Mr. Wooster and I burst into the flat through the front door. It was not, I regret to say, the most dignified manner of entrance, but under the circumstances it could be forgiven. I attempted to maintain at least some degree of decorum. Mr. Wooster, for his part, once hastily divested of his coat and hat, flung himself upon the sofa.
I positioned myself close at hand to light his cigarette as he raised it to his lips, and handed him a glass of his preferred aperitif when he had taken a drag.
"Thank you, Jeeves! I say, drinks all around!" Mr. Wooster declared, in a particularly cheerful mood after recent events. "This calls for a toast!"
"That is very kind, sir," I replied, hardly in a position to argue. Indeed, I felt a particular pleasure at being invited to share in a toast as Mr. Wooster's equal, though I very well knew it was but a temporary side effect of his passing elation.
I poured myself a modest glass and raised it to chime against Mr. Wooster's own.
"To my averted nuptials, what?"
"Indeed, sir," I said with perhaps some small indication of feeling. It was, in all honesty, a relief to myself as well.
"I say, you're beyond compare, Jeeves! Though you cut it a little close there with that wallaby," Mr. Wooster said after taking a somewhat larger than customary sip.
"Yes, sir."
I had cut it close, so to speak, too close for my own comfort as well. It has always been a personal resolution of mine to never work for a married man, but the thought of losing Mr. Wooster in such a manner was a particularly painful one.
Mr. Wooster, it seemed, was not finished. "Really, I don't know what I'd do without you, Jeeves, or how I could ever repay you for all the tureens you've fished me out of! You're the absolute top, the purple light on a summer night in Spain and all that! I can't fathom why a wonder like you sticks around a chap like me - it's downright unfathomable, what?"
If Mr. Wooster shone with exultation, which I am inclined to say that he did, then I would perhaps be excused for taking the liberty of saying that I glowed with pride at his exuberant praise. Even so, I am well aware that Mr. Wooster has something of a tendency to exaggerate his moments of jubilation; he says things which he fully believes to be true in the heat of the moment, but which he later regards as hyperbole.
"You are too kind, sir."
"No, Jeeves, I can't possibly say enough to do you justice! What do you want, Jeeves? Upto half my kingdom is yours for the asking!"
"If you will pardon my saying sir, I believe the expression is 'unto half my kingdom.'"
"'Unto,' Jeeves? Are you sure?"
"Quite, sir."
"You know best, of course. Unto half my kingdom, then! What do you say?"
Mr. Wooster looked up at me; his bright blue eyes have a way of shining, metaphorically speaking, as though they alone could radiate with all of his innumerable qualities as a gentleman - qualities which I have found him to possess in spades in my years in his employment. He seemed to be entreating me, as though he truly would entrust me with all his kingdom and everything within it, if only I accepted it. There is something very difficult to resist about Mr. Wooster when he regards me so, but I held firm. I had but one question.
"Those gloves, sir?"
Mr. Wooster's demeanor predictably deflated at the mention of the offending articles. "But they're just the thing!" he protested.
"If I may take the liberty, sir, they are hardly suitable."
"Fine, burn them Jeeves." Mr. Wooster peeled off the gloves and handed them to me, his eyes averted as though he could not bear to look.
"Thank you, sir."
However, it was not to last.
.
Some days later, Mr. Wooster returned to the flat in what initially appeared to be high spirits.
He greeted me in his typical fashion, with a coloquial, "What ho!"
The first sign that something was amiss manifested itself as I made to relieve Mr. Wooster of a package which he had brought home with him.
Mr. Wooster hesitated, his particularly expressive features quickly transforming from a ready smile to a distinct frown. My spirits, raised by Mr. Wooster's arrival, fell accordingly as I suspected what hid inside.
"You may as well lay it out with the rest of the raiment for dinner tonight, what?" Mr. Wooster said at last, relinquishing the package, though he hardly seemed certain about the matter.
"Sir?" I asked, not for clarification, but by way of an unspoken suggestion.
Mr. Wooster evaded the question, hardly a propitious portent. "I think that'll be all, Jeeves."
I knew when I had been dismissed. "Very good, sir."
I conveyed the package to Mr. Wooster's bedroom. It contained, as I had feared from Mr. Wooster's demeanor, a tie of a most unsuitable shade of blue associated with his alma mater - that no doubt being the reason for its purchase, especially as the annual rowing competition between Oxford and Cambridge approached. I could only hope that reason and good taste would dissuade him, though I had what one may call a sinking suspicion that they would not.
I elected to replace the tie with the more appropriate black and then resumed my usual duties. I was not reminded of the matter of the tie again until Mr. Wooster was in the process of dressing for dinner.
"I say, Jeeves, where's that natty new tie I bought this afternoon?"
"I am afraid you were given the wrong color, sir. I intend to go to the tailor tomorrow to exchange it," I replied, again hoping, but hardly expecting.
"Jeeves!" Mr. Wooster made his displeasure evident. "You may take me for a pliable lout, but dash it all, I will not stand such insurrection - if that's the word I mean! I saw the man wrap the bally thing before my very eyes and I intend to wear it, whatever you may say."
"Sir, I would not advise it," I cautioned.
"I say that I will wear the old school colors and that is the last I mean to hear of it."
And so I had no choice but to retrieve the article.
I was well aware by that time that Mr. Wooster, for all his many qualities, is a very stubborn gentleman. I confess that I am not without my own stubbornness and pride in my position as Mr. Wooster's valet, and among my duties is to ensure that Mr. Wooster is appropriately and pleasingly dressed. However, no matter how many times I proved myself to be more than qualified for the exceptional tasks which Mr. Wooster put before me, he refused to trust my judgement on the simplest of matters - such as the appropriate color of a tie. My services were at times useful to him, but even the most grandiose accomplishment did little to truly raise my esteem in his eyes. I was, after all, nothing more than a manservant.
You may understand why I therefore regarded Mr. Wooster with some measure of displeasure while I did as I had been ordered and handed him the offending article.
"Thank you, Jeeves," Mr. Wooster said coolly.
I in turn responded with an "Indeed, sir," which I believe Mr. Wooster would describe as "soupy."
"Will that be all, sir?" I asked, as he appeared to have no need of my services.
"Indeed," Mr. Wooster replied, I believe in an attempt to imitate my own manner.
So I returned to the kitchen, to occupy myself until such a time as Mr. Wooster called for my services once more.
I confess, on that occasion, my thoughts took precedence over my work. Again, Mr. Wooster and I had found ourselves at odds. It seemed to be an inevitable occurrence. Mr. Wooster disregarded my opinions and refused to see reason, and so I had no choice but to express my displeasure through other means, but that only stirred him to retaliate in kind, to remind me of my station. I found myself longing for some manner of crisis - even another unwanted engagement - to necessitate my coming to Mr. Wooster's aid and to enable me to win his favor once more. But even if such an occurrence did come to pass, I knew that, as ever, his favor would not last.
Some more drastic measure was called for.
When I tell Mr. Wooster that I do not have a plan, I am usually speaking the truth; not that I do not expect a plan to soon materialize, but I am content to wait until a promising opportunity presents itself, which invariably does occur. However, I had been waiting for years for an opportunity to materialize as matters only worsened until they began to feel untenable, but still no plan was forthcoming.
"Dash it all!" I declared. "A man can't very well be a slave to his valet, what?"
"Jeeves critiquing your wardrobe again?" Ginger asked knowingly.
An old school chum of mine, the chap was hardly phased as I'd rather swept into the Drones and sat down beside him with a bit of vim.
"I say!" I said. "It's hardly been a matter of days since we put aside our differences over those gloves that you know I was so fond of, and now the man is giving me the old cold shoulder again over an Oxford tie, which I couldn't very well pass up what with boat race right around the corner! Really, I don't know where the man gets off, just because he wears a size thirteen hat everyone thinks he's the final word. Well, I say Jeeves is losing his touch!"
"Jeeves, losing his touch?" Ginger asked, aghast, as he had every right to be at news like that.
"I'm afraid so," I gave the chap a sympathetic pat on the shoulder; it was a difficult thing for all of us to bear, myself most of all. "It just goes to show that nothing is forever, what?"
"But are you sure? Just the other day you were regaling us all with how Jeeves had gotten you out of the latest pinch with brilliance and finesse to spare."
"He had his day in the sun, it's true," I admitted graciously, "but I don't wonder if some of his great feats were more a matter of luck than intelligence."
"Now Bertie, let me get this straight: you think Jeeves has lost his touch all because he won't approve of your new Oxford tie?"
I drew myself up in offended pride. "The man thinks he can dictate what adorns the Wooster corpus, and if I don't comply, he'll give me that dashed cold shoulder for a month or more! It's more than a man can very well bear! So what if he's the brainiest valet in all of England?"
"I say! Does that mean Jeeves will be back on the market at last?" Ginger asked, sounding much more pleased than any pal ought under the circs. I regretted comforting the chap.
"Hardly!" I retorted - the vulture. "Jeeves wouldn't work for a chap like you anyway."
"He works for you," Ginger pointed out.
"Yes, well, but you're engaged."
"You're engaged all the time."
I let out a huff.
"Bertie, old chum," Ginger said with a bit more of the due sympathy, "it seems like this is all about rather more than just a tie."
"I say!" I agreed. "Before this bally tie, there were those dashed gloves, and that alpine hat, and the white mess jacket, and the crimson cumberbund, and one cannot forget that the chap has even tried to claim dominion over my own upper lip!"
"And succeeded," Ginger put in, dashed unhelpfully.
Still, it gave me cause to falter. "Yes, well, I can't very well rightly refuse him anything after he does the feudal thing and gets me out of the soup. And it's not like Jeeves, the remarkable cove that he is, has any more reason to listen to the wastrel, mentally negligible y.m. than he has to you, or Biffy."
"Hey!" Ginger protested. "You and Biffy may as well be on the same level, but I'd say I'm a few steps above."
"Compared to Jeeves, we're all no different from Biffy," I said with a sad shake of my head.
"But you said Biffy married Jeeves's cousin and the man was alright with it. Maybe he doesn't care who he works for," Ginger said, in a pally, but ultimately misplaced attempt to cheer my spirits.
"Tcha," I retorted - of course a chap like Jeeves had Jeevesian standards. "Well, if he thought it'd be easy to get his way working for young Bertram, then the joke's on him, as I believe I've made perfectly clear to the man. I couldn't very well say why he sticks around. He knows I'm hardly qualified for the posish., not nearly upstanding or preeminent enough. Even if we were at school together, I'm hardly the sort of chap a cove like him would be chummy with."
"Just a minute, what's this about being chums at school? This is about Jeeves, your valet, right?"
"Yes, but if he'd've hardly spared Bertram W. a glance even if we were at the old school together, how could I possibly be equal to being the chap's feudal master and whatnot?"
"Now Bertie, the worst he can do is give you that cold shoulder if he doesn't like your tie, it's not like you have to listen to him, and if he's content to stay on, ties and all that aside, I don't see what the trouble is. Unless you'd like to do the rest of us a favor, that is."
"See if I do you any favors next time you're in the soup," I retorted.
"Come now, Bertie! You wouldn't leave an old friend in the soup. Just think of the old school!"
"Yes, yes, very well." I waved him off. "But a chap must do something, mustn't he? I can't live at the mercy of Jeeves's c. s. forever! I've just got to do something to prove once and for all that I really am equal to the posish., on his level and whatnot, I mean. I've just got to show him!"
"I say, that's the spirit," Ginger said encouragingly. "To Oxford ties and all that, eh?"
He raised his glass and I eagerly followed suit.
"Rather! I mean, hear, hear!" I downed the rest of the glass.