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Updated: June 23, 2025
"That's all right about the fine, old, chivalrous spirit of the Glossops. Where is the sweet, gentle, womanly spirit of the Angelas? Telling a fellow he was getting a double chin!" "Did she do that?" "She did." "Oh, well, girls will be girls. Forget it, Tuppy. Go to her and make it up." He shook his head. "No. It is too late.
It was a dastardly act to crawl out as you did and shove it off on to me. I will not mince my words. It was the act of a hound and a stinker." Now, though, as I have shown, I had devoted most of the time on the journey down to meditating upon the case of Angela and Tuppy, I had not neglected to give a thought or two to what I was going to say when I encountered Gussie.
"No doubt you were unaware of it, but all this while there has been a beetle of sorts parked on the side of your head. You have now dislodged it." He snorted. "Beetles!" "Not beetles. One beetle only." "I like your crust!" cried Tuppy, vibrating like one of Gussie's newts during the courting season. "Talking of beetles, when all the time you know you're a treacherous, sneaking hound."
A sudden bright light shone upon me. "Ha! A gesture!" "What?" "You got engaged to Gussie just to score off Tuppy?" "I did." "Well, then, that was what I was saying. It was a gesture." "Yes, I suppose you could call it that." "And I'll tell you something else I'll call it viz. a dashed low trick. I'm surprised at you, young Angela." "I don't see why." I curled the lip about half an inch.
She's gone and fallen in love with this other bloke, and now hates my gizzard." "Rot." "It isn't rot." "I tell you, Tuppy, as one who can read the female heart, that this Angela loves you still." "Well, it didn't look much like it in the larder last night." "Oh, you went to the larder last night?" "I did." "And Angela was there?" "She was. And your aunt. Also your uncle."
It was a moment for swift thinking, and it is at such moments, as I have already indicated, that Bertram Wooster is at his best. I suddenly remembered the recent misunderstanding with the Bassett, and with a flash of clear vision saw that this was where it was going to come in handy. "You've got it all wrong, Tuppy," I said, moving to the left.
Yet, from the way he talked, you would have thought I was one of those chaps in sweaters with medals all over them, whose photographs bob up from time to time in the illustrated press on the occasion of their having ridden from Hyde Park Corner to Glasgow in three seconds under the hour, or whatever it is. And as if this were not bad enough, Tuppy had to shove his oar in.
True, they had had their little tiffs, notably on the occasion when Tuppy with what he said was fearless honesty and I considered thorough goofiness had told Angela that her new hat made her look like a Pekingese.
Instead of which, the Bassett was one of the group which included Aunt Dahlia and Uncle Tom and seemed to be busy trying to make Anatole see the bright side, while Angela and Gussie were, respectively, leaning against the sundial with a peeved look and sitting on the grass rubbing a barked shin. Tuppy was walking up and down the path, all by himself. A disturbing picture, you will admit.
I had to pause again here, partly in order to take in a spot of breath, and partly to wrestle with the almost physical torture of saying these frightful things about poor old Tuppy. "There are some chaps," I resumed, forcing myself once more to the nauseous task, "who, in spite of looking as if they had slept in their clothes, can get by quite nicely because they are amiable and suave.
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