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And though, by dint of sidling, too, I had managed to keep the bench between us, who could predict how long this happy state of affairs would last? I came to the point, therefore. "I think I know what's on your mind, Tuppy," I said. "If you were in those bushes during my conversation with the recent Angela, I dare say you heard what I was saying about you." "I did." "I see.
"I asked her if you had proposed to her, and she said, yes, you had." "Tuppy! You didn't?" "I did." "Have you no delicacy, no proper feeling?" "No." "Oh? Well, right-ho, of course, but I think you ought to have." "Delicacy be dashed. I wanted to be certain that it was not you who stole Angela from me. I now know it wasn't." So long as he knew that, I didn't so much mind him having no delicacy.
"My dear Tuppy, you are not showing your usual good sense in this Angela-chap-at-Cannes matter. If you will forgive me saying so, you have got an idée fixe." "A what?" "An idée fixe. You know. One of those things fellows get. Like Uncle Tom's delusion that everybody who is known even slightly to the police is lurking in the garden, waiting for a chance to break into the house.
Jingle fluttering in derision a white handkerchief from the coach window. Nothing in the whole adventure, not even the upset, had disturbed the calm and equable current of Mr. Pickwick's temper. The villainy, however, which could first borrow money of his faithful follower, and then abbreviate his name to 'Tuppy, was more than he could patiently bear.
I am not saying, mind you, that had the opportunity presented itself of dropping a wet sponge on Tuppy from some high spot or of putting an eel in his bed or finding some other form of self-expression of a like nature, I would not have embraced it eagerly; but that let me out.
Only injured pride was keeping these two apart, and I felt that if Tuppy would make the first move, all would be well. I had another whack at it. "She's broken-hearted about this rift, Tuppy." "How do you know? Have you seen her?" "No, but I'll bet she is." "She doesn't look it." "Wearing the mask, no doubt. Jeeves does that when I assert my authority."
It simply raises its eyebrows, and can't make out what you're talking about. And in opening my report of the complex case of Gussie Fink-Nottle, Madeline Bassett, my Cousin Angela, my Aunt Dahlia, my Uncle Thomas, young Tuppy Glossop and the cook, Anatole, with the above spot of dialogue, I see that I have made the second of these two floaters. I shall have to hark back a bit.
It was with an uplifted heart that I addressed Jeeves as he came in to remove the tea tray. "Jeeves," I said. "Sir?" "I've just been having a chat with young Tuppy, Jeeves. Did you happen to notice that he wasn't looking very roguish this morning?" "Yes, sir. It seemed to me that Mr. Glossop's face was sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought." "Quite.
"I was thinking that Tuppy is probably lurking somewhere." He leaped like a lamb in springtime. "What shall I do?" I considered this. "Sneak back to your room and barricade the door. That is the manly policy." "Suppose that's where he's lurking?" "In that case, move elsewhere." But on arrival at the room, it transpired that Tuppy, if anywhere, was infesting some other portion of the house.
I'll guarantee that she will be weeping on your neck before yonder sun has set." He barked sharply. "A fat chance!" "Tup, Tushy!" "Eh?" "I mean 'Tush, Tuppy. I tell you I will do it. I was just going to describe this plan of mine to Jeeves when you came in. Care to hear it?" "I don't want to hear any of your beastly plans. Plans are no good.
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