Right Ho, Jeeves

“been gnawing on the thing at all?”
    “Oh, yes, sir. I have always been much attached to Miss Angela, and I felt that it would afford me great pleasure were I to be able to be of service to her.”
    “A laudable sentiment. But I suppose you drew blank?”
    “No, sir. I was rewarded with an idea.”
    “What was it?”
    “It occurred to me that a reconciliation might be effected between Mr. Glossop and Miss Angela by appealing to that instinct which prompts gentlemen in time of peril to hasten to the rescue of–-”
    I had to let go of the cravat in order to raise a hand. I was shocked.
    “Don’t tell me you were contemplating descending to that old he-saved-her-from-drowning gag? I am surprised, Jeeves. Surprised and pained. When I was discussing the matter with Aunt Dahlia on my arrival, she said in a sniffy sort of way that she supposed I was going to shove my Cousin Angela into the lake and push Tuppy in to haul her out, and I let her see pretty clearly that I considered the suggestion an insult to my intelligence. And now, if your words have the meaning I read into them, you are mooting precisely the same drivelling scheme. Really, Jeeves!”
    “No, sir. Not that. But the thought did cross my mind, as I walked in the grounds and passed the building where the fire-bell hangs, that a sudden alarm of fire in the night might result in Mr. Glossop endeavouring to assist Miss Angela to safety.”
    I shivered.
    “Rotten, Jeeves.”
    “Well, sir–-”
    “No good. Not a bit like it.”
    “I fancy, sir–-”
    “No, Jeeves. No more. Enough has been said. Let us drop the subj.”
    I finished tying the tie in silence. My emotions were too deep for speech. I knew, of course, that this man had for the time being lost his grip, but I had never suspected that he had gone absolutely to pieces like this. Remembering some of the swift ones he had pulled in the past, I shrank with horror from the spectacle of his present ineptitude. Or is it ineptness? I mean this frightful disposition of his to stick straws in his hair and talk like a perfect ass. It was the old, old story, I supposed. A man’s brain whizzes along for years exceeding the speed limit, and something suddenly goes wrong with the steering-gear and it skids and comes a smeller in the ditch.
    “A bit elaborate,” I said, trying to put the thing in as kindly a light as possible. “Your old failing. You can see that it’s a bit elaborate?”
    “Possibly the plan I suggested might be considered open to that criticism, sir, but _faute de mieux_–-”
    “I don’t get you, Jeeves.”
    “A French expression, sir, signifying ‘for want of anything better’.”
    A moment before, I had been feeling for this wreck of a once fine thinker nothing but a gentle pity. These words jarred the Wooster pride, inducing asperity.
    “I understand perfectly well what _faute de mieux_ means, Jeeves. I did not recently spend two months among our Gallic neighbours for nothing. Besides, I remember that one from school. What caused my bewilderment was that you should be employing the expression, well knowing that there is no bally _faute de mieux_ about it at all. Where do you get that _faute-de-mieux_ stuff? Didn’t I tell you I had everything taped out?”
    “Yes, sir, but–-”
    “What do you mean—but?”
    “Well, sir–-”
    “Push on, Jeeves. I am ready, even anxious, to hear your views.”
    “Well, sir, if I may take the liberty of reminding you of it, your plans in the past have not always been uniformly successful.”
    There was a silence—rather a throbbing one—during which I put on my waistcoat in a marked manner. Not till I had got the buckle at the back satisfactorily adjusted did I speak.
    “It is true, Jeeves,” I said formally, “that once or twice in the past I may have missed the bus. This, however, I attribute purely to bad luck.”
    “Indeed, sir?”
    “On the present occasion I shall not fail, and I’ll tell you why I shall not fail. Because my scheme is rooted in human nature.”
    “Indeed, sir?”
    “It is simple. Not elaborate. And, furthermore, based on the psychology of the individual.”
    “Indeed, sir?”
    “Jeeves,” I said, “don’t keep saying ‘Indeed, sir?’ No doubt nothing is further from your mind than to convey such a suggestion, but you have a way of stressing the ‘in’ and then coming down with a thud on the ‘deed’ which makes it virtually tantamount to ‘Oh, yeah?’ Correct this,