That evening, Mr. Wooster declared, with the quiet resolution which had become his typical demeanor ever since I had announced my engagement, "Jeeves, ready yourself for a night on the town. We should leave within the hour."
I confess, this took me by surprise and I expressed as much. "May I ask as to the occasion?"
But Mr. Wooster said no more upon the matter. Instead, he provided me with a suit to wear, which would have certainly been out of place in my wardrobe, but nonetheless had been tailored to fit. When I was ready, I found Mr. Wooster waiting, dressed in a similarly fashionable ensemble, but without any of the garish colors or patterns for which he has a particular weakness. In fact, he looked distinctly respectable, aside from a slight crookedness to his tie.
"If I may," I offered.
"Very good, Jeeves," he said, though he seemed distinctly displeased by it. "Come along, we can't be late."
"Sir, if I may take the liberty of asking," I made another attempt.
Mr. Wooster only shook his head and urged me out into the evening. We strode quickly along the shore, past the rows of piers extending into the water, and through the center of town. At last, on the far side of town, we came to the dock belonging to Lord Grubing, at the end of which was the Royal Fancy, apparently preparing to depart.
I endeavored again to speak with Mr. Wooster, but he dismissed me, instead seeming to gather his nerves before he hurried down the dock. I hastily followed after, quickly forming some impression of Mr. Wooster's intentions.
He stopped at the gangplank leading onto the Royal Fancy, where a footman was standing to welcome those invited on to the ship and prevent those uninvited from gaining entry.
"Pardon me," Mr. Wooster exclaimed, a little out of breath from running, "a telegram has arrived, it's urgent!"
"A telegram, sir?" the footman asked, already unconvinced.
"Yes, you'll want to post a reply immediately!" Mr. Wooster insisted.
I could already see that Mr. Wooster's efforts to lure away the footman would come to nothing. Therefore, while the footman was distracted by Mr. Wooster, I slipped onto the ship and quickly spotted a large, genial, but imposing gentleman standing not far from the gangplank, who appeared to be a fixture among the company and would have little patience for such quibbles. I approached him with an air of polite embarrassment.
"Pardon me, I'm afraid my friend was late and has gotten into an argument with the footman. He's slight, but rather fearsome when offended."
The man shook his head in familiar exasperation. "If I've told that surly footman once, I've told him a hundred times!"
He followed me to the edge of the ship, overlooking where Mr. Wooster was still arguing with the footman, though it had not yet come to blows.
"Stop arguing and do your job!" the gentleman shouted.
Both Mr. Wooster and the footman stopped mid sentence and turned upward to see who had interrupted their dispute.
"I say!" Mr. Wooster exclaimed, with a look of pure relief, though it quickly faded
"He's got some-" was all the footman managed to say before the gentleman cut him off.
"Enough of that, he's a friend of-"
"Lord Kelso," Mr. Wooster provided hastily on my behalf. "And I'm Sir Nobbin's nephew, Eustace, visiting from London while he's away on that cruise. But apparently this footman was not informed."
It seemed Mr. Wooster had in fact been hard at work, and the gentleman appeared to accept his explanation because he exclaimed, "Old Nobby's nephew! Well I'll be! I haven't seen you since you were this high! I didn't hear you were coming!" The gentleman waved Mr. Wooster aboard.
From the gangplank, he proceeded to give us a tour around the deck of the ship. It was dominated by three towering masts, from which hung the sails, already waving in the breeze. The deck rose up around us in both directions in a series of tiered layers, occupied by gentlemen of the club and their guests milling about, cocktails in hand, featuring a predominance of imported rum, as they waited for the ship to leave dock.
The gentleman continued speaking as he led us up another wooden ladder toward the stern, up to the wheel and behind it presumably the historic captain's quarters, "You probably don't recognize me. I'm Henry Knotts. I've been a friend of your uncle for years. How is old Nobby liking his cruise."
"Oh, very well, what?" Mr. Wooster replied, sounding distinctly uncomfortable.
"Are you alright, Eustace?" Mr. Knotts asked once we were all standing upon the quarter deck.
"Quite," Mr. Wooster insisted.
"Eustace has been known to become seasick," I provided.
Mr. Wooster responded to my assistance with a glare.
After we had gone up another level, Mr. Knott's attention turned to me. "How do you know Eustace?"
"You know, the old school, what?" Mr. Wooster replied before I had the chance.
"A Cambridge man?" Mr. Notts confirmed.
"Yes, indeed," I said and that appeared to suffice.
It was truly a beautiful old schooner, excellently restored. Stealing aboard was hardly a course of action I had expected Mr. Wooster to take nor one I would have condoned, but as a means of encouraging me to remain in his employ, it was an admirable and truly appreciated effort.
The sun was beginning to set in the west, and once our tour had gone the entire length of the ship and back, I succeeded at extricating Mr. Wooster from a doubtless riveting conversation with Mr. Knott to look out over the bow as the ship began to pull away from the shore.
However, as soon as Mr. Knott's attention was drawn away, Mr. Wooster's cheerful mask gave way to the downcast visage I had come to expect since I announced my engagement.
I endeavored to give him some manner of encouragement, drawing his attention to the painted sky; "It is the cooling hour, just when the rounded red sun sinks down behind the azure hill, which then seems as if the whole earth is bounded, circling all nature, hush'd, and dim, and still."
Mr. Wooster, however, only replied dismissively, "Very good, Jeeves," no less downcast than before.
"Something is troubling you?" I asked gently.
"Nothing at all," he insisted proudly. "Enjoy your fishing and whatnot to the fullest." With that he turned to stride away.
I made to catch him, but before I had the chance, Mr. Knott reappeared, "Eustace, there you are! I wanted to introduce you!" And so, he was swept up in another round of introductions.
Those were in turn cut short by a shout from the helm. "Ahoy!" a man who I presumed was Lord Grubing, the owner of the ship, called out in a loud, carrying voice, drawing all to attention. He stood in position behind the wheel, already in costume, with a long coat and three corner hat, complete with a parrot in a cage that hung from the wall behind him.
"It's time for the main event," Mr. Knotts declared as everyone around us stirred into motion, "You're in for a treat, lads. Hurry under to change into your costumes."
"Costumes?" Mr. Wooster asked, with a bit of a yelp.
I expediently stepped in. "Eustace, you forgot to pick them up in London? I'm afraid we'll have to borrow a pair if there are any extra about."
"I'll see what I can scrounge up," Mr. Knott said, sounding none too pleased about it.
While he descended into the hold with the other members of the club, I murmured in Mr. Wooster's ear, "It is a reenactment club."
"Yes, yes, I see that, now!" Mr. Wooster snapped and let his head fall into his hands.
There we sat, out on the nearly empty deck of the old pirate ship, under the brilliantly setting sun, and still Mr. Wooster refused to yield.
"Are you certain you're quite alright?" I asked softly.
"Yes, quite," he insisted.
"It was very kind of you to bring me aboard," I prompted.
He sighed and leaned back against the rail. A drink was called for, but I was not there as his valet.
"Oh, dash it all!" he exclaimed at last, still in hushed tones. "This was all supposed to be to thank you for everything you've done for me, to return the favor and all that. I suppose now it's a send off, but some rotten send off it's turned out to be."
I confess, that surprised me. "You mean to say that you planned to bring me aboard the Royal Fancy even before I became engaged?"
"Yes, though I don't see why it matters," Mr. Wooster said bitterly.
To me, however, it mattered immensely. It meant that my plan had not succeeded, but had in fact backfired; I could not deny that my engagement was to blame for the recent turn in Mr. Wooster's affect. I had thought it a necessary price, but it appeared that what I had mistaken for distraction and indecision had in fact been Mr. Wooster preoccupied with preparing this outing on my behalf, and I am ashamed to say that for all of my pride in knowing his every mood and fancy, I had not so much as suspected.
Mr. Knott soon returned with a pair of costumes. I was so distracted that Mr. Wooster was the first to his feet to thank Mr. Knott, and I belatedly followed. We descended into the hold to change as gentlemen, now in costume as a rather more disorderly lot, were already beginning to return to the deck.
We found a small storeroom in which to change in privacy - the interior of the ship being historically accurate to a fault. I mechanically fitted Mr. Wooster into his costume before quickly changing into my own, my thoughts occupied by the dilemma I had so carefully constructed. Neither costume was quite the right size, but they were apparently the largest on hand; mine was somewhat tight and Mr. Wooster's costume hung off his willowy frame.
As I tied a sash around Mr. Wooster's waist, to more flatteringly outline his lithe figure, I spoke up at last, a hasty plan to undo the damage I had wrought already formed, "Mr. Wooster, I am aware that a preux chevalier does not bandy a woman's name, but I believe as my friend you have the right to know the truth. It is in regard to my fiancée, Miss Fletcher, incidentally Lord Grubing's cook. She may think that I am hopelessly in love with her, but in truth I have no desire to marry her or any other."
For the first time since I had announced my engagement, the light of hope seemed to rekindle in Mr. Wooster's sad eyes, though still his voice held a tone of disbelief, "I say, really?"
"Yes, sir."
Mr. Wooster righted his posture and raised his chin, a rapier in hand completing a rather dashing image. When he spoke it was with an uncharacteristic grave seriousness, which was only fitting in the extent to which it was exaggerated, "Jeeves, leave it to me - I will do everything in my power to relieve you from hers."
I don't know if you have ever felt something like a bomb going off beneath you, as though, without any warning, the entire world has abruptly fallen to pieces around you. Time has a way of seeming to stop. It moves forward of course, but not in any meaningful, discernable fashion, perhaps because there is nowhere to go. I have had such an experience on two occasions. The first was when Jeeves left me over that dashed banjolele, and the second when Jeeves announced to me that he was engaged, and would therefore be leaving my service, this time with no chance of returning.
And then, at the revelation that he in fact had no more desire to marry than I did, time seemed to resume its flow, to reverse, if the metaphor holds, slowly piecing back together what had seemed to have been blown apart as I realized the meaning of Jeeves's words. That is not to say that, as I breathed in the clear ocean air again, now dressed in the appropriate costume, I was in the clear just yet. My attempts to prove that my abilities were equal to Jeeves's own had been met by nothing more than one disaster after another. Just because Jeeves didn't want to marry some cook hardly meant he wouldn't one day get tired of one Bertram W. and decide to leave to find more suitable employment.
I was standing and brooding, not on the upper decks of the ship where the revelries were in full swing - and these esteemed gentlemen could make an evening at the Drones look positively lethargic - instead, to suit my mood, I was down on the quieter lower deck, squeezed beside a cannon, to look out upon the restless waters. I was hardly alone; a few older gentlemen were lingering about talking among themselves, and there was another young fellow also doing a bit of forlorn gazing. I felt a certain kindred spirit with the chap, though I couldn't say what he was pondering. If I were in better spirits, I may have started up a conversation with him, but as it was, neither of us seemed to be in the right mood, so we both stood in silence.
That is, I should say, until we both turned at the sound of raised voices at the other end of the narrow corridor that ran past the cannons.
There was really only one voice that made itself known, a woman exclaiming in surprise, "Reginald!"
The name alone would have been enough to draw my attention, even if it hadn't been shouted so. You see, my man, you know, is a remarkable cove by the name of Reginald Jeeves, though I know him only as Jeeves, and he was the very same Reginald that this exclamation was directed at, on this occasion looking a bit more roguish than the proper gentleman's gentleman he usually is, but no less impressive to behold.
"What are you doing here?" she continued, hardly giving him a chance to speak in her enthusiasm. "You just couldn't stay away, could you? Oh, dear Reginald, you're right, I can't make you wait any longer. It must be tonight! We can row to shore and elope tonight!"
The other chap and I moved at nearly the exact same time, both of us heading straight for Jeeves and the filly - who must have been that dreaded fiancée of his. I started out behind, but my step has a good bit of spring when the need arises, enabling me to pull ahead of the other chap by a nose, and I was therefore just in time to to parry his sword as he aimed it at Jeeves, certainly just to threaten the man, though for an instant I feared the worst.
However, I'm afraid the other chap got the first word in, with a desperate, "Wait!"
But I followed close behind; "Leave him be! He doesn't want any part of this!"
Our swords flashed back and forth a bit, mostly just clanging metal on metal as thankfully neither of us had much of an inkling as to what we were doing.
And then the girl shouted, "Oh, Roald!"
That stopped the chap cold and I hastily withdrew my blade before I inadvertently took first blood.
"Eliza!" the chap exclaimed, turning all of his attention to her - the lovelight was plain enough to see. "I couldn't just let you run away with him!"
"That doesn't give you the right to go threatening my fiancé!"
"You don't really want to marry him, do you?"
"That's not the point!"
They seemed to be having it out alright, so I instead turned to Jeeves.
"Are you quite alright, Jeeves?" I asked.
"Indeed," he replied.
For but an instant I thought I saw something uncommonly warm in that dark gaze of his, but only briefly, as his eyes quickly flickered up, past me, and I followed his gaze to find that something of a crowd had gathered around us in all the commotion.
There was a bit of a silence, aside from the continued bickering of the cook and Roald, before a rather grizzled looking chap, more than suited to the part of the pirate captain, if I said so myself, even if he hadn't been sporting a tricorn hat and long coat, parted the crowd to approach Jeeves and I.
"You're not Nobby's nephew," the man said at last, his voice low and dangerous, "and you're not Lord Kelso, so who are you stowaways?"
You may know that for all the courage of the Woosters, when confronted with a disapproving aunt or intimidating uncle sort - or a pirate captain as the case may be - I rather crumble. "Well, I say, I mean," I attempted.
The man drew his cutlass. "Speak up, lad! You know what pirates do with stowaways!"
I swallowed.
"They're probably just urchins looking for a thrill!" someone in the crowd suggested.
"No, I told you he looked familiar!" another called out, sparing me the trial of trying to come up with some excuse, but sealing my fate. "You're Lady Worplesdon's good-for-nothing nephew!"
"Yes, well," I stammered.
"Who's the other one then?" the captain growled, his cutlass still dangerously close to the Wooster visage.
I swallowed again and dredged up all the courage I could muster from the depths of my proud ancestry - it was my neck, but it was Jeeves's good name on the line. Still my voice wavered. "He- he's no one. It was all my foolish idea, he didn't have a say in it. He didn't even know where we were going until I snuck him aboard. Whatever you do with me, leave him out of it!"
The captain laughed and the rest of the crew laughed with him, just like a real crew of pirates. "You're right, it doesn't matter who you are, you know what happens to stowaways on a pirate ship?" He didn't give me time to answer. "You walk the plank!"
"Walk the plank! Walk the plank!" the rest of the pirates cheered.
I backed slowly away from the pirate captain and his cutlass, but he didn't let me get far.
I was just thinking of making a mad dash for it when I heard a quiet cough, like a polite sheep on a distant mountaintop, and found that Jeeves had materialized some yards away from where I had been cornered.
"This way," he suggested, as though he were suggesting what wine to pair with the fish, and certainly not running from pirates.
I didn't think twice, I bolted after the chap as though my life depended on it - and it wasn't hard to imagine that it did, especially as the hoard of pirates quickly overcame the sudden shock and came running after. Jeeves was the only one who didn't seem to run at all, he simply appeared just around each corner as though he projected himself from place to place.
I ran the length of the ship and up a ladder, out onto the deck. I went like a flash with youthful vigor and long legs besides, but the hoard of aged gentlemen seemed hardly far behind.
"Over here," Jeeves urged from behind a little boat that had served as something of a centerpiece on the lower deck.
Between the two of us, we hauled it into the water just as the pirates came up from below after us. Without a second glance, we leaped inside and Jeeves rowed us off into the night to the sound of the pirates' jeers.
Jeeves's steady strokes drew us quickly away from the pirate ship and out onto the open water until the only sound was the gentle lapping of the waves. As my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, the water seemed to shimmer in the silvery moonlight, reflecting back the twinkling of the stars. We were alone with Nature. My racing heart slowed and I had no choice, but to confront what had occurred.
"I expect that you provided them with ample entertainment," Jeeves remarked, laying aside the oars and taking a bit of a respite.
I could only shake my head - the time for jesting had passed. "I'm sorry, Jeeves," I said at last, willing myself to face the inevitable with my chin raised, even as it pained me, "I expect that's the final straw, what?"
"The final straw?" Jeeves asked, unwilling to just leave it at that.
And so, I said it, "I can't very well imagine you want any more to do with Bertram W. after that dashed debacle! I'll write you the best reference I can, of course."
"Sir," Jeeves protested, always full of that feudal spirit.
But I raised my hand. I would have none of the man's pity, not now. "All I've done is land us deeper and deeper in the soup, only for you to pull us out again. I thought it was my turn, to do something for you, I mean, after all you've done for me, to prove that I really am worthy of a remarkable cove like you, but all I've managed to do is prove why I'm not!"
I buried my h. in my hands, unable to keep my chin raised any longer.
"I thought I could do something to prove myself," I moaned, rather lost in it, I'm afraid, "to keep you from realizing that I really am the mentally negligible wastrel Aunt Agatha and all the rest know me to be, that I'm certainly not worthy of a fellow like you. I just couldn't bear the thought of you finding out and leaving because, well, I say, it sounds absurd, but I could swear I love you as much as I've ever loved anyone."
I didn't have anything more to say for myself and it seemed Jeeves didn't either. All was still and silent. I wondered when he would start rowing us back to shore to deposit me there and wash his hands of the thing, or if he would go so far as to banish me from our little dinghy and send me off into the night. It seemed I had just about stunned the chap into silence.
But he did, eventually, speak, and when he did, he said none of the things I had been expecting, or rather dreading. Instead he asked, as though he were asking me if I really wanted to keep that Oxford tie, "You would hold me in such regard, even though I am nothing more than your manservant?"
"I'm not even worthy to be a chum of yours, let alone your master," I said bitterly.
"Might I take the liberty of making such a decision for myself?" Jeeves rather retorted, though not unkindly. "I would not think to enter into a gentleman's employ if I did not already have reason to believe that he would meet certain standards that I hold, and I have found no other gentleman to be so suitable as an employer."
Then, if I hadn't known the chap any better, I would have thought Jeeves hesitated a bit.
"However," he continued after a pause that went on only slightly longer than it felt like it ought, "I have found that even preferable to that would be if you would deign to consider me as a friend."
"As a friend, Jeeves?" I couldn't help but ask in astonishment.
"Yes, in a manner of speaking. If I may say, you put it particularly well; I might likewise describe my regard for you as a feeling analogous to love."
I heard the man loud and clear and still I wasn't sure I had understood the words. It was sort of like that bomb going off underneath me, or perhaps more like the reverse, my mind still catching up to the world tilting on its axis around me, if any of that is the right way to put to words an indescribable sort of feeling.
"Truly, Jeeves?" I asked.
And then, instead of answering, he did something even rummier still. He took my hands in his own, cradling them with a surprising gentleness.
"Indeed, Wooster," he said, again with what I almost mistook for a bit of hesitation.
Under the circs., you could, perhaps forgive a chap for being a bit slow out of the gate, as it were. That time I really wasn't sure I'd heard the chap right. "Wooster?" I asked.
"If I may take the liberty," Jeeves said, which usually meant he was going to take all the liberties he liked, "as I am on vacation and you are present in the capacity of a friend, rather than as my employer, and in light of the recent confessions, I expect that 'sir' would hardly be suitable."
"Well, I say, Jeeves!"
It was a whole lot to take in at once, but it did manage to make the whole thing rather more tangible in a sense. In fact, there was something I rather liked about the thought of it, once I wrapped my mind around it enough to do any manner of thinking, that is.
"Say, Jeeves," I said again, unable to keep myself from beaming at the thought of it, "if we are to be chums or whatnot, you might as well call me Bertie, everyone else does."
Jeeves raised the eyebrow a fraction. "Bertram, perhaps?" he suggested.
"The only one who calls me Bertram is Aunt Agatha."
"If I may say so, Bertram, you do your name a disservice. It is a highly distinguished name that suggests all manner of possibilities."
It was hardly a dignified sort of thing to be doing, sitting otherwise solemnly in that little dinghy, our hands clasped as though to complete some ancient rite, but I could hardly keep myself from giggling at the sound of my name on Jeeves's lips, said so seriously, as the chap says everything, but with perhaps a bit of warmth to it. Everything felt a little bit lighter than air, relief bubbling up in my chest and what not, it almost felt too good to be true.
"Right ho, Reggie!" I exclaimed, on the verge of laughter.
That was met with a disapproving, "Sir."
"But, I say, it's Bertram now, isn't it? And if you're going around calling me Bertram, I can't very well keep calling you Jeeves."
"Reginald, perhaps," Jeeves suggested.
"Reginald," I repeated to get the feel for it. "It's a perfectly suitable name and all that, of course, with all the propper Jeevesian dignity, but a bit of hassle to say it all, what?"
"I am certain you will grow accustomed to it in time, Bertram," Jeeves insisted, but in the soft moonlight, I spied a wry smile playing across his chiseled features, almost as though the chap were laughing in his own quiet, dignified way.
It was a dashed rummy thing, drifting out in the middle of the ocean, just the two of us for miles as far as I could see, alone in our little dinghy, sitting hand in hand. Any desire I may have had to make for the shore had rather vanished, replaced by a sort of elated contentment. Jeeves, likewise, seemed to have no desire to resume rowing. The only impediment to drifting out there forever, as far as I was concerned, was a bit of soreness from sitting on the dashed hard planks - the pirates had clearly not considered comfort when building the dinghy.
Jeeves, the remarkable chap that he is, of course noticed this predicament as soon as it had crossed my mind, and suggested, "Perhaps an alternative arrangement would be more comfortable."
"Rather!" I assented.
Per Jeeves's suggestion, we rearranged ourselves so we were lying out on our backs, Jeeves propped a bit more upright than myself, and my head resting upon Jeeves's torso in what made for a particularly comfortable arrangement; warm and soft and pleasantly near to the fellow whom I regarded above all others. Together, we gazed up at the stars, quiring to the young-eyed cherubins, and all that, as Jeeves would say.
I put it to the man himself and he provided, "Look how the floor of heaven is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold: there's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st but in his motion like an angel sings, still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins."
"I say!" I exclaimed, because I could hardly disagree with the chap.
"Indeed," he replied softly.
We gazed up at the shimmering stars for a goodish bit longer, and it was not too long before I drifted off to sleep.
The morning dawned bright and clear. The waters and the skies above had been mercifully peaceful all through the night, and though the small craft which we had used to effect our escape was built for historical accuracy rather than comfort, Mr. Wooster's slumber had not been interrupted excessively, and he seemed remarkably at ease, intertwined with myself. It was not at all an unpleasant arrangement, a salient reminder that Mr. Wooster's esteem for me was greater than I had imagined.
I reluctantly extricated myself from his embrace, as we no longer lay concealed under the blanket of night, taking care not to needlessly disturb him, though I expected that he would not sleep for much longer, and I began to row us back to shore. Mr. Wooster soon began to blink blearily against the light and pushed himself upright, stretching out his aching muscles.
"Good morning, Bertram," I said, with more trepidation than I would care to admit.
Mr. Wooster blinked again, as though surprised by the reminder of the previous night's events, but his expression soon cleared into a bright smile. "What ho, Jeeves! Or should I say, Reggie?"
"Reginald will suffice," I replied, but I expected it to be to little avail.
He shuffled closer to where I was sitting - it took some trial and error for him to determine where he would be out of the way of the regular motion of my arms on the oars. He yawned a few times, still struggling to emerge from sleep.
Once he had made himself comfortable, he declared, beginning with one of his preferred exclamations, "I say! You really did mean all of that, last night I mean?"
"Yes, most adamantly. And may I expect that your feelings likewise remain as you expressed them?"
Mr. Wooster's cheeks flushed, I presumed in embarrassment at the memory of what he had confessed and to whom. I nearly expected him to withdraw the admission, to claim intoxication perhaps.
He glanced away. "I say, well, I mean, I can't very well deny it, what?"
"However," I prompted, carefully schooling my expression.
"Well, if you really did mean all that, I suppose I ought to leave the decision to you, as you said."
His response took me pleasantly by surprise. "Indeed," I said, and I may have even gone so far as to smile.
.
We were not excessively far from shore. What remained of our return voyage passed uneventfully, and we docked on the bank grateful to step on solid ground once more, both Mr. Wooster and myself unsteady on sleep-laden legs. The remainder of the day was spent in leisure, recovering from the excitement of the night before. If I resumed the performance of some of my customary duties, it was only because I occasionally happened to see a need and desired to fill it for Mr. Wooster's sake or my own satisfaction. I may have been further encouraged by Mr. Wooster who, at even the smallest gesture, responded, as he always does, with a smile and a word of gratitude.
Over the course of the following days, I continued shrimping, and Mr. Wooster acclimated to a comfortable life on the seashore. In the evening, we dined together and afterward lounged on the sofa alternately reading and talking.
On one such evening, Mr. Wooster had reclined to take over the majority of the sofa; his back nestled comfortably into my shoulder on one end, and his feet dangling off of the other. At first, I believe he was engrossed in his novel, however at some point, his attention turned from his own reading, to the collected works of Spinoza which I was in the midst of perusing, however this I only noticed belatedly, as I was in the midst of untangling a particularly difficult passage.
At first, I may have only felt him shifting against my side, to reposition himself to more easily read over my shoulder, but, at that time, I paid it little heed. It was only when he withdrew from my shoulder to sit upright that I truly became aware that a change had occurred. I glanced over at Mr. Wooster, as I frequently do, to find that he was sitting stiffly beside me, his attention still fixed on the page in front of me, his own novel sitting closed on his lap.
I silently expressed my incredulity.
Mr. Wooster answered with a terse, "Very improving stuff, that Spinoza, what?"
"Indeed," I replied in kind.
"You're free to resume reading," he declared, "I'm sure all that about love and hate and whatnot will be most informative, and prevent your grey matter from softening."
The only way I have found to respond to such an address is with what Mr. Wooster describes as the cold shoulder. His intent, to firmly demonstrate that I am his inferior, is made plainly apparent. It seemed he had stopped such efforts after our evening out on the water, but apparently it was only a temporary solution.
And yet, that was enough to give me pause. I observed Mr. Wooster out of the corner of my eye, as I am accustomed to doing. There was something distinctly uncomfortable in his bearing, as though he were playing a part to which he was unsuited, only to prove a point, and was that not the essence of what he had confessed?
With that in mind, I made an attempt; "Minds are conquered not by arms - nor wit - but by love and generosity."
Mr. Wooster seemed ready to dismiss it outright, but at last the words seemed to register, his eyes narrowed as though he were puzzling it through and then at last, he asked, "You mean to say that I should trust your judgement, what?"
"If I may be so bold as to hope so," I replied.
He shook his head, but then rested it again on my shoulder. "Right ho, Reggie."
His eyes flickered up to meet mine, questioning, and I endeavored to display disapproval at the moniker, but his answering smile told me that I had not succeeded, and made the failure difficult to regret.
.
Toward the end of my allotted vacation, Mr. Wooster made the suggestion, not for the first time, "I say, Jeeves, it's your vacation, you shouldn't have to make dinner every night, and I have it on good information that there are some places in town that could suit even your palate, plenty of fish and all that."
It was an innocuous enough suggestion, however, I was familiar with the establishments of which Mr. Wooster spoke, and I would not have thought to enter any of them were I on vacation alone; a man of my position was not the desired clientele and I was content to temporarily forgo the extravagances of Mr. Wooster's lifestyle. That is not to say that they held no temptation for me, especially as Mr. Wooster had elected to invite me, as an equal, it appeared.
"I expect that fish would not be the only offering?" I replied facetiously, though in all honesty I had, to some extent, tired of seafood in our time on the coast.
Mr. Wooster beamed at me, confident in his victory. "Rather! You can have anything you like. And when we get back to the metrop., I can take you to the Ritz."
"That is most kind," I said, even though it was, perhaps, infeasible.
We both changed for dinner, into what Mr. Wooster terms the fish and soup, and strolled along the waterfront at a leisurely pace as the sun set, illuminating the sky above in brilliant color, until we reached the resort part of the town at a fashionably late hour for dinner. A doorman whose only fault was the slightest crease in his suit, welcomed us into the restaurant that Mr. Wooster had selected for the occasion. We spent the evening sitting side by side, enjoying the supreme efforts of the chef, and much greater than even the most gifted cuisiner, each other's company.