The other-and both, oddly enough, had occurred on Boat Race night-was when I had gone into partnership with my old friend, Oliver Sipperley, to pick up a policeman's helmet as a souvenir, only to discover that there was a policeman inside it. On both these occasions I had ended up behind the bars, and you might suppose that an old lag like myself would have been getting used to it by now. But this present hinge was something quite different. Before, I had been faced merely with the prospect of a moderate fine. Now, a life sentence stared me in the eyeball. A casual observer, noting Pauline's preeminent pulchritude and bearing in mind the fact that she was heiress to a sum amounting to more than fifty million fish, might have considered that in writhing, as I did, in agony of spirit at the prospect of having to marry her, I was making a lot of fuss about nothing. Such an observer, no doubt, would have wished that
he had half my complaint. But the fact remains that I did writhe, and writhe pretty considerably. Apart from the fact that I didn't want to marry Pauline Stoker, there was the dashed serious snag that I knew jolly well that she didn't want to marry me. She might have ticked him off with great breadth and freedom at their recent parting, but I was certain that deep down in her the old love for Chuffy still persisted and only needed a bit of corkscrew work to get it to the surface again.
• And Chuffy, for all that he had hurled himself downstairs and stalked out into the night, still loved her. So that what it amounted to, when you came to tot up the pros and cons, was that by marrying this girl I should not only be landing myself in the soup but breaking both her heart and that of the old school friend. And if that doesn't justify a fellow in writhing, I should very much like to know what does. Only one gleam of light appeared in the darkness-viz. that old Stoker had said that he was sending his man along with the necessaries for the night. It might be that Jeeves would find the way. Though how even Jeeves could get me out of the current jam was more than I could envisage. It was with the feeling that no bookie would hesitate to lay a hundred to one against that I finished my cigar and threw myself on the bed. I was still picking at the coverlet when the door opened and a respectful cough informed
me that he was in my midst. His arms were full of clothing of various species. He laid these on a chair and regarded me with what I might describe as commiseration. " Mr. Stoker instructed me to bring your pyjamas, sir." I emitted a hollow g. "It is not pyjamas I need, Jeeves, but the wings of a dove. Are you abreast of the latest development ? " "
Yes sir." " Who told you ? " " My informant was Miss Stoker, sir." "
You've been having a talk with her ? " " Yes, sir. She related to me an outline of the plans which Mr. Stoker had made." The first spot of hope I had had since the start of this ghastly affair now shot through my bosom. " By Jove, Jeeves, an idea occurs to me. Things aren't quite as bad as I thought they were." " No, sir ? " " No. Can't you see ? It's all very well for old Stoker to talker--" " Glibly, sir ? ' " Airily."
" Airily or glibly, sir, whichever you prefer." " It's all very well for old Stoker to talk with airy glibness about marrying us off, but he can't do it, Jeeves. Miss Stoker will simply put her ears back and refuse to cooperate.
You can lead a horse to the altar, Jeeves, but you can't make it drink."
" In my recent conversation with the young lady, sir, I did not receive the impression that she was antagonistic to the arrangements." " What! "
" No, sir. She seemed, if I may say so, resigned and defiant." " She couldn't be both." " Yes, sir. Miss Stoker's attitude was partly one of listlerisness, as if she felt that nothing mattered now, but I gathered that she was also influenced by the thought that in contracting a matrimonial alliance with you, she would be making-shall I say, a defiant gesture at his lordship." " A defiant gesture ? " " Yes, sir." "
Scoring off him, you mean ? " " Precisely, sir." " What a damn silly idea. The girl must be cuckoo." " Feminine psychology is admittedly odd, sir. The poet Pope . . ." " Never mind about the poet Pope, Jeeves." "
No, sir." " There are times when one wants to hear all about the poet Pope and times when one doesn't." " Very true, sir." " The point is, I seem to be up against it.
If that's the way she feels, nothing can save me. I am a pipped man." "
