Letter #68 from My Pal Bertie
Bertie might yet be free of the twins...
After this, things became a bit strained at the flat owing to Claude and Eustace not being on speaking terms. I’m all for a certain chumminess in the home, and it was wearing to have to live with two fellows who wouldn’t admit that the other one was on the map at all.
One felt the thing couldn’t go on like that for long, and, by Jove, it didn’t. But, if anyone had come to me the day before and told me what was going to happen, I should simply have smiled wanly. I mean, I’d got so accustomed to thinking that nothing short of a dynamite explosion could ever dislodge those two nestlers from my midst that, when Claude sidled up to me on the Friday morning and told me his bit of news, I could hardly believe I was hearing right.
“Bertie,” he said, “I’ve been thinking it over.”
“What over?” I said.
“The whole thing. This business of staying in London when I ought to be in South Africa. It isn’t fair,” said Claude warmly. “It isn’t right. And the long and the short of it is, Bertie, old man, I’m leaving to-morrow.”
I reeled in my tracks.
“You are?” I gasped.
“Yes. If,” said Claude, “you won’t mind sending old Jeeves out to buy a ticket for me. I’m afraid I’ll have to stick you for the passage money, old man. You don’t mind?”
“Mind!” I said, clutching his hand fervently.
“That’s all right, then. Oh, I say, you won’t say a word to Eustace about this, will you?”
“But isn’t he going, too?”
Claude shuddered.
“No, thank heaven! The idea of being cooped up on board a ship with that blighter gives me the pip just to think of it. No, not a word to Eustace. I say, I suppose you can get me a berth all right at such short notice?”
“Rather!” I said. Sooner than let this opportunity slip, I would have bought the bally boat.
“Jeeves,” I said, breezing into the kitchen. “Go out on first speed to the Union-Castle offices and book a berth on to-morrow’s boat for Mr. Claude. He is leaving us, Jeeves.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Mr. Claude does not wish any mention of this to be made to Mr. Eustace.”
“No, sir. Mr. Eustace made the same proviso when he desired me to obtain a berth on to-morrow’s boat for himself.”
I gaped at the man.
“Is he going, too?”
“Yes, sir.”
“This is rummy.”
“Yes, sir.”
Had circumstances been other than they were, I would at this juncture have unbent considerably towards Jeeves. Frisked round him a bit and whooped to a certain extent, and what not. But those spats still formed a barrier, and I regret to say that I took the opportunity of rather rubbing it in a bit on the man. I mean, he’d been so dashed aloof and unsympathetic, though perfectly aware that the young master was in the soup and that it was up to him to rally round, that I couldn’t help pointing out how the happy ending had been snaffled without any help from him.
“So that’s that, Jeeves,” I said. “The episode is concluded. I knew things would sort themselves out if one gave them time and didn’t get rattled. Many chaps in my place would have got rattled, Jeeves.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Gone rushing about, I mean, asking people for help and advice and so forth.”
“Very possibly, sir.”
“But not me, Jeeves.”
“No, sir.”
I left him to brood on it.
Must dash,
Bertie