Free Stiff Upper Lip, Jeeves by P.G. Wodehouse Page A

conversation on the unwilling.
    All this time Bartholomew had been trying to join us, making a series of energetic springs. Fortunately Providence in its infinite wisdom had given Scotties short legs, and though full of the will to win he could accomplish nothing constructive. However much an Aberdeen terrier may bear ‘mid snow and ice a banner with the strange device Excelsior, he nearly always has to be content with dirty looks and the sharp, passionate bark.
    Some minutes later my fellow-rooster came out of the silence. No doubt the haughtiness of my manner had intimidated him, for there was a mildness in his voice which had not been there before.
    ‘Mr. Wooster.’
    I turned coldly.
    ‘Were you addressing me, Bassett?’
    ‘There must be something we can do.’
    ‘You might fine the animal five pounds.’
    ‘We cannot stay here all night.’
    ‘Why not? What’s to stop us?’
    This held him. He relapsed into silence once more. And we were sitting there like a couple of Trappist monks, when a voice said ‘Well, for heaven’s sake!’ and I perceived that Stiffy was with us.
    Not surprising, of course, that she should have turned up sooner or later. If Scotties come, I ought to have said to myself, can Stiffy be far behind?

    9
    Considering that so substantial a part of her waking hours is devoted to thrusting innocent bystanders into the soup, Stiffy is far prettier than she has any right to be. She’s on the small side - petite, I believe, is the technical term - and I have always felt that when she and Stinker walk up the aisle together, if they ever do, their disparity in height should be good for a laugh or two from the ringside pews. The thought has occurred to me more than once that the correct response for Stinker to make, when asked by the M.C. if he is prepared to take this Stephanie to be his wedded wife, would be, ‘Why, certainly, what there is of her.’
    ‘What on earth do you two think you’re doing?’ she inquired, not unnaturally surprised to see her uncle and an old friend in our current position. ‘And why have you been upsetting the furniture?’
    ‘That was me,’ I said. ‘I bumped into the grandfather clock. I’m as bad as Stinker, aren’t I, bumping into things, ha-ha.’
    ‘Less of the ha-ha,’ she riposted warmly. ‘And don’t mention yourself in the same breath as my Harold. Well, that doesn’t explain why you’re sitting up there like a couple of buzzards on a tree top.’
    Pop Bassett intervened, speaking at his sniffiest. Her comparison of him to a buzzard, though perfectly accurate, seemed to have piqued him.
    ‘We were savagely attacked by your dog.’
    ‘Not so much attacked,’ I said, ‘as given nasty looks. We didn’t vouchsafe him time to attack us, deeming it best to get out of his sphere of influence before he could settle down to work. He’s been trying to get at us for the last two hours, at least it seems like two hours.’
    She was quick to defend the dumb chum.
    ‘Well, how can you blame the poor angel? Naturally he thought you were international spies in the pay of Moscow. Prowling about the house at this time of night. I can understand Bertie doing it, because he was dropped on the head as a baby, but I’m surprised at you, Uncle Watkyn. Why don’t you go to bed?’
    ‘I shall be delighted to go to bed,’ said Pop Basseit stiffly, ‘if you will kindly remove this animal. He is a public menace.’
    ‘Very highly-strung,’ I put in. ‘We were remarking on it only just now.’
    ‘He’s all right, if you don’t go out of your way to stir him up. Get back to your basket, Bartholomew, you bounder,’ said Stiffy, and such was the magic of her personality that the hound turned on its heel without a word and passed into the night.
    Pop Bassett climbed down from the chest, and directed a fishy magisterial look at me.
    ‘Good night, Mr. Wooster. If there is any more of my furniture you wish to break, pray consider yourself at perfect liberty to