“Oh, it’s nothing at all, of course. The fact is, Sir Roderick is rather troublesome.”
“He thinks I’m not a good husband? Well, perhaps he’s right.”
“Pray do not be so absurd, Bertie. It is nothing as serious as that. But the nature of Sir Roderick’s profession unfortunately makes him over-cautious.”
I didn’t get it.
“Over-cautious?”
“Yes. I suppose it is inevitable. A nerve specialist[106] with his extensive practice has a rather special view of humanity.”
I understood. Sir Roderick Glossop, Honoria’s father, is always called a nerve specialist, because it sounds better, but everybody knows that he’s really a janitor to the loony-bin[107]. I mean to say, when your uncle begins to stick straws in his hair, old Glossop is the first person you send for. He arrives, examines the patient, talks about overexcited nervous systems, and recommends complete rest and seclusion and all that sort of thing. Practically every posh family in the country has called him in at one time or another, and I suppose that he has begun to suspect everybody
“You mean he thinks I may be crazy and he doesn’t want a crazy son-in-law?” I said.
Aunt Agatha seemed rather peeved at my intelligence.
“Of course, he does not think anything so ridiculous. I told you he was simply exceedingly cautious. He wants to satisfy himself that you are perfectly normal.”
Here she paused, for Spenser had come in with the coffee. When he had gone, she went on:
“He heard an extraordinary story about your having pushed his son Oswald into the lake at Ditteredge Hall. Incredible, of course. Even you would hardly do a thing like that.”
“Well, I leaned over to him, you know, and he fell into the water.”
“Oswald definitely accuses you of having pushed him into the water. That has disturbed Sir Roderick, and unfortunately he has heard about your poor Uncle Henry.”
She looked at me, and I took a sip of coffee. Our family has a good old skeleton in the cupboard[108]. My late Uncle Henry, you see, was the blot on the Wooster escutcheon[109]. An extremely good fellow personally, he did at times strange things. For example, he was keeping eleven pet rabbits in his bedroom. In fact, to be perfectly frank, he ended his career in some clinic.
“Is is very absurd, of course,” continued Aunt Agatha. “If any of the family had inherited poor Henry’s eccentricity—and it was nothing more—it would have been Claude and Eustace, and there could not be two brighter boys.”
Claude and Eustace were twins. It seemed to me that “bright” described them well. They were real daredevils.
“Look how well they are doing at Oxford. Your Aunt Emily[110] had a letter from Claude only the other day saying that they hoped to be elected shortly to a very important college club, called “The Seekers’.”
“Seekers?” I couldn’t recall any club of the name in my time at Oxford. “What do they seek?”
“Claude did not say. Truth or knowledge, I should imagine. It is evidently a very desirable club to belong to, for Claude added that Lord Rainsby, the Earl of Datchet’s son[111], was one of his fellow candidates. However, we are wandering from the point, which is that Sir Roderick wants to have a quiet talk with you quite alone. Now I rely on you, Bertie, to be—I won’t say intelligent, but at least sensible. Don’t giggle nervously; try to keep that horrible expression out of your eyes; don’t yawn or fidget; and remember that Sir Roderick is the president of the West London branch of the anti-gambling league, so please do not talk about horse-racing[112]. He will lunch with you at your flat tomorrow at one-thirty. Please remember that he drinks no wine, strongly disapproves of smoking, and can only eat the simplest food. Do not offer him coffee, for he considers it the root of half the nervetrouble in the world.”
“I should think a dog-biscuit[113] and a glass of water would about meet the case.”
“Bertie!”
“Oh, all right. Merely persiflage.”
“Now it is precisely that idiotic remarks will arouse Sir Roderick’s worst suspicions. Do please try to refrain from any flippancy when you are with him. He is a very serious-minded man … Are you going? Well, please remember all I have said. I rely on you, and, if anything goes wrong, I shall never forgive you.”
“Right!” I said.
And I went home.
I breakfasted pretty late next morning and went for a stroll afterwards. I had taken a stroll in the park, and got back as far as Hyde Park Corner, when some blighter sloshed me between the shoulder-blades[114]. It was young Eustace, my cousin. He was with two other fellows, the one was my cousin Claude and the one in the middle a pink-faced fellow with light hair.
“Bertie, old man!” said young Eustace affably.
“Hallo!” I said.
“Nice to meet you here! By the way, you’ve never met the old Dog-Face[115], have you? Dog-Face, this is my cousin Bertie. Lord Rainsby—Mr Wooster. We’ve just been round to your flat, Bertie. Bitterly disappointed that you were out, but were hospitably entertained by old Jeeves. That man is a real treasure.”
“What are you doing in London?” I asked.
“Oh, we’re just up for the day. We go back on the three-ten. And now, let’s talk about lunch you invite us to. Where will it be? Ritz? Savoy? Carlton?[116].”
“I can’t give you lunch. I’ve got an engagement myself. And,” I said, taking a look at my watch, “I’m late.” I hailed a taxi. “Sorry.”
“In this case,” said Eustace, “lend us a fiver[117].”
I hadn’t time to stop and argue. I gave them the fiver and hopped into the cab. It was twenty to two when I got to the flat. I bounded into the sittingroom, but it was empty.
Jeeves shimmied in.
“Sir Roderick has not yet arrived, sir.”
“Good Lord!” I said. “I thought I should find him smashing up the furniture.”
My experience is that the less you want a fellow, the more punctual he’s bound to be.
“I suppose you will find the arrangements quite satisfactory, sir.”
“What are you giving us?”
“Cold consommé[118], a cutlet, and a savoury, sir. With lemon-squash, iced[119].”
“Well, I don’t see how that can hurt him. But don’t bring coffee.”
“No, sir.”
“And don’t look mad, because, if you do, you’ll find yourself in an asylum before you know where you are.”
“Very good, sir.”
There was a ring at the bell.
“Let’s go, Jeeves!” I said.
8
Sir Roderick Comes to Lunch
I had met Sir Roderick Glossop before, of course, but only when I was with Honoria; and Honoria makes almost anybody you meet in the same room undersized and trivial by comparison. I had never realized till this moment what an extraordinarily formidable man he was. He had a pair of shaggy eyebrows; he was fairly tall and fairly broad, and he had the most enormous head, with practically no hair on it, which made it seem bigger and much more like the dome of St Paul’s[120]. I suppose his hat-size was nine or something. It shows what a stupid thing it is to develop your brain too much.
“Hello! Hello! Hello!” I said, trying to be cordial, and then had a sudden feeling that that was just the sort of thing I had been warned not to say. It is very difficult to start the conversation an occasion like this. A fellow living in a London flat is so handicapped. I mean to say, if I had the visitor in the country, I could have said, “Welcome to Meadowsweet Hall[121]!” or something like that. It sounds silly to say “Welcome to Number 6A, Crichton Mansions, Berkeley Street[122], W.”