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Updated: June 19, 2025
As far as the eye could reach, one noted nobody but Tuppy. And in Tuppy's demeanour, as I say, there was a certain something that tended to disquiet. He looked to me very much like a man who had come to reopen that matter of my tickling Angela's ankles. However, his opening remark told me that I had been alarming myself unduly. It was of a pacific nature, and came as a great relief.
Not even on the occasion, some years earlier, when I had inadvertently become betrothed to Tuppy's frightful Cousin Honoria, had I experienced a deeper sense of being waist high in the gumbo and about to sink without trace. I wandered out into the garden, smoking a tortured gasper, with the iron well embedded in the soul.
I have seen fellows late for the 9.15 move less nippily. I shot a glance at Jeeves. He allowed his right eyebrow to flicker slightly, which is as near as he ever gets to a display of the emotions. "Hullo?" I yipped. "Let me in, blast you!" responded Tuppy's voice from without. "Who locked this door?" I consulted Jeeves once more in the language of the eyebrow. He raised one of his.
To Tuppy's theory that some insinuating bird had stolen the girl's heart from him at Cannes I had given, as I have indicated, little credence, considering it the mere unbalanced apple sauce of a bereaved man.
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