Chapter Text
“Jeeves,” I remarked of a winter evening, “have you seen this extraordinary thing in the Times?”
“You are referring, perhaps, sir, to the recent unrest in the Ceylon?”
“No, no, this here. The Clutterbucks are offering a substantial stack for the return of their pooch.”
“Is that so, sir.”
“Quite the stroke of luck, what?”
“If you will forgive me, sir, I was not under the impression you were in such dire straits as to rejoice over a reward to the tune of” – he cast his eyes surreptitiously at the advertisement – “fifty pounds.”
“Oh, Jeeves,” I exclaimed, “you really are the limit. No, a stroke of luck for Nimmy, I mean to say, what.”
“Nimmy, sir?”
“You know. Young Hieronymus Spottiswood, of the Edinburgh Spottiswoods. This may surprise you, Jeeves, but we were in truth at school together.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Him as the junior, for which our lack of intimacy as classmates is compensated by a certain tender feeling, you know, as a Lower Sixth boy is wont to feel for a member of the Upper Fifth.”
“Quite natural, sir.”
“Besides which, I’m rather indebted to him for a narrow squeak at a game of rugger, the undignified nature of which is such as I rarely speak of it.”
“Wise, I think, sir.”
“Indeed. The problem is, after a run of rum luck at the races this autumn last, his Aunt Thelma cut him off without a penny. Not very avuncular of her, I have to say.”
“A common failing of the distaff side, sir.”
“Exactly. And it has brought about a disheartening change in young Nimmy, to wit: he has been biting my ear near-continuously these past months for what he claims as basic sustenance.”
“Indeed, sir?”
“As you know, we Woosters are all for the uplifting of the less fortunate and goodwill to all men and so forth, but we have our limits. One starts to feel perceived less as a benevolent elder and more as a lumbering old piggy-bank ripe for the smashing.”
“Rather distressing, sir.”
“So as you see, if I could only find a way to track down this wayward cocker-spaniel, as described here – rather large in stature, white blaze over the nose, answers to the name of Toffee – we might induce Nimmy to return it for a decent wad of dosh. That might keep him from nibbling about my hairline for a space.”
“I see, sir.”
“Do keep a lookout, won’t you, Jeeves, for mutts?”
“I shall endeavour to do so, sir.”
“While I’m gnawing on the thing, prepare my evening dress, would you?”
“Very good, sir.”
All so far so good. But we came to a bit of a snag at the next juncture.
“You are familiar with the Vidalia method of tying a necktie?” I asked.
“Familiar, yes, sir,” agreed Jeeves, but all the while he was fixing me with a rummy sort of gaze.
Certainly I wouldn’t wish to speak ill of Jeeves, who besides his ginormous brain never fails to sprint the extra mile in his duties, but if the old chappie has a weak point it’s that he’s bound to be rather conservative when it comes to the latest fashions, not least in the matter of tie-tying.
“Good. I shall be sporting a crisp Vidalia this evening. ‘Tis all the rage amongst things young and bright. Prepare the cerulean blue tie.”
“The cerulean, sir?”
“The very same.”
“I’m afraid, sir, I believe it is not the custom at present to wear such a vivid necktie, not to mention in the Vidalian style.”
“You may be afraid, but I, Jeeves, am not.”
“Sir, I fear—”
“Jeeves,” I interrupted, “I’m bound to say I’ve said before, timidity is not a quality becoming in a gentleman’s valet. Pray put aside your fear, bung up your excessive trepidation and tie my cerulean tie à la Vidalia.”
“Very good, sir.”
Having gained which capitulation and proudly sporting the cerulean, I toddled round to the Drones for a bit of a binge.
--
Now, if I haven’t recorded this observation before it will only be down to it being, to one of Wooster stock, a saying that goes without saying. But a hearty binge with one’s fellows is often a goodish way of shaking loose, not only the tongue, but also the grey cells that may have been lurking undisturbed in the old lemon and minding their own business for a good stretch thus far.
That is to say, in the midst of revelry, I was spanked in the noggin by a stroke of the most genius calibre. A crackerjack, if I do say so myself.
“Jeeves,” I announced the next morning, “do you know, I’ve had a thought about this cocker-spaniel.”
Having availed myself of one of Jeeves’ devilish picker-uppers and moved on to the tea-and-toast course, I was now filled to the brim with brio and vim. Jeeves, by contrast, was slow on the uptake.
“Cocker-spaniel, sir?” he replied.
“Do keep up, Jeeves. This cocker-spaniel of the Clutterbucks.”
I admit there may have been a certain tartness in my mode of speech, but I’m bound to say I was residually miffed over his side-eyeing of the neckband when I sallied out the night before.
“What about it, sir?”
“Well, about laying our hands on that reward. One hitch I snagged on yesterday was the bother of tracking down this Toffee rotter in the first place. Quite a hoopla it seemed, even for the sake of an old chum like Nimmy.”
“Quite so, sir.”
“But what I’ve realised is that to the casual observer, there is very little to distinguish one cocker-spaniel from another. That is to say, dash it all, I couldn’t tell one from the other if I were to glue my eyes to them all bally day.”
“There may be something in what you say, sir.”
“Ergo. We find ourselves a body-double for this Toffee, present this impostor for a reward, and not only are young Nimmy’s straits alleviated, the toffs will be well-satisfied.”
At this, Jeeves’ lips twitched in a way that an uncharitable bird might describe as a purse.
“Jeeves? What is it?”
“If I may say so, sir, it may be prudent to admit of the possibility that Sir and Lady Clutterbuck, if they are the more attentive sort of dog-owner, may be more acquainted than the casual observer with the physiognomic idiosyncrasies of their own beloved pet.”
“You mean to say they’ll twig it’s not their pooch?”
“You catch my drift precisely, sir.”
“Ah, Jeeves,” I rejoindered a tad smugly, “it may not be apparent to you, as one not in the habit of rubbing shoulders with the gentry, but I shall let you in on an important consideration that has led me to my eureka. Nibs of the Clutterbuck ilk aren’t in the habit of hand-ladling their pooches refreshments and tailing them step-by-step with the scooper. They palm off that sort of bother to the lower classes.”
“Forgive my prima facie musings, sir.”
“Jeeves, this is no time of the morning to be throwing Latin about.”
“Forgive me, sir.”
“Quite right. Besides, dear old Toffee won’t be their only pet. I’m sure at Pensleigh they’ve cocker-spaniels coming out of their ears, if not overflowing from other orifices. In short, the toffs won’t know Toffee for toffee.”
“Indeed, sir.”
“Now, attend closely. Here is thirty pounds. That’s about the price of your common-or-garden cocker-spaniel, wouldn’t you say, Jeeves?”
“Of the more common design, yes, sir.”
“I shall summon Nimmy here for dinner at six, and apprise him of the wheeze. By which time, you shall have procured me a cocker-spaniel of Toffee’s description as per his feature in the Times. That is, with a white blaze on the nose and all that rot.”
“Yes, sir. I shall attend to the matter promptly, sir.”
“Not too promptly, Jeeves, for I require another pot of the old Darj before you biff off. Coming up with these dashed brainy schemes is enough to wring a man out, don’t you know.”
“Very good, sir.” But even ere the words passed his lips, Jeeves was glancing at the notes in his mitt with a doubtful and dare I say rummy look.
“Spit it out, Jeeves.”
“Sir?”
“Spit it out, I say.”
“If I may be so bold,” he began, “a simple application of mathematics would appear to me to reveal a sticking-point.”
“What on earth do you mean?”
“You will agree, sir, by reason of subtraction, that upon receiving the promised reward of fifty pounds, minus the initial outlay, we shall have made a profit of twenty pounds.”
“Of the right stuff, yes, what’s the problem, man?”
“I merely wish to enquire, sir, whether you believe a per-animal net profit of twenty pounds substantial enough to Mr Spottiswood that he shall henceforth be deterred from, as you put it, biting your ear?”
I heaved a mighty sigh from the bosom. For all his magnificent proficiencies in the art of valetship, Jeeves does have a terrible habit of taking you by the hand and waltzing you merrily up the garden path.
“Jeeves,” I explained patiently, “I had of course taken that into consideration. Think, man. For a frightful loafer like young Nimmy, the mere thought of an honest day’s work is enough to put the fear of God in him. He’s of that sort, don’t you know?”
“I do believe I know the sort, sir.”
“But at a young and tender age, as is old Nimmy, it takes only one gentle nudge for a lad to see the error of his ways. Whether it’s ten or twenty quid or even a fiver, the degree of profit is not the nub. Oh, no. Not the nub at all. Upon seeing that legwork, rather than sponging, is the preferential method of obtaining stacks, I’m sure old young Nimmy will be quite the reformed soul.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Or at the very least, he might be grateful enough to try biting someone else's ear for a change.”
“Yes, sir.”