The inimitable Jeeves

tear him limb from limb. It’ll be something to do.’
    I hated to spoil his day-dreams, but it had to be.
    ‘Good heavens, man,’ I said, ‘you haven’t time for frivolous amusements now. You’ve got to get out. And quick!’
    ‘Bertie,’ said Bingo in a dull voice, ‘she was here just now. She said it was all my fault and that she would never speak to me again. She said she had always suspected me of being a heartless practical joker, and now she knew. She said - Oh, well, she ticked me off properly.’
    ‘That’s the least of your troubles,’ I said. It seemed impossible to rouse the poor zib to a sense of his position. ‘Do you realize that about two hundred of Twing’s heftiest are waiting for you outside to chuck you into the pond?’
    ‘No!’
    ‘Absolutely!’
    For a moment the poor chap seemed crushed. But only for a moment. There has always been something of the good old English bulldog breed about Bingo. A strange, sweet smile flickered for an instant over his face.
    ‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘I can sneak out through the cellar and climb over the wall at the back. They can’t intimidate me'

    It couldn’t have been more than a week later when Jeeves, after he had brought me my tea, gently steered me away from the sporting page of the Morning Post and directed my attention to an announcement in the engagements and marriages column.
    It was a brief statement that a marriage had been arranged and would shortly take place between the Hon. and Rev. Hubert Wingham, third son of the Right Hon. the Earl of Sturridge, and Mary, only daughter of the late Matthew Burgess, of Weatherly Court, Hants.
    ‘Of course,’ I said, after I had given it the east-to-west, ‘I expected this, Jeeves.’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    ‘She would never forgive him what happened that night.’
    ‘No, sir.’
    ‘Well,’ I said, as I took a sip of the fragrant and steaming, ‘I don’t suppose it will take old Bingo long to get over it. It’s about the hundred and eleventh time this sort of thing has happened to him. You’re the man I’m sorry for.’
    ‘Me, sir?’
    ‘Well, dash it all, you can’t have forgotten what a deuce of a lot of trouble you took to bring the thing off for Bingo. It’s too bad that all your work should have been wasted.’
    ‘Not entirely wasted, sir.’
    ‘Eh?’
    ‘It is true that my efforts to bring about the match between Mr Little and the young lady were not successful, but I still look back upon the matter with a certain satisfaction.’”
    ‘Because you did your best, you mean?’
    ‘Not entirely, sir, though of course that thought also gives me pleasure. I was alluding more particularly to the fact that I found the affair financially remunerative.’
    ‘Financially remunerative? What do you mean?’
    ‘When I learned that Mr Steggles had interested himself in the contest, sir, I went shares with my friend Brookfield and bought the book which had been made on the issue by the landlord of the Cow and Horses. It has proved a highly profitable investment. Your breakfast will be ready almost immediately, sir. Kidneys on toast and mushrooms. I will bring it when you ring.’

    16
    The Delayed Exit of Claude and Eustace

    The feeling I had when Aunt Agatha trapped me in my lair that morning and spilled the bad news was that my luck had broken at last. As a rule, you see, I’m not lugged into Family Rows. On the occasions when Aunt is calling to Aunt like mastodons bellowing across primeval swamps and Uncle James’s letter about Cousin Mabel’s peculiar behaviour is being shot round the family circle (‘Please read this carefully and send it on to Jane’), the clan has a tendency to ignore me. It’s one of the advantages I get from being a bachelor - and, according to my nearest and dearest, practically a half-witted bachelor at that. ‘It’s no good trying to get Bertie to take the slightest interest’ is more or less the slogan, and I’m bound to say I’m all for it. A quiet life is what I like. And that’s why I felt that the Curse had come upon me, so to speak, when Aunt Agatha sailed into my sitting-room while I was having a placid cigarette and started to tell me about Claude and Eustace.
    ‘Thank goodness,’ said Aunt Agatha, ‘arrangements have at last been made about Eustace and Claude.’
    ‘Arrangements?’ I said, not having the foggiest.
    ‘They sail on Friday for South Africa. Mr Van Alstyne, a friend of poor Emily’s, has given them berths