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Updated: June 21, 2025
At no great distance lay a number of other objects a knife, a fork, some bread, salt, a corkscrew and a bottle of white wine. Using the word in the sense of saying something coherent, the Earl of Emsworth was the first to speak. He peered down at his recumbent secretary and said: "Baxter! My dear fellow what the devil?" The feeling of the company was one of profound disappointment.
What should I say, 'Hello, Freddie! for?" The conundrum was unanswerable. Baxter did not attempt to answer it. But there remained at the back of his mind a quaint idea that he had caught sight, as he woke, of the Honorable Frederick Threepwood, his face warningly contorted, vanishing through the doorway. Yet what could the Honorable Freddie be doing at the Emsworth Arms?
They shone on a collection of semi-dressed figures, crowding the staircase; on a hall littered with china and glass; on a dented dinner gong; on an edited and improved portrait of the late Countess of Emsworth; and on the Efficient Baxter, in an overcoat and rubber-soled shoes, lying beside a cold tongue.
After a sleepless night he had begun at an early hour to try and corner Lord Emsworth in order to explain to him the true inwardness of last night's happenings. Eventually he had tracked him to the museum, where he found him happily engaged in painting a cabinet of birds' eggs.
Like many fathers in his rank of life, the Earl of Emsworth had suffered much through that problem which, with the exception of Mr. Lloyd-George, is practically the only fly in the British aristocratic amber the problem of what to do with the younger sons. It is useless to try to gloss over the fact in the aristocratic families of Great Britain the younger son is not required.
As he passed a window he perceived Lord Emsworth, in an un-Sabbatarian suit of tweeds and bearing a garden fork which must have pained the bishop bending earnestly over a flower bed; but he was the only occupant of the grounds, and indoors there was a feeling of emptiness.
Yes, indeed." "Whoever stole it upset the can of red paint and stepped in it." "Devilish careless of them. It must have made the dickens of a mess. Why don't people look where they are walking?" "I suspect this man of shielding the criminal by hiding her shoe in this closet." "Oh, it's not his own shoes that this young man keeps in closets?" "It is a woman's shoe, Lord Emsworth."
"Your uncle specifically states that father had drunk a quart and a half of champagne before beginning the evening," she went on. "The book is full of stories like that. There is a dreadful one about Lord Emsworth." "Lord Emsworth? Not the one we know? Not the one at Blandings?" A most respectable old Johnnie, don't you know. Doesn't do a thing nowadays but dig in the garden with a spud.
As to the Independents, of whom my father was one, they also were under the ban of the law, but they attended conventicle at Emsworth, whither we would trudge, rain or shine, on every Sabbath morning.
"Thank you, Sir Henry thank you," he answered; "but to be honest, I'd as lief go to my friends at Emsworth, you see, sir.
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