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Updated: June 6, 2025
I put myself unreservedly into the hands of one of the white chappies. He was a friendly soul, and I told him the whole state of affairs. I asked him what he thought would meet the case. He said that in a situation of that sort he usually prescribed a 'lightning whizzer', an invention of his own.
On the one hand, I have no fancy for being marched out from here to die the Slow Death, whatever that may be something pretty horrible, I have no doubt, by the sound of it but, on the other hand, I have just as little inclination to bind myself to end my days here, among these chappies eh, what?"
You wake up, feeling as fit as a fiddle; you look at the window and see the sun, and thank Heaven for a fine day; you begin to plan a perfectly corking luncheon party with some of the chappies you met last night at the National Sporting Club; and then you remember. "Oh, dash it!" said the Honorable Freddie. And after a moment's pause: "And I was feeling so dashed happy!"
He was a handsome man, and young for the important post he filled being scarcely forty a graduate of West Point, with great executive ability, and a wonderful engineer. "Sit down, chappies," said he; "we have still a half hour before I begin to read the report I am to make to the stockholders and representatives of all the governments, which is now ready.
'I read a story once where two chappies wanted to get rid of a body. They put it inside a fellow's piano. 'You do seem to have read the most horrible sort of books. 'I rather like a bit of blood with my fiction, said Bill. 'What about this piano scheme I read about? 'People only have talking machines in these parts. 'I read a story 'Let's try to forget the stories you've read.
Well, I don't mind. I admit it. I am a chump. All the Peppers have been chumps. But what I do say is that every now and then, when you'd least expect it, I get a pretty hot brain-wave; and that's what happened now. I doubt if the idea that came to me then would have occurred to a single one of any dozen of the brainiest chappies you care to name. It came to me on my return journey.
"You've only to say the word, you know, Bicky, old top." "Thanks awfully, Bertie, but I'm not going to sponge on you." That's always the way in this world. The chappies you'd like to lend money to won't let you, whereas the chappies you don't want to lend it to will do everything except actually stand you on your head and lift the specie out of your pockets.
One of the rummy things about Jeeves is that, unless you watch like a hawk, you very seldom see him come into a room. He's like one of those weird chappies in India who dissolve themselves into thin air and nip through space in a sort of disembodied way and assemble the parts again just where they want them.
"Well, I don't think there's anything more, is there? Tell Mr. Todd where I am when he gets here." "Very good, sir." I looked round the place. The moment of parting had come. I felt sad. The whole thing reminded me of one of those melodramas where they drive chappies out of the old homestead into the snow. "Good-bye, Jeeves," I said. "Good-bye, sir." And I staggered out.
"I suppose it seems rummy to you," I said, "but the fact is New York often bucks chappies up and makes them show a flash of speed that you wouldn't have imagined them capable of. It sort of develops them. Something in the air, don't you know. I imagine that Bicky in the past, when you knew him, may have been something of a chump, but it's quite different now.
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