“I can give you your choice of half a dozen.”
“It must be quiet and secluded. I shall be playing the banjolele a lot.”
“There is one. On the edge of the harbour and not a neighbour within a mile except Police Sergeant Voules[39]. And he plays the harmonium. You could do duets.”
“Fine!”
“And there’s a troupe of negro minstrels down there this year. You could study their technique.”
“Chuffy, it sounds like heaven. And we shall be able to see each other sometimes.”
“By the way, what has Jeeves said about all this? I don’t think he wants to leave London.”
“Jeeves has nothing to say on that or any other subject. We have parted.”
“What!”
“Yes,” I said, “he told me that if I didn’t give up my banjolele he would resign. I accepted his proposal.”
“You’ve really let him go?”
“I have.”
“Well, well, well!”
“These things happen,” I said. “I’m not pretending I’m pleased, of course, but I can live without him. ‘Very good, Jeeves,’ I said to him. ‘So be it. I shall watch your future career with considerable interest.’ And that was that.”
We walked on for a bit in silence.
“So you’ve parted with Jeeves, have you?” said Chuffy. “Well, well, well! Any objection to my looking in and saying good-bye to him?”
“None whatsoever.”
“I’ve always admired his intellect.”
“Me too.”
“I’ll come after lunch.”
“As you wish,” I said.
I lunched at the Drones and spent the afternoon there. Then I went home. I had much to think of. We Woosters can be honest with ourselves. There never had been anyone like Jeeves.
Abruptly, I went into the sitting-room.
“Jeeves,” I said.” A word.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Jeeves,” I said, “about on our conversation this morning.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Jeeves,” I said, “I have been thinking things over. I have come to the conclusion that we have both been hasty. Let us forget the past. You may stay on.”
“It is very kind of you, sir, but… are you still proposing to continue the study of that instrument?”
“Yes, Jeeves, I am.”
“Then I fear, sir—”
It was enough. I nodded haughtily.
“Very good, Jeeves. That is all. I will, of course, give you an excellent recommendation.”
“Thank you, sir. It will not be necessary. This afternoon I entered the employment of Lord Chuffnell.”
I started.
“Did Chuffy come here this afternoon and steal you?”
“Yes, sir. I go with him to Chuffnell Regis in about a week’s time.”
“You do, do you? Well, it may interest you to know that I am going to Chuffnell Regis tomorrow.”
“Indeed, sir?”
“Yes. I have taken a cottage there. We shall meet there, Jeeves.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very good, Jeeves.”
“Very good, sir.”
3
Meeting the Past
You know, the longer I live, the more I feel that the greatest thing in life is to be sure what you want and be yourself. When I had announced at the Drones, on my last day in the metropolis, that I was going to the country for an indeterminate period, practically everybody had begged me, with tears in their eyes, not to do such a foolish thing.
But I had acted according to my plan, and here I was, on the fifth morning of my visit, absolutely happy. The sun was shining. The sky was blue. And London seemed miles away—which it was, of course. I wouldn’t be exaggerating if I said that a great peace enveloped the soul.
As I stood there that morning, there was a nice little garden, containing a bush, a tree, a couple of flower beds[40], a lily pond with a statue of a nude child, and to the right a hedge. Across this hedge, Brinkley[41], my new servant, was chatting with our neighbour, Police Sergeant Voules.
There was another hedge straight ahead, with the garden gate in it, and over this the placid waters of the harbour. And of all the objects I noted the yacht. It was white in colour, and in size resembling a young liner.
And at this moment the summer stillness was broken by the horn, and I ran to the gate with all possible speed for fear some fiend in human shape was scratching my paint. I found a small boy in the front seat, and was about to give him a good lesson when I recognized Chuffy’s cousin, Seabury.
“Hallo,” he said.
“Hallo,” I replied.
He was a smallish, freckled kid with aeroplane ears. In my Rogues Gallery of repulsive small boys I suppose he would come about third—not quite so bad as my Aunt Agatha’s son, Young Thos., or Mr Blumenfeld’s Junior.
After staring at me for a moment, he spoke.
“You’re to come to lunch.”
“Is Chuffy back, then?”
“Yes.”
Well, of course, if Chuffy had returned, I was at his disposal. I shouted over the hedge to Brinkley that I would be absent from the midday meal and climbed into the car and we rolled off.
“When did he get back?”
“Last night.”
“Shall we be lunching alone?”
“No.”
“Who’s going to be there?”
“Mother and me and some people.”
“A party? I’d better go back and put on another suit.”
“No.”
“You think this one looks all right?”
“No, I don’t. I think it looks rotten. But there isn’t time.”
Then he gave me some local gossip.
“Mother and I are living at the Hall again.”
“What!”
“Yes. There’s a smell at the Dower House.”
“Even though you’ve left it?”
He was not amused.
“You needn’t try to be funny. If you really want to know, I think it’s my mice.”
“Your what?”
“I’ve started breeding mice and puppies. And, of course, they stink a bit. Can you give me five shillings?”
“Five shillings?”
“Five shillings.”
“What do you mean, five shillings?”
“I mean five shillings.”
“But why? We were discussing mice, and you said about five shillings.”
“I