Much Obliged, Jeeves

whereas Aunt Dahlia is as jovial and bonhomous as a pantomime dame in a Christmas pantomime. Curious.
    I welcomed her with a huge ‘Hello’, in both syllables of which a nephew’s love and esteem could be easily detected, and went so far as to imprint an affectionate kiss on her brow. Later I would take her roundly to task for filling the house with Spodes and Madeline Bassetts and bulging bounders in Panama hats, but that could wait.
    She returned my greeting with one of her uncouth hunting cries —‘Yoicks’, if I remember correctly. Apparently, when you’ve been with the Quorn and the Pytchley for some time, you drop into the habit of departing from basic English.
    ‘So here you are, young Bertie.’
    ‘You never spoke a truer word. Up and doing, with a heart for any fate.’
    ‘As thirsty as ever, I observe. I thought I would find you tucking into the drinks.’
    ‘Purely medicinal. I’ve had a shock.’
    ‘What gave you that?’
    ‘Suddenly becoming apprised of the fact that the blighter Spode was my fellow guest,’ I said, feeling that I couldn’t have a better cue for getting down to my recriminations. ‘What on earth was the idea of inviting a fiend in human shape like that here?’ I said, for I knew she shared my opinion of the seventh Earl of Sidcup. ‘You have told me many a time and oft that you consider him one of Nature’s gravest blunders. And yet you go out of your way to court his society, if court his society is the expression I want. You must have been off your onion, old ancestor.’
    It was a severe ticking-off, and you would have expected the blush of shame to have mantled her cheeks, not that you would have noticed it much, her complexion being what it was after all those winters in the hunting field, but she was apparently imp - something, impervious that’s the word, to remorse. She remained what Anatole would have called as cool as some cucumbers.
    ‘Ginger asked me to. He wanted Spode to speak for him at this election. He knows him slightly.’
    ‘Far the best way of knowing Spode.’
    ‘He needs all the help he can get, and Spode’s one of those silver-tongued orators you read about. Extraordinary gift of the gab he has. He could get into Parliament without straining a sinew.’
    I dare say she was right, but I resented any praiseof Spode. I made clear my displeasure by responding curtly:
    ‘Then why doesn’t he ? ‘
    ‘He can’t, you poor chump. He’s a lord.’
    ‘Don’t they allow lords in?’
    ‘No, they don’t.’
    ‘I see,’ I said, rather impressed by this proof that the House of Commons drew the line somewhere. ‘Well, I suppose you aren’t so much to blame as I had thought. How do you get on with him? ‘
    ‘I avoid him as much as possible.’
    ‘Very shrewd. I shall do the same. We now come to Madeline Bassett. She’s here, too. Why?’
    ‘Oh, Madeline came along for the ride. She wanted to be near Spode. An extraordinary thing to want, I agree. Morbid, you might call it. Florence Craye, of course, has come to help Ginger’s campaign.’
    I started visibly. In fact, I jumped about six inches, as if a skewer or knitting-needle had come through the seat of my chair.
    ‘You don’t mean Florence is here as well? ‘
    ‘With bells on. You seem perturbed.’
    ‘I’m all of a twitter. It never occurred to me that when I came here I would be getting into a sort of population explosion.’
    ‘Who ever told you about population explosions?’
    ‘Jeeves. They are rather a favourite subject of his. He says if something isn’t done pretty soon-‘
    ‘I’ll bet he said, If steps are not taken shortly through the proper channels.’
    ‘He did, as a matter of fact. He said, If steps aren’t taken shortly through the proper channels, half the world will soon be standing on the other half’s shoulders.’
    ‘All right if you’re one of the top layer.’
    ‘Yes, there’s that, of course.’
    ‘Though even then it would be uncomfortable. Tricky sort of balancing act.’
    ‘True.’
    ‘And difficult to go for a stroll if you wanted to stretch the legs. And one wouldn’t get much hunting.’
    ‘Not much.’
    We mused for awhile on what lay before us, and I remember thinking that present conditions, even with Spode and Madeline and Florence on the premises, suited one better. From this to thinking of Uncle Tom was but a step. It seemed to me that the poor old buster must be on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Even a single guest is