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Updated: June 6, 2025
Chappies keep them on ice for years and years, and don't sell them till they fetch about a dollar a whirl. You don't think I'm going to chuck a future like this for anything under five hundred o' goblins a year what?" A look of anguish passed over old Chiswick's face, then he seemed to be resigned to it. "Very well, my boy," he said. "What-o!" said Bicky. "All right, then." "Jeeves," I said.
"What is it?" cried Jill. "It sounds like a murder!" "Nonsense!" "I don't know, you know this is the sort of street chappies are murdering people in all the time." They caught sight of the group in front of them, and were reassured. Nobody could possibly be looking so aloof and distrait as Erb, if there were a murder going on. "It's a bird!" "It's a jolly old parrot. See it?
As I stood in my lonely bedroom at the hotel, trying to tie my white tie myself, it struck me for the first time that there must be whole squads of chappies in the world who had to get along without a man to look after them.
To the casual and irreflective observer, if you know what I mean, it may sound a pretty good wheeze having a duke for an uncle, but the trouble about old Chiswick was that, though an extremely wealthy old buster, owning half London and about five counties up north, he was notoriously the most prudent spender in England. He was what American chappies would call a hard-boiled egg.
"It's a black, burnin' shame," says Sandy, as he gaithered me up; "an' I howp some o' thae Lichtin' Commitee chappies 'ill get a dook amon' the gutters the nicht for this pliskie o' theirs. It's a fine nicht fort. Fowk peyin' nae end o' rates, an' a' the streets as dark as a cell a sell it is, an' nae mistak'. Feech! I tell ye, what it is an' what it's no', Bawbie "
This was where I began to crack under the strain. You see, the part of town where I was living wasn't the right place for that sort of thing. I knew lots of chappies down Washington Square way who started the evening at about 2 a.m. artists and writers and what-not, who frolicked considerably till checked by the arrival of the morning milk. That was all right.
Well, I mean to say, do chappies bung paper-weights at mosquitoes? I mean, is it done?" "Smash anything?" "Curiously enough, no. But he only just missed a rather decent picture which Lucille had given him for his birthday. Another foot to the left and it would have been a goner." "Sounds queer."
He had the aspect of one who had been soaked with what the newspaper chappies call "some blunt instrument." "This is a bit thick, old thing what!" I said. He picked up his glass and drained it feverishly, overlooking the fact that it hadn't anything in it. "I'm done, Bertie!" he said. He had another go at the glass. It didn't seem to do him any good.
"I see," he said. It was difficult to say anything. Reggie was regarding him enviously. "I wish I knew how the deuce fellows set about making a girl fall in love with them. Other chappies seem to do it, but I can't even start. She seems to sort of gaze through me, don't you know.
As we got to the lobby, where the horse show of dress-suit chappies was beginning the evening procession, I said to dad: "Next time we will dine out, I guess," and at that he rallied and seemed to be able to take a joke, for he said: "We dined out this time.
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