Stiff Upper Lip, Jeeves

said.
    ‘That’s me,1 he replied. ‘My last year at school. I skippered the side that season. That’s old Scrubby Willoughby sitting next to me. Fast wing threequarter, but never would learn to give the reverse pass.’
    ‘He wouldn’t?’ I said, shocked. I hadn’t the remotest what he was talking about, but he had said enough to show me that this Willoughby must have been a pretty dubious character, and when he went on to tell me that poor old Scrubby had died of cirrhosis of the liver in the Federal Malay States, I wasn’t really surprised. I imagine these fellows who won’t learn to give the reverse pass generally come to a fairly sticky end.
    ‘Chap on my other side is Smiler Todd, prop forward.’
    ‘Prop forward, eh?’
    ‘And a very good one. Played for Cambridge later on. You fond of Rugger?’
    ‘I don’t think I know him.’
    ‘Rugby football.’
    ‘Oh, ah. No, I’ve never gone in for it.’
    ‘You haven’t?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Good God!’
    I could see that I had sunk pretty low in his estimation, but he was a host and managed to fight down the feeling of nausea with which my confession had afflicted him.
    ‘I’ve always been mad keen on Rugger. Didn’t get much of it after leaving school, as they stationed me in West Africa. Tried to teach the natives there the game, but had to give it up. Too many deaths, with the inevitable subsequent blood feuds. Retired now and settled down here. I’m trying to make Hockley-cum-Meston the best football village in these parts, and I will say for the lads that they’re coming on nicely. What we need is a good prop forward, and I can’t find one. But you don’t want to hear all this. You want to know about my Brazilian expedition.’
    ‘Oh, have you been to Brazil?’
    I seemed to have said the wrong thing, as one so often does. He stared.
    ‘Didn’t you know I’d been to Brazil?’
    ‘Nobody tells me anything.’
    ‘I should have thought they’d have briefed you at the office. Seems silly to send a reporter all the way down here without telling him what they’re sending him for.’
    I’m pretty astute, and I saw there had been a mix-up somewhere.
    ‘Were you expecting a reporter?’
    ‘Of course I was. Aren’t you from the Daily Express?’
    ‘Sorry, no.’
    ‘I thought you must be the chap who was coming to interview me about my Brazilian explorations.’
    ‘Oh, you’re an explorer?’
    Again I had said the wrong thing. He was plainly piqued.
    ‘What did you think I was? Does the name Plank mean nothing to you?’
    ‘Is your name Plank?’
    ‘Of course it is.’
    ‘Well, what a very odd coincidence,’ I said, intrigued. ‘I’m looking for a character called Plank. Not you, somebody else. The bimbo I want is a sturdy tiller of the soil, probably gnarled, with a sailor son. As you have the same name as him, you’ll probably be interested in the story I’m about to relate. I have here,’ I said, producing the black amber thing, ‘a what-not.’
    He gaped at it.
    ‘Where did you get that? That’s the bit of native sculpture I picked up on the Congo and then sold to Sir Watkyn Bassett.’
    I was amazed.
    ‘You sold it to him?’
    ‘Certainly.’
    ‘Well, shiver my timbers!’
    I was conscious of a Boy Scoutful glow. I liked this Plank, and I rejoiced that it was in my power to do him as good a turn as anyone had ever done anybody. God bless Bertram Wooster, I felt he’d be saying in another couple of ticks. For the first time I was glad that Stiffy had sent me on this mission.
    ‘Then I’ll tell you what,’ I said. ‘If you’ll just give me five pounds -‘
    I broke off. He was looking at me with a cold, glassy stare, as no doubt he had looked at the late lions, leopards and gnus whose remains
    were to be viewed on the walls of the outer hall. Fellows at the Drones who have tried to touch Ooofy Prosser, the club millionaire, for a trifle to see them through till next Wednesday have described him to me as looking just like that.
    ‘Oh, so that’s it!’ he said, and even Pop Bassett could not have spoken more nastily. ‘I’ve got your number now. I’ve met your sort all over the world. You won’t get any five pounds, my man. You sit where you are and don’t move. I’m going to call the police.’
    ‘It will not be necessary, sir,’ said a respectful voice, and Jeeves entered through the french window.

    11
    His advent drew from me a startled goggle and, I rather think, a cry of amazement. Last man I’d