Code of the Woosters

chapter 1 I reached out a hand from under the blankets, and rang the bell for Jeeves. 'Good evening, Jeeves.' 'Good morning, sir.' This surprised me. 'Is it morning?' 'Yes, sir.' 'Are you sure? It seems very dark outside.' 'There is a fog, sir. If you will recollect, we are now in Autumn -- season of mists and mellow fruitfulness.' 'Season of what?' 'Mists, sir, and mellow fruitfulness.' 'Oh? Yes. Yes, I see. Well, be that as it may, get me one of those bracers of yours, will you?' 'I have one in readiness, sir, in the ice-box.' He shimmered out, and I sat up in bed with that rather unpleasant feeling you get sometimes that you're going to die in about five minutes. On the previous night, I had given a little dinner at the Drones to Gussie Fink-Nottle as a friendly send-off before his approaching nuptials with Madeline, only daughter of Sir Watkyn Bassett, CBE, and these things take their toll. Indeed, just before Jeeves came in, I had been dreaming that some bounder was driving spikes through my head -- not just ordinary spikes, as used by Jael the wife of Heber, but red-hot ones. He returned with the tissue-restorer. I loosed it down the hatch, and after undergoing the passing discomfort, unavoidable when you drink Jeeves's patent morning revivers, of having the top of the skull fly up to the ceiling and the eyes shoot out of their sockets and rebound from the opposite wall like racquet balls, felt better. It would have been overstating it to say that even now Bertram was back again in mid-season form, but I had at least slid into the convalescent class and was equal to a spot of conversation. 'Ha!' I said, retrieving the eyeballs and replacing them in position. 'Well, Jeeves, what goes on in the great world? Is that the paper you have there?' 'No, sir. It is some literature from the Travel Bureau. I thought that you might care to glance at it.' 'Oh?' I said. 'You did, did you?' And there was a brief and -- if that's the word I want -- pregnant silence. I suppose that when two men of iron will live in close association with one another, there are bound to be occasional clashes, and one of these had recently popped up in the Wooster home. Jeeves was trying to get me to go on a Round-The-World cruise, and I would have none of it. But in spite of my firm statements to this effect, scarcely a day passed without him bringing me a sheaf or nosegay of those illustrated folders which the Ho-for-the-open-spaces birds send out in the hope of drumming up custom. His whole attitude recalled irresistibly to the mind that of some assiduous hound who will persist in laying a dead rat on the drawing-room carpet, though repeatedly apprised by word and gesture that the market for same is sluggish or even non-existent. 'Jeeves,' I said, 'this nuisance must now cease.' 'Travel is highly educational, sir.' 'I can't do with any more education. I was full up years ago. No, Jeeves, I know what's the matter with you. That old Viking strain of yours has come out again. You yearn for the tang of the salt breezes. You see yourself walking the deck in a yachting cap. Possibly someone has been telling you about the Dancing Girls of Bali. I understand, and I sympathize. But not for me. I refuse to be decanted into any blasted ocean-going liner and lugged off round the world.' 'Very good, sir.' He spoke with a certain what-is-it in his voice, and I could see that, if not actually disgruntled, he was far from being gruntled, so I tactfully changed the subject. 'Well, Jeeves, it was quite a satisfactory binge last night.' 'Indeed, sir?' 'Oh, most. An excellent time was had by all. Gussie sent his regards.' 'I appreciate the kind thought, sir. I trust Mr Fink-Nottle was in good spirits?' 'Extraordinarily good, considering that the sands are running out andWodehouse, P. G. is the author of 'Code of the Woosters' with ISBN 9780394720289 and ISBN 0394720288.