A/N: I just started reading P.G. Wodehouse's "Stiff Upper Lip, Jeeves" and I was inspired to write a "Jeeves and Wooster" story...this is what I came up with. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own Jeeves and Wooster
When the Valet's Away…
It's not as though I haven't been in the lock-up before. I have, in fact, been here several times; just not recently. Ever since Jeeves arrived as my Valet, anyway. He does a phenomenal job of keeping me out of trouble. Not that I golooking for trouble, mind you, but it does seem to enjoy looking for me.
Themost recent predicament that I found myself in, the one that aided in my current internment in the slammer, could have been narrowly avoided had Jeeves been at his normal post by my side; he was, however, miles away at something or other that he had informed me was of the utmost importance to him.
Well, since Jeeves rarely asks for time off, I let him go, figuring I could handle myself for the few days he was away. Apparently I'd forgotten the Wooster luck that generally follows me everywhere I go. It's a bit of a plauge, as Jeeveswould put it, which condemns one with its will.
And the 'one' is usually good old Bertram Wooster.
I suppose some may say that I brought this upon myself, but I do not personally believe that anyone can hope to pass such judgement. It is fully within my own power to determine whether or not I caused my own affliction, and I do not consider that to be the case.
If I'm going to blame anyone, it's going to be that blasted dog. The folks in the flat a few doors down from mine recently brought home a new family member: a puppy. Yorkshire Terrier, I believe, but the breed doesn't pertain to this account. What does pertain is that the little thing never ceased its day and night, I heard it yowling and barking to the best of its ability, keeping me from enjoying the slumber I often look forward tothroughout the day.
So,I decided to take action.
I am aware of how petty it sounds for me to do something about an animal simply because it is upsetting my regular sleep cycle, and I must assure you that that was not the only factor included in my reasoning. You see, from the sounds the poor creature was making I assumed that its family had been mistreating it. So,you see, what I planned to do was humane.
I was going to set it free.
I snuck down the hall near mid-day, when I was sure they were out lunching, and did my best to jiggle the lock open. I scarred the door a bit, but it was nothing too noticeable, and slipped inside. The little pup was just inside the door, gazing up at me with those large eyes dogs generally have, and, finally, not making a sound.
I crept towards it, reaching my arms out and lowering myself down to its level.
"C'mon,come to Bertie," I coaxed; it only tilted its head to the side and let out a small "yip" of confusion. I kept trying, inching closer and closer to the bugger, and not realizing that someone had appeared behind me until a throat was cleared.
The couple had returned, and when they'd seen my posterior framed in their front door, they'd deduced that they'd better bring up a Constable.
Which basically concludes the tale of how I found myself here. It's a rather embarrassing one, isn't it? But, then, most of them are. My exploits always seem to leave me in a bit of a pickle, and I have become so used to Jeeves' aid that I must have forgotten how to avoid these troubles myself.