Expecting Jeeves by P. G. Wodehouse Page A

without upsetting everything?”
    â€œOh, that’s all right. I’ve explained everything to old Blumenfield, and he quite sees my position. Of course, he’s sorry to lose me—said he didn’t see how he could fill my place and all that sort of thing—but, after all, even if it does land him in a bit of a hole, I think I’m right in resigning my part, don’t you?”
    â€œOh, absolutely.”
    â€œI thought you’d agree with me. Well, I ought to be shifting. Awfully glad to have seen something of you, and all that sort of rot. Pip-pip!”
    â€œToodle-oo!”
    He sallied forth, having told all those bally lies with the clear, blue, pop-eyed gaze of a young child. I rang for Jeeves. You know, ever since last night I had been exercising the old bean to some extent, and a good deal of light had dawned upon me.
    â€œJeeves!”
    â€œSir?”
    â€œDid you put that pie-faced infant up to bally-ragging Mr. Bassington-Bassington?”
    â€œSir?”
    â€œOh, you know what I mean. Did you tell him to get Mr. Bassington-Bassington sacked from the “Ask Dad” company?”
    â€œI would not take such a liberty, sir.” He started to put out my clothes. “It is possible that young Master Blumenfield may have gathered from casual remarks of mine that I did not consider the stage altogether a suitable sphere for Mr. Bassington-Bassington.”
    â€œI say, Jeeves, you know, you’re a bit of a marvel.”
    â€œI endeavour to give satisfaction, sir.”
    â€œAnd I’m frightfully obliged, if you know what I mean. Aunt Agatha would have had sixteen or seventeen fits if you hadn’t headed him off.”
    â€œ I fancy there might have been some little friction and unpleasantness, sir. I am laying out the blue suit with the thin red stripe, sir. I fancy the effect will be pleasing.”
    âˆ—
    It’s a rummy thing, but I had finished breakfast and gone out and got as far as the lift before I remembered what it was that I had meant to do to reward Jeeves for his really sporting behaviour in this matter of the chump Cyril. It cut me to the heart to do it, but I had decided to give him his way and let those purple socks pass out of my life. After all, there are times when a cove must make sacrifices. I was just going to nip back and break the glad news to him, when the lift came up, so I thought I would leave it till I got home.
    The coloured chappie in charge of the lift looked at me, as I hopped in, with a good deal of quiet devotion and what not.
    â€œI wish to thank yo’, suh,” he said, “for yo” kindness.”
    â€œEh? What?”
    â€œMisto” Jeeves done give me them purple socks, as you told him. Thank yo” very much, suh!”
    I looked down. The blighter was a blaze of mauve from the ankle-bone southward. I don’t know when I’ve seen anything so dressy.
    â€œOh, ah! Not at all! Right-o! Glad you like them!” I said.
    Well, I mean to say, what? Absolutely!

Comrade Bingo
    T HE thing really started in the Park — at the Marble Arch end — where weird birds of every description collect on Sunday afternoons and stand on soap-boxes and make speeches. It isn’t often you’ll find me there, but it so happened that on the Sabbath after my return to the good old Metrop. I had a call to pay in Manchester Square, and, taking a stroll round in that direction so as not to arrive too early, I found myself right in the middle of it.
    Now that the Empire isn’t the place it was, I always think the Park on a Sunday is the centre of London, if you know what I mean. I mean to say, that’s the spot that makes the returned exile really sure he’s back again. After what you might call my enforced sojourn in New York I’m bound to say that I stood there fairly lapping it all up. It did me good to listen to the lads giving tongue and realize that all had ended happily and