The inimitable Jeeves

at him with silent scorn. Lost on the blighter, of course.
    ‘It’s not been a good meeting for any of the big punters,’ he went on. ‘Poor old Bingo Little went down badly over that Egg and Spoon Race.’
    I hadn’t been meaning to chat with the fellow, but I was startled.
    ‘How do you mean badly?’ I said. ‘We - he only had a small bet on.’
    ‘I don’t know what you call small. He had thirty quid each way on the Baxter kid.’
    The landscape reeled before me.
    ‘What!’
    ‘Thirty quid at ten to one. I thought he must have heard something, but apparently not. The race went by the form-book all right.’
    I was trying to do sums in my head. I was just in the middle of working out the syndicate’s losses, when old Heppenstall’s voice came sort of faintly to me out of the distance. He had been pretty fatherly and debonair when ladling out the prizes for the other events, but now he had suddenly grown all pained and grieved. He peered sorrowfully at the multitude.

    ‘With regard to the Girls’ Egg and Spoon Race, which has just concluded,’ he said, ‘I have a painful duty to perform. Circumstances have arisen which it is impossible to ignore. It is not too much to say that I am stunned.’
    He gave the populace about five seconds to wonder why he was stunned, then went on.
    ‘Three years ago, as you are aware, I was compelled to expunge from the list of events at this annual festival the Fathers’ Quarter-Mile, owing to reports coming to my ears of wagers taken and given on the result at the village inn and a strong suspicion that on at least one occasion the race had actually been sold by the speediest runner. That unfortunate occurrence shook my faith in human nature, I admit - but still there was one event at least which I confidently expected to remain untainted by the miasma of professionalism. I allude to the Girls’ Egg and Spoon Race. It seems, alas, that I was too sanguine.’
    He stopped again, and wrestled with his feelings.
    ‘I will not weary you with the unpleasant details. I will merely say that before the race was run a stranger in our midst, the manservant of one of the guests at the Hall - I will not specify with more particularity - approached several of the competitors and presented each of them with five shillings on condition that they - er - finished. A belated sense of remorse has led him to confess to me what he did but it is too late. The evil is accomplished, and retribution must take its course. It is no time for half-measures. I must be firm. I rule that Sarah Mills, Jane Parker, Bessie Clay, and Rosie Jukes, the first four to pass the winning-post, have forfeited their amateur status and are disqualified, and this handsome work-bag, presented by Lord Wickhammersley, goes, in consequence, to Prudence Baxter. Prudence, step forward!’

    15
    The Metropolitan Touch

    Nobody is more alive than I am to the fact that young Bingo Little is in many respects a sound old egg. In one way and another he has made life pretty interesting for me at intervals ever since we were at school. As a companion for a cheery hour I think I would choose him before anybody. On the other hand, I’m bound to say that there are things about him that could be improved. His habit of falling in love with every second girl he sees is one of them; and another is his way of letting the world in on the secrets of his heart. If you want shrinking reticence, don’t go to Bingo, because he’s got about as much of it as a soap advertisement.
    I mean to say - well, here’s the telegram I got from him one evening in November, about a month after I’d got back to town from my visit to Twing Hall:
I say Bertie old man I am in love at last. She is the most wonderful girl Bertie old man. This is the real thing at last Bertie. Come here at once and bring Jeeves. Oh I say you know that tobacco shop in Bond Street on the left side as you go up. Will you get me a hundred of their special cigarettes and send them to me here. I have run out. I know when you see her you will think she is the most wonderful girl. Mind you bring Jeeves. Don’t forget the cigarettes.
BINGO

    It had been handed in at Twing Post Office. In other words, he had submitted that frightful rot to the goggling eye of a village postmistress who was probably the mainspring of local gossip and would have the place ringing with the news before nightfall. He couldn’t have given himself away more completely if he had hired the town crier.