Free Much Obliged, Jeeves by P.G. Wodehouse Page A

creme d’ecrevisses, but Spode would be there and Madeline would be there and Florence would be there and L. P. Runkle would be there.
    There was, I reflected, always something.

CHAPTER Eight

    It has been well said of Bertram Wooster that when he sets his hand to the plough he does not stop to pick daisies and let the grass grow under his feet. Many men in my position, having undertaken to canvass for a friend anxious to get into Parliament, would have waited till after lunch next day to get rolling, saying to themselves Oh, what difference do a few hours make and going off to the billiard room for a game or two of snooker. I, in sharp contradistinction as I have heard Jeeves call it, was on my way shortly after breakfast. It can’t have been much more than a quarter to eleven when, fortified by a couple of kippers, toast, marmalade and three cups of coffee, I might have been observed approaching a row of houses down by the river to which someone with a flair for the mot juste had given the name of River Row. From long acquaintance with the town I knew that this was one of the posher parts of Market Snodsbury, stiff with householders likely to favour the Conservative cause, and it was for that reason that I was making it my first port of call. No sense, I mean, in starting off with the less highly priced localities where everybody was bound to vote Labour and would not only turn a deaf ear to one’s reasoning but might even bung a brick at one. Ginger no doubt had a special posse of tough supporters, talking and spitting out of the side of their mouths, and they would attend to the brick-bunging portion of the electorate.
    Jeeves was at my side, but whereas I had selected Number One as my objective, his intention was to push on to Number Two. I would then give Number Three the treatment, while he did the same to Number Four. Talking it over, we had decided that if we made it a double act and blew into a house together, it might give the occupant the impression that he was receiving a visit from the plain clothes police and excite him unduly. Many of the men who live in places like River Row have a tendency to apoplectic fits as the result of high living, and a voter expiring on the floor from shock means a voter less on the voting list. One has to think of these things.
    ‘What beats me, Jeeves,’ I said, for I was in thoughtful mood, ‘is why people don’t object to somebody they don’t know from Adam muscling into their homes without a… without a what? It’s on the tip of my tongue.’
    ‘A With-your-leave or a By-your leave, sir?’
    ‘That’s right. Without a With-your-leave or a By-your-leave and telling them which way to vote. Taking a liberty, it strikes me as.’
    ‘It is the custom at election time, sir. Custom reconciles us to everything, a wise man once said.’
    ‘Shakespeare?’
    ‘Burke, sir. You will find the apothegm in his On The Sublime And Beautiful. I think the electors, conditioned by many years of canvassing, would be disappointed if nobody called on them.’
    ‘So we shall be bringing a ray of sunshine into their drab lives?’
    ‘Something on that order, sir.’
    ‘Well, you may be right. Have you ever done this sort of thing before?’
    ‘Once or twice, sir, before I entered your employment.’
    ‘What were your methods?’
    ‘I outlined as briefly as possible the main facets of my argument, bade my auditors goodbye, and withdrew.’
    ‘No preliminaries?’
    ‘Sir ? ‘
    ‘You didn’t make a speech of any sort before getting down to brass tacks? No mention of Burke or Shakespeare or the poet Burns?’
    ‘No, sir. It might have caused exasperation.’
    I disagreed with him. I felt that he was on the wrong track altogether and couldn’t expect anything in the nature of a triumph at Number Two. There is probably nothing a voter enjoys more than hearing the latest about Burke and his On The Sublime And Beautiful, and here he was, deliberately chucking away the advantages his