Right Ho, Jeeves

parrots.”
    “Parrots?”
    “I was thinking of an incident of my earlier life, sir, before I entered your employment. I was in the service of the late Lord Brancaster at the time, a gentleman who owned a parrot to which he was greatly devoted, and one day the bird chanced to be lethargic, and his lordship, with the kindly intention of restoring it to its customary animation, offered it a portion of seed cake steeped in the ‘84 port. The bird accepted the morsel gratefully and consumed it with every indication of satisfaction. Almost immediately afterwards, however, its manner became markedly feverish. Having bitten his lordship in the thumb and sung part of a sea-chanty, it fell to the bottom of the cage and remained there for a considerable period of time with its legs in the air, unable to move. I merely mention this, sir, in order to–-”
    I put my finger on the flaw. I had spotted it all along.
    “But Gussie isn’t a parrot.”
    “No, sir, but–-”
    “It is high time, in my opinion, that this question of what young Gussie really is was threshed out and cleared up. He seems to think he is a male newt, and you now appear to suggest that he is a parrot. The truth of the matter being that he is just a plain, ordinary poop and needs a snootful as badly as ever man did. So no more discussion, Jeeves. My mind is made up. There is only one way of handling this difficult case, and that is the way I have outlined.”
    “Very good, sir.”
    “Right ho, Jeeves. So much for that, then. Now here’s something else: You noticed that I said I was going to put this project through tomorrow, and no doubt you wondered why I said tomorrow. Why did I, Jeeves?”
    “Because you feel that if it were done when ‘tis done, then ‘twere well it were done quickly, sir?”
    “Partly, Jeeves, but not altogether. My chief reason for fixing the date as specified is that tomorrow, though you have doubtless forgotten, is the day of the distribution of prizes at Market Snodsbury Grammar School, at which, as you know, Gussie is to be the male star and master of the revels. So you see we shall, by lacing that juice, not only embolden him to propose to Miss Bassett, but also put him so into shape that he will hold that Market Snodsbury audience spellbound.”
    “In fact, you will be killing two birds with one stone, sir.”
    “Exactly. A very neat way of putting it. And now here is a minor point. On second thoughts, I think the best plan will be for you, not me, to lace the juice.”
    “Sir?”
    “Jeeves!”
    “I beg your pardon, sir.”
    “And I’ll tell you why that will be the best plan. Because you are in a position to obtain ready access to the stuff. It is served to Gussie daily, I have noticed, in an individual jug. This jug will presumably be lying about the kitchen or somewhere before lunch tomorrow. It will be the simplest of tasks for you to slip a few fingers of gin in it.”
    “No doubt, sir, but–-”
    “Don’t say ‘but,’ Jeeves.”
    “I fear, sir–-”
    “‘I fear, sir’ is just as bad.”
    “What I am endeavouring to say, sir, is that I am sorry, but I am afraid I must enter an unequivocal _nolle prosequi_.”
    “Do what?”
    “The expression is a legal one, sir, signifying the resolve not to proceed with a matter. In other words, eager though I am to carry out your instructions, sir, as a general rule, on this occasion I must respectfully decline to co-operate.”
    “You won’t do it, you mean?”
    “Precisely, sir.”
    I was stunned. I began to understand how a general must feel when he has ordered a regiment to charge and has been told that it isn’t in the mood.”
    “Jeeves,” I said, “I had not expected this of you.”
    “No, sir?”
    “No, indeed. Naturally, I realize that lacing Gussie’s orange juice is not one of those regular duties for which you receive the monthly stipend, and if you care to stand on the strict letter of the contract, I suppose there is nothing to be done about it. But you will permit me to observe that this is scarcely the feudal spirit.”
    “I am sorry, sir.”
    “It is quite all right, Jeeves, quite all right. I am not angry, only a little hurt.”
    “Very good, sir.”
    “Right ho, Jeeves.”

    -14-
    Investigation proved that the friends Angela had gone to spend the day with were some stately-home owners of the name of Stretchley-Budd, hanging out in a joint called Kingham Manor, about eight miles distant in the direction of Pershore. I