them, but I pulled myself together again. I was

  dashed if I was going to let Jeeves treat me like a bally one-man

  chain-gang!

  But, what with brooding on Jeeves and brooding on Motty, I

  was in a pretty reduced sort of state. Th

  e more I examined the situa-

  tion, the more blighted it became. Th

  ere was nothing I could do. If I

  slung Motty out, he would report to his mother, and she would pass

  it on to Aunt Agatha, and I didn’t like to think what would happen

  then. Sooner or later, I should be wanting to go back to England,

  and I didn’t want to get there and fi nd Aunt Agatha waiting on the

  quay for me with a stuff ed eelskin. Th

  ere was absolutely nothing for

  it but to put the fellow up and make the best of it.

  About midday Motty’s luggage arrived, and soon afterward a

  large parcel of what I took to be nice books. I brightened up a little

  when I saw it. It was one of those massive parcels and looked as if

  it had enough in it to keep the chappie busy for a year. I felt a trifl e

  more cheerful, and I got my Country Gentleman hat and stuck it on

  my head, and gave the pink tie a twist, and reeled out to take a bite

  of lunch with one or two of the lads at a neighbouring hostelry; and

  what with excellent browsing and sluicing and cheery conversation

  and what-not, the afternoon passed quite happily. By dinner-time I

  had almost forgotten blighted Motty’s existence.

  I dined at the club and looked in at a show afterward, and it

  wasn’t till fairly late that I got back to the fl at. Th

  ere were no signs

  of Motty, and I took it that he had gone to bed.

  It seemed rummy to me, though, that the parcel of nice books

  was still there with the string and paper on it. It looked as if Motty,

  after seeing mother off at the station, had decided to call it a day.

  Jeeves came in with the nightly whisky-and-soda. I could tell by

  the chappie’s manner that he was still upset.

  “Lord Pershore gone to bed, Jeeves?” I asked, with reserved hau-

  teur and what-not.

  “No, sir. His lordship has not yet returned.”

  “Not returned? What do you mean?”

  “His lordship came in shortly after six-thirty, and, having

  dressed, went out again.”

  27

  P. G. WODEHOUSE

  At this moment there was a noise outside the front door, a sort of

  scrabbling noise, as if somebody were trying to paw his way through

  the woodwork. Th

  en a sort of thud.

  “Better go and see what that is, Jeeves.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  He went out and came back again.

  “If you would not mind stepping this way, sir, I think we might

  be able to carry him in.”

  “Carry him in?”

  “His lordship is lying on the mat, sir.”

  I went to the front door. Th

  e man was right. Th

  ere was Motty

  huddled up outside on the fl oor. He was moaning a bit.

  “He’s had some sort of dashed fi t,” I said. I took another look.

  “Jeeves! Someone’s been feeding him meat!”

  “Sir?”

  “He’s a vegetarian, you know. He must have been digging into a

  steak or something. Call up a doctor!”

  “I hardly think it will be necessary, sir. If you would take his lordship’s legs, while I—”

  “Great Scot, Jeeves! You don’t think – he can’t be—”

  “I am inclined to think so, sir.”

  And, by Jove, he was right! Once on the right track, you couldn’t

  mistake it. Motty was under the surface.

  It was the deuce of a shock.

  “You never can tell, Jeeves!”

  “Very seldom, sir.”

  “Remove the eye of authority and where are you?”

  “Precisely, sir.”

  “Where is my wandering boy to-night and all that sort of

  thing, what?”

  “It would seem so, sir.”

  “Well, we had better bring him in, eh?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  So we lugged him in, and Jeeves put him to bed, and I lit a ciga-

  rette and sat down to think the thing over. I had a kind of forebod-

  ing. It seemed to me that I had let myself in for something pretty

  rocky.

  Next morning, after I had sucked down a thoughtful cup of tea,

  I went into Motty’s room to investigate. I expected to fi nd the fellow

  28

  MY MAN JEEVES

  a wreck, but there he was, sitting up in bed, quite chirpy, reading

  Gingery stories.

  “What ho!” I said.

  “What ho!” said Motty.

  “What ho! What ho!”

  “What ho! What ho! What ho!”

  After that it seemed rather diffi

  cult to go on with the

  conversation.

  “How are you feeling this morning?” I asked.

  “Topping!” replied Motty, blithely and with abandon. “I say, you

  know, that fellow of yours – Jeeves, you know – is a corker. I had a

  most frightful headache when I woke up, and he brought me a sort

  of rummy dark drink, and it put me right again at once. Said it was

  his own invention. I must see more of that lad. He seems to me dis-

  tinctly one of the ones!”

  I couldn’t believe that this was the same blighter who had sat

  and sucked his stick the day before.

  “You ate something that disagreed with you last night, didn’t

  you?” I said, by way of giving him a chance to slide out of it if he

  wanted to. But he wouldn’t have it, at any price.

  “No!” he replied fi rmly. “I didn’t do anything of the kind. I

  drank too much! Much too much. Lots and lots too much! And,

  what’s more, I’m going to do it again! I’m going to do it every night.

  If ever you see me sober, old top,” he said, with a kind of holy exalta-

  tion, “tap me on the shoulder and say, ‘Tut! Tut!’ and I’ll apologize

  and remedy the defect.”

  “But I say, you know, what about me?”

  “What about you?”

  “Well, I’m so to speak, as it were, kind of responsible for you.

  What I mean to say is, if you go doing this sort of thing I’m apt to

  get in the soup somewhat.”

  “I can’t help your troubles,” said Motty fi rmly. “Listen to me,

  old thing: this is the fi rst time in my life that I’ve had a real chance

  to yield to the temptations of a great city. What’s the use of a great

  city having temptations if fellows don’t yield to them? Makes it so

  bally discouraging for a great city. Besides, mother told me to keep

  my eyes open and collect impressions.”

  I sat on the edge of the bed. I felt dizzy.

  29

  P. G. WODEHOUSE

  “I know just how you feel, old dear,” said Motty consolingly.

  “And, if my principles would permit it, I would simmer down for

  your sake. But duty fi rst! Th

  is is the fi rst time I’ve been let out alone,

  and I mean to make the most of it. We’re only young once. Why

  interfere with life’s morning? Young man, rejoice in thy youth! Tra-

  la! What ho!”

  Put like that, it did seem reasonable.

  “All my bally life, dear boy,” Motty went on, “I’ve been cooped

  up in the ancestral home at Much Middlefold, in Shropshire, and

  till you’ve been cooped up in Much Middlefold you don’t know what

  cooping is! Th

  e only time we get any excitement is when one of the

  choir-boys is caught sucking chocolate during the sermon. When

  that happens, we talk about it for days. I’ve got about a month of

  New York, and I mean to store up a few happy memories for the long

  winter evenings. Th

  is is my only chance to collect a past, and I’m

  going to do it. Now tell me, old sport, as man to man, how does one

  get in touch with that very decent chappie Jeeves? Does one ring a

  bell or shout a bit? I should like to discuss the subject of a good stiff

  b.-and-s. with him!”

  %

  I had had a sort of vague idea, don’t you know, that if I stuck

  close to Motty and went about the place with him, I might act as

  a bit of a damper on the gaiety. What I mean is, I thought that if,

  when he was being the life and soul of the party, he were to catch

  my reproving eye he might ease up a trifl e on the revelry. So the next

  night I took him along to supper with me. It was the last time. I’m a

  quiet, peaceful sort of chappie who has lived all his life in London,

  and I can’t stand the pace these swift sportsmen from the rural dis-

  tricts set. What I mean to say is this, I’m all for rational enjoyment

  and so forth, but I think a chappie makes himself conspicuous when

  he throws soft-boiled eggs at the electric fan. And decent mirth and

  all that sort of thing are all right, but I do bar dancing on tables and

  having to dash all over the place dodging waiters, managers, and

  chuckers-out, just when you want to sit still and digest.

  Directly I managed to tear myself away that night and get home,

  I made up my mind that this was jolly well the last time that I went

  about with Motty. Th

  e only time I met him late at night after that

  was once when I passed the door of a fairly low-down sort of restau-

  30

  MY MAN JEEVES

  rant and had to step aside to dodge him as he sailed through the air

  en route for the opposite pavement, with a muscular sort of looking chappie peering out after him with a kind of gloomy satisfaction.

  In a way, I couldn’t help sympathizing with the fellow. He had

  about four weeks to have the good time that ought to have been

  spread over about ten years, and I didn’t wonder at his wanting to

  be pretty busy. I should have been just the same in his place. Still,

  there was no denying that it was a bit thick. If it hadn’t been for the

  thought of Lady Malvern and Aunt Agatha in the background, I

  should have regarded Motty’s rapid work with an indulgent smile.

  But I couldn’t get rid of the feeling that, sooner or later, I was the lad who was scheduled to get it behind the ear. And what with brooding

  on this prospect, and sitting up in the old fl at waiting for the famil-

  iar footstep, and putting it to bed when it got there, and stealing

 

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