Right Ho, Jeeves

her. It’s something in the air.”
    “I see exactly what you mean. That’s just what I want to be able to do—work up to it. And in London—curse the place—everything’s in such a rush that you don’t get a chance.”
    “Quite. You see a girl alone for about five minutes a day, and if you want to ask her to be your wife, you’ve got to charge into it as if you were trying to grab the gold ring on a merry-go-round.”
    “That’s right. London rattles one. I shall be a different man altogether in the country. What a bit of luck this Travers woman turning out to be your aunt.”
    “I don’t know what you mean, turning out to be my aunt. She has been my aunt all along.”
    “I mean, how extraordinary that it should be your aunt that Madeline’s going to stay with.”
    “Not at all. She and my Cousin Angela are close friends. At Cannes she was with us all the time.”
    “Oh, you met Madeline at Cannes, did you? By Jove, Bertie,” said the poor lizard devoutly, “I wish I could have seen her at Cannes. How wonderful she must have looked in beach pyjamas! Oh, Bertie–-”
    “Quite,” I said, a little distantly. Even when restored by one of Jeeves’s depth bombs, one doesn’t want this sort of thing after a hard night. I touched the bell and, when Jeeves appeared, requested him to bring me telegraph form and pencil. I then wrote a well-worded communication to Aunt Dahlia, informing her that I was sending my friend, Augustus Fink-Nottle, down to Brinkley today to enjoy her hospitality, and handed it to Gussie.
    “Push that in at the first post office you pass,” I said. “She will find it waiting for her on her return.”
    Gussie popped along, flapping the telegram and looking like a close-up of Joan Crawford, and I turned to Jeeves and gave him a precis of my operations.
    “Simple, you observe, Jeeves. Nothing elaborate.”
    “No, sir.”
    “Nothing far-fetched. Nothing strained or bizarre. Just Nature’s remedy.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “This is the attack as it should have been delivered. What do you call it when two people of opposite sexes are bunged together in close association in a secluded spot, meeting each other every day and seeing a lot of each other?”
    “Is ‘propinquity’ the word you wish, sir?”
    “It is. I stake everything on propinquity, Jeeves. Propinquity, in my opinion, is what will do the trick. At the moment, as you are aware, Gussie is a mere jelly when in the presence. But ask yourself how he will feel in a week or so, after he and she have been helping themselves to sausages out of the same dish day after day at the breakfast sideboard. Cutting the same ham, ladling out communal kidneys and bacon—why–-”
    I broke off abruptly. I had had one of my ideas.
    “Golly, Jeeves!”
    “Sir?”
    “Here’s an instance of how you have to think of everything. You heard me mention sausages, kidneys and bacon and ham.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Well, there must be nothing of that. Fatal. The wrong note entirely. Give me that telegraph form and pencil. I must warn Gussie without delay. What he’s got to do is to create in this girl’s mind the impression that he is pining away for love of her. This cannot be done by wolfing sausages.”
    “No, sir.”
    “Very well, then.”
    And, taking form and _p._, I drafted the following:
    _Fink-Nottle
    Brinkley Court,
    Market Snodsbury
    Worcestershire
    Lay off the sausages. Avoid the ham. Bertie._
    “Send that off, Jeeves, instanter.”
    “Very good, sir.”
    I sank back on the pillows.
    “Well, Jeeves,” I said, “you see how I am taking hold. You notice the grip I am getting on this case. No doubt you realize now that it would pay you to study my methods.”
    “No doubt, sir.”
    “And even now you aren’t on to the full depths of the extraordinary sagacity I’ve shown. Do you know what brought Aunt Dahlia up here this morning? She came to tell me I’d got to distribute the prizes at some beastly seminary she’s a governor of down at Market Snodsbury.”
    “Indeed, sir? I fear you will scarcely find that a congenial task.”
    “Ah, but I’m not going to do it. I’m going to shove it off on to Gussie.”
    “Sir?”
    “I propose, Jeeves, to wire to Aunt Dahlia saying that I can’t get down, and suggesting that she unleashes him on these young Borstal inmates of hers in my stead.”
    “But if Mr. Fink-Nottle should decline, sir?”
    “Decline? Can you see him declining? Just conjure up the picture in your