"As King Henry exhorted, 'Once more into the breach.'" I raised an eyebrow of inquiry, since surely Jeeves or his pal Henry must have meant "breeches," the singular of the term being rather meaingless, but let it go, as I could see his point. The point to which I refer, of course, is that Jeeves and self were back once again in the Kansas town known as Smallville. By now, the hustle and b. of the place were familiar, and like a whatsit to the something, Jeeves and I were tooling to the hostelry known as The Talon, to input, as we computer users call it, a genial b. or two, it being about that time of the afternoon.
Our old pal, well, rather newish old pal, Lex Luthor, was leaning against the counter with the satisfaction of an aunt who's devoured an entire village and found she doesn't even need the fingers of one hand to count the survivors. Smug, if you know what I mean. Lana, the girl whose eyes and profile almost, but not quite, reconcile Bertie Wooster to the fact that she throws poetry readings, was looking up at him with a smile that seemed to say that he'd told a joke and she knew it was funny, but wasn't quite sure she was ready to laugh. Chloe, a remarkably pretty girl, clearly with a superfluity of brains and energy, was standing with her mouth wide open.
"So you're really getting married?" she asked, making the question sound like the words really had only one syllable each.
"Personally delivered invitations," he said. "And Clark's agreed to be my best man." Clark, if you recall, being the chappie who can perform most extraordinary feats of strength and speed and such not. "Faster than a speeding bullet," Jeeves put it, rather neatly, I thought. But that's Jeeves for you, probably somebody with one of those machines would be able to see brain waves positively shimmering off him.
"Hallo hallo hallo!" I said, amiably, and Jeeves inserted a, "It is a pleasure to see you again."
The Luthor bean actually beamed, which struck me as a bit odd since last time, our r. had been a bit strained, due to my rather permissionlessly borrowing his car to follow Lana when she had taken off in mine, and only Jeeves had mollified his w. by some snappy brain cell exertion and explanations. "So what are you doing in Smallville again?" he asked, but without the angry aunt tone which suggests that the explanation had better be good, and had better end in "and I'm leaving in five minutes."
"My Aunt Dahlia wanted another article for her 'zine about life in smalltown America, and suggested, well, not that she suggests anything, it's more a command, that Jeeves and I attend a farmer's market, to see if it's anything like markets in dear old England, don't you know? So I thought, why not pass through again?" Aunt Dahlia, who, when not saying that I should have been drowned at birth and so on, is the best of eggs, and at her request, all the Wooster noblesse oblige starts to oblige. Also, refusing one of her requests sends strong men quivering. Jeeves once put it that they "tremble in fear at her frown," which just about says it all. Her chef, Anatole, is the greatest magician to set spoon to pot, another reason one wants to keep on her good side.
"I was just inviting the ladies to my wedding. Perhaps you'd honor me by attending, as well? It's this Sunday afternoon, at the castle."
I frankly gaped. While I didn't know Lex Luthor that well, he struck me as a sensible chap, not the type to bill and coo, let alone enter matrimony without a good deal of force, though certainly other men have walked down the dreaded aisle as though it were a pleasure.
It struck me that whoever the bride might be, she must be quite the personality, and aside from wishing the Luthor chappie all well, and having no objection to what would probably be a festivity of festivities, I accepted, thinking it would provide self and Jeeves an opportunity to study the psychology of the individual. Jeeves' phrase, not mine.
Our old pal, well, rather newish old pal, Lex Luthor, was leaning against the counter with the satisfaction of an aunt who's devoured an entire village and found she doesn't even need the fingers of one hand to count the survivors. Smug, if you know what I mean. Lana, the girl whose eyes and profile almost, but not quite, reconcile Bertie Wooster to the fact that she throws poetry readings, was looking up at him with a smile that seemed to say that he'd told a joke and she knew it was funny, but wasn't quite sure she was ready to laugh. Chloe, a remarkably pretty girl, clearly with a superfluity of brains and energy, was standing with her mouth wide open.
"So you're really getting married?" she asked, making the question sound like the words really had only one syllable each.
"Personally delivered invitations," he said. "And Clark's agreed to be my best man." Clark, if you recall, being the chappie who can perform most extraordinary feats of strength and speed and such not. "Faster than a speeding bullet," Jeeves put it, rather neatly, I thought. But that's Jeeves for you, probably somebody with one of those machines would be able to see brain waves positively shimmering off him.
"Hallo hallo hallo!" I said, amiably, and Jeeves inserted a, "It is a pleasure to see you again."
The Luthor bean actually beamed, which struck me as a bit odd since last time, our r. had been a bit strained, due to my rather permissionlessly borrowing his car to follow Lana when she had taken off in mine, and only Jeeves had mollified his w. by some snappy brain cell exertion and explanations. "So what are you doing in Smallville again?" he asked, but without the angry aunt tone which suggests that the explanation had better be good, and had better end in "and I'm leaving in five minutes."
"My Aunt Dahlia wanted another article for her 'zine about life in smalltown America, and suggested, well, not that she suggests anything, it's more a command, that Jeeves and I attend a farmer's market, to see if it's anything like markets in dear old England, don't you know? So I thought, why not pass through again?" Aunt Dahlia, who, when not saying that I should have been drowned at birth and so on, is the best of eggs, and at her request, all the Wooster noblesse oblige starts to oblige. Also, refusing one of her requests sends strong men quivering. Jeeves once put it that they "tremble in fear at her frown," which just about says it all. Her chef, Anatole, is the greatest magician to set spoon to pot, another reason one wants to keep on her good side.
"I was just inviting the ladies to my wedding. Perhaps you'd honor me by attending, as well? It's this Sunday afternoon, at the castle."
I frankly gaped. While I didn't know Lex Luthor that well, he struck me as a sensible chap, not the type to bill and coo, let alone enter matrimony without a good deal of force, though certainly other men have walked down the dreaded aisle as though it were a pleasure.
It struck me that whoever the bride might be, she must be quite the personality, and aside from wishing the Luthor chappie all well, and having no objection to what would probably be a festivity of festivities, I accepted, thinking it would provide self and Jeeves an opportunity to study the psychology of the individual. Jeeves' phrase, not mine.