Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 22, 2025
JEEVES: Precisely, sir. SELF: Seems ages since I went away. JEEVES: Yes, sir. SELF: Have a good time at Ascot? JEEVES: Most agreeable, sir. SELF: Win anything? JEEVES: Quite a satisfactory sum, thank you, sir. SELF: Good. Well, Jeeves, what news on the Rialto? Anybody been phoning or calling or anything during my abs.? JEEVES: Mr. Fink-Nottle, sir, has been a frequent caller. I stared.
And it was while I was at the flat, towelling the torso after a much-needed rinse, that Jeeves, as we chatted of this and that picking up the threads, as it were suddenly brought the name of Gussie Fink-Nottle into the conversation. As I recall it, the dialogue ran something as follows: SELF: Well, Jeeves, here we are, what? JEEVES: Yes, sir. SELF: I mean to say, home again.
Becoming abruptly aware that a fat kid in knickerbockers was at his elbow, he started violently. "Hullo!" he said, visibly shaken. "Who are you?" "This," said the bearded bloke, "is R.V. Smethurst." "What's he doing here?" asked Gussie suspiciously. "You are presenting him with the drawing prize, Mr. Fink-Nottle." This apparently struck Gussie as a reasonable explanation. His face cleared.
In that case, I would simply have said, "Listen," and she would have said, "What?" and I would have said, "You know Gussie Fink-Nottle," and she would have said, "Yes," and I would have said, "He loves you," and she would have said either, "What, that mutt? Well, thank heaven for one good laugh today," or else, in more passionate vein, "Hot dog! Tell me more."
It's always a nasty jar to wait for the laugh and find that the gag hasn't got across. The bearded bloke was visibly discomposed. At that, however, I think he would have got by, had he not, at this juncture, unfortunately stirred Gussie up again. "In other words, though deprived of Mr. Plomer, we have with us this afternoon Mr. Fink-Nottle. I am sure that Mr.
You couldn't have told it from my manner, but I was feeling more than a bit nonplussed. The spectacle before me was enough to nonplus anyone. I mean to say, this Fink-Nottle, as I remembered him, was the sort of shy, shrinking goop who might have been expected to shake like an aspen if invited to so much as a social Saturday afternoon at the vicarage.
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.
As I let the mind dwell on what must even now be taking place in that peaceful garden, I felt bucked and uplifted. Though never for an instant faltering in my opinion that Augustus Fink-Nottle was Nature's final word in cloth-headed guffins, I liked the man, wished him well, and could not have felt more deeply involved in the success of his wooing if I, and not he, had been under the ether.
"I propose, Jeeves, to wire to Aunt Dahlia saying that I can't get down, and suggesting that she unleashes him on these young Borstal inmates of hers in my stead." "But if Mr. Fink-Nottle should decline, sir?" "Decline? Can you see him declining? Just conjure up the picture in your mind, Jeeves.
Seppings, who was puffing respectfully in the background, didn't actually wave his fists, but he gave Gussie a pretty austere look. It was plain to the thoughtful observer that this Fink-Nottle, in getting on to that skylight, had done a mistaken thing. He couldn't have been more unpopular in the home of G.G. Simmons.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking