Jeeves and the Feudal Spirit by P.G. Wodehouse

Court? Anatole
all right?’
    ‘Never
better.’
    ‘You
look pretty roguish.’
    ‘Oh,
I’m fine.’
    ‘And
Uncle Tom?’
    A cloud
passed over her shining evening face.
    ‘Tom’s
still a bit low, poor old buster.’
    ‘Owing
to Percy, you mean?’
    ‘That’s
right.’
    ‘There
has been no change then in this Gorringe’s gloom?’
    ‘Naturally
not. He’s been worse than ever since Florence got here. Tom winces every time
he sees him, especially at meals. He says that having to watch Percy push away
untasted food cooked by Anatole gives him a rush of blood to the head, and that
gives him indigestion. You know how sensitive his stomach is’
    I
patted her hand.
    ‘Be of
good cheer,’ I said. ‘I’ll buck Perce up. Freddie Widgeon was showing me a
trick with two corks and a bit of string the other night which cannot fail to
bring a smile to the most tortured face. It had the lads at the Drones in
stitches. You will doubtless be able to provide a couple of corks?’
    ‘Twenty,
if you wish.’
    ‘Good.’
I took a cake with pink icing on it. ‘So much for Percy. What of the rest of the
personnel? Anybody here besides the Trotter gang and Florence?’
    ‘Not
yet. Tom said something about somebody named Lord Sidcup looking in for dinner
tomorrow on his way to the brine baths at Droitwich. Do you know him?’
    ‘Never
heard of him. He’s a sealed book to me.’
    ‘He’s
some man Tom met in London. Apparently he’s a bit of a nib on old silver, and
Tom wants to show him his collection.’
    I
nodded. I knew this uncle to be greatly addicted to the collecting of old
silver. His apartments both at Brinkley Court and at his house in Charles
Street are full of things I wouldn’t be seen dead in a ditch with.
    ‘What
they call a virtuoso this Lord Sidcup would be, I presume?’
    ‘Something
on those lines.’
    ‘Ah
well, it takes all sorts to make a world, does it not?’
    ‘We
shall also have with us tomorrow the boy friend Cheesewright, and the day after
that Daphne Dolores Morehead. She’s the novelist.’
    ‘I
know. Florence was telling me about her. You’ve bought a serial from her, I
understand.’
    ‘Yes. I
thought it would be a shrewd move to salt the mine.’
    I
didn’t get this. She seemed to me an aunt who was talking in riddles.
    ‘How do
you mean, salt the mine? What mine? This is the first I’ve heard of any mines.’
    I think
that if her mouth had not been full of buttered toast, she would have clicked
her tongue, for as soon as she had cleared the gangway with a quick swallow she
spoke impatiently, as if my slowness in the uptake had exasperated her.
    ‘You
really are an abysmal ass, young Bertie. Haven’t you ever heard of salting
mines? It’s a recognized business precaution. When you’ve got a dud mine you
want to sell to a mug, you sprinkle an ounce or two of gold over it and summon
the mug to come along and inspect the property. He rolls up, sees the gold,
feels that this is what the doctor ordered and reaches for his cheque book. I
worked on the same principle.’
    I was
still at a loss, and said so, and this time she did click her tongue.
    ‘Can’t
you grasp it, chump? I bought the serial to make the paper look good to
Trotter. He sees the announcement that a Daphne Morehead opus is coming along
and is terrifically impressed. “Gosh!” he says to himself. “Daphne Dolores
Morehead and everything! Mi-lady’s Boudoir must be hot stuff”.’
    ‘But
don’t these blokes want to see books and figures and things before they brass
up?’
    ‘Not if
they’ve been having Anatole’s cooking for a week or more. That’s why I asked
him down here.’
    I saw
what she meant, and her reasoning struck me as sound. There is something about
those lunches and dinners of Anatole’s that mellows you and saps your cool
judgment. After tucking into them all this time I presumed that L.G. Trotter
was going about in a sort of rosy mist, wanting to do kind acts right and left
like a Boy