Chapter Two
Parting of the Ways
Edmund Blackadder strolled into the Ganymede Club as if he owned the place. His head held high and his shoulders back, he strutted towards the large, colorful posting on the wall near the entrance. Mrs. Miggins, a maid who liked to liven things up by holding regular events for the members, greeted Blackadder. "Ah, hello, Eddie! Nice to see you again! And you've brought your little dog, Baldrick with you I see!"
"Yes, Mrs. M. The only thing more hideous than you, I'm afraid," Blackadder sneered and then pointed to the posting, "So, what's all this about?"
"We're holding our First Annual Ganymede's Club Art and Music Competition. Any member may enter a piece of work into the contest to take home an enormous cash prize of 10,000 pounds. So, are either of you interested?" Mrs. Miggins looked positively glowing with cheer. It was enough to make Blackadder sick to his stomach.
"Well," said Baldrick, "I have a little drawing that I did. Would you like to see it?"
"Prepare to be amazed, Mrs. Miggins. For Baldrick's artistic ability is comparable to that of a blind chimpanzee with only one arm and a tendency to drool all over anything it touches."
Baldrick took out of his pocket a small, wrinkled napkin. "I call it 'Farmhouse at Dawn,'" he said.
"It looks like you wiped your face on it," Blackadder said.
"Well, I did, sir. See, I was having supper and I wiped my face off. And when I looked down at the napkin, it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, so I kept it in my pocket. I've had it for the past six years,as a matter of fact, just hoping that by some odd chance I might stumble upon an art contest. And now here I am!" Baldrick beamed.
"Baldrick, Mrs. Miggins doesn't want your dirty napkin mucking up her contest. Go throw that out!" Blackadder demanded.
"No, no, Edmund! Every piece of art has a place in our contest, no matter how small!" Mrs. Miggins proclaimed as she took the napkin from Baldrick and hung it on the wall behind her. Baldrick beamed even greater.
"Oh, god!" Blackadder mumbled. Disgusted with talking with the two mini-brains, Edmund Blackadder continued on through the main hall until he came to the desk of Michael Kranton. Kranton was tall, slender fellow with a beard and glasses. He sat hunched over a pile of papers with the names and addresses of wealthy Englishmen from all around the country. He was the man in charge of finding new positions for butlers, maids, and gentlemen's gentlemen. Edmund's slimy, little servant, Baldrick, followed closely behind. "Lost another one, have you, Edmund?" questioned Kranton as he noticed him approaching.
"Yes, yes. You just can't train a master like in the old days," Edmund Blackadder complained, "It's not that they're any smarter. Why, most of my masters fail to provide an intellectual challenge to Baldrick here. But they're all power hungry these days, never willing to listen to the advice, or indeed subtle manipulation, that their trusted butlers provide."
"I understand all too well, Eddie," Kranton agreed, "That's why I retired from the game. It was too much work and not enough reward."
"I have the very same problem myself," Baldrick chimed in, "In fact just the other day I asked Mr. B. I said, 'Why do I get no money? And why do I have to sleep in the garage with the rats? And why do I have to eat the master's leftovers for supper? And why do I have to do all the work?'"
"And what did I tell you then, Baldrick?" Blackadder asked with a sneer.
"You told me to sod off," said Baldrick.
"Exactly," Blackadder said, giving Baldrick a punch in the face. As Baldrick struggled to get himself off the ground, Blackadder continued, "So, what I need now is a master who's completely trainable, completely controllable, and a complete and utter idiot, but also someone who has a ton of cash. Know anyone like that?"
"Well, I know one man who fits that description perfectly. He's a complete fool. Been living in undeserved luxury all his life. Never had to lift a finger for himself, and is as stupid as you would expect him to be. A complete and total prat," Kranton explained.
"Ah! Sounds like just the man!" Blackadder said, enthusiastically.
"There's, uh, only one problem, Eddie," Kranton replied.
"Oh, what's that?" Blackadder asked.
"He already has a valet. One of the best there is, as a matter of fact."
"Well, he can't be all that great. After all, he isn't me!" Blackadder laughed. "So, what's the name of this rich git, Kranton?"
* * * *
"How's the packing coming, Jeeves?" said Bertie Wooster coming back in from a shopping spree.
"I've already finished, sir," said Jeeves.
"Oh no you haven't, Jeeves," said Bertie, smiling.
"Sir?"
"I just bought the most fantastic pair of trousers a Wooster's ever laid his eyes upon." Bertie took from the bag a pair of yellow trousers, with blue stripes running vertically down the front and back. Then, pulling out a dress suit with the same hideous pattern, he said, "And I've got a matching suit to go with it! Well what do you think of it, Jeeves?"
"I can't really say, sir," Jeeves said, clearly disgusted by the outfit.
"Oh, come now, Jeeves. Tell me what you really think of it," said Bertie.
"Very good, sir. I think that it would be quite unwise to wear that to Totleigh Towers, sir."
"What's wrong with it, Jeeves?"
"Nothing, sir, if you are attempting to attract a herd of color-blind zebras. But as a guest for a formal birthday party with people who have already grown a great displeasure with having you as their guest would be greatly inadvisable, sir."
"Oh, pish tosh!" said Bertie, "Just put it in the suitcase, Jeeves."
Jeeves looked at the suit. Then, placing it on the chair, Jeeves announced, "I am afraid that I cannot oblige, sir."
"What? Well, of all the nerve, Jeeves! I've had it with your insolence, I really have. What business is it of yours what color suit I wear? Just because you have no sense of style, Jeeves, doesn't mean that your master shouldn't as well! Either you start taking orders as they're given, or you can find yourself a new employer!"
"Very well, sir," said Jeeves, as he crossed the room and picked up his own suitcase and his hat.
"What? Wait. What are you doing, Jeeves," Bertie stammered.
"I'm leaving, sir. I hope you are able to find a valet who is more suitable to your needs, sir. Please enjoy your stay at Totleigh Towers. It's been a pleasure working for you, sir." And with that, Jeeves left, leaving Bertie all alone.
A moment later Jeeves stepped back into the room. "Ah ha! I knew you couldn't last but a few seconds without your master, Jeeves!" said Bertie, satisfied, "Well, you can save the apologies for now, but..."
Jeeves interrupted, "Here is a list of available valets at the Ganymede Club. All of them would make suitable employees. But I would advise you to stay away from this one," Jeeves said, pointing to the name, Edmund Blackadder. "He is a corrupt, disgruntled butler who would make no hesitation in robbing you blind, sir."
"Jeeves, I do not need nor desire your help in finding a new valet. I am perfectly capable of choosing one for myself, thank you very much," Bertie argued.
"Very good, sir. Good day," Jeeves said, making his second exit.
Bertie looked at the list of names Jeeves had given him. He scrolled down through the names. His finger stopped. "Edmund Blackadder, eh?"
Parting of the Ways
Edmund Blackadder strolled into the Ganymede Club as if he owned the place. His head held high and his shoulders back, he strutted towards the large, colorful posting on the wall near the entrance. Mrs. Miggins, a maid who liked to liven things up by holding regular events for the members, greeted Blackadder. "Ah, hello, Eddie! Nice to see you again! And you've brought your little dog, Baldrick with you I see!"
"Yes, Mrs. M. The only thing more hideous than you, I'm afraid," Blackadder sneered and then pointed to the posting, "So, what's all this about?"
"We're holding our First Annual Ganymede's Club Art and Music Competition. Any member may enter a piece of work into the contest to take home an enormous cash prize of 10,000 pounds. So, are either of you interested?" Mrs. Miggins looked positively glowing with cheer. It was enough to make Blackadder sick to his stomach.
"Well," said Baldrick, "I have a little drawing that I did. Would you like to see it?"
"Prepare to be amazed, Mrs. Miggins. For Baldrick's artistic ability is comparable to that of a blind chimpanzee with only one arm and a tendency to drool all over anything it touches."
Baldrick took out of his pocket a small, wrinkled napkin. "I call it 'Farmhouse at Dawn,'" he said.
"It looks like you wiped your face on it," Blackadder said.
"Well, I did, sir. See, I was having supper and I wiped my face off. And when I looked down at the napkin, it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, so I kept it in my pocket. I've had it for the past six years,as a matter of fact, just hoping that by some odd chance I might stumble upon an art contest. And now here I am!" Baldrick beamed.
"Baldrick, Mrs. Miggins doesn't want your dirty napkin mucking up her contest. Go throw that out!" Blackadder demanded.
"No, no, Edmund! Every piece of art has a place in our contest, no matter how small!" Mrs. Miggins proclaimed as she took the napkin from Baldrick and hung it on the wall behind her. Baldrick beamed even greater.
"Oh, god!" Blackadder mumbled. Disgusted with talking with the two mini-brains, Edmund Blackadder continued on through the main hall until he came to the desk of Michael Kranton. Kranton was tall, slender fellow with a beard and glasses. He sat hunched over a pile of papers with the names and addresses of wealthy Englishmen from all around the country. He was the man in charge of finding new positions for butlers, maids, and gentlemen's gentlemen. Edmund's slimy, little servant, Baldrick, followed closely behind. "Lost another one, have you, Edmund?" questioned Kranton as he noticed him approaching.
"Yes, yes. You just can't train a master like in the old days," Edmund Blackadder complained, "It's not that they're any smarter. Why, most of my masters fail to provide an intellectual challenge to Baldrick here. But they're all power hungry these days, never willing to listen to the advice, or indeed subtle manipulation, that their trusted butlers provide."
"I understand all too well, Eddie," Kranton agreed, "That's why I retired from the game. It was too much work and not enough reward."
"I have the very same problem myself," Baldrick chimed in, "In fact just the other day I asked Mr. B. I said, 'Why do I get no money? And why do I have to sleep in the garage with the rats? And why do I have to eat the master's leftovers for supper? And why do I have to do all the work?'"
"And what did I tell you then, Baldrick?" Blackadder asked with a sneer.
"You told me to sod off," said Baldrick.
"Exactly," Blackadder said, giving Baldrick a punch in the face. As Baldrick struggled to get himself off the ground, Blackadder continued, "So, what I need now is a master who's completely trainable, completely controllable, and a complete and utter idiot, but also someone who has a ton of cash. Know anyone like that?"
"Well, I know one man who fits that description perfectly. He's a complete fool. Been living in undeserved luxury all his life. Never had to lift a finger for himself, and is as stupid as you would expect him to be. A complete and total prat," Kranton explained.
"Ah! Sounds like just the man!" Blackadder said, enthusiastically.
"There's, uh, only one problem, Eddie," Kranton replied.
"Oh, what's that?" Blackadder asked.
"He already has a valet. One of the best there is, as a matter of fact."
"Well, he can't be all that great. After all, he isn't me!" Blackadder laughed. "So, what's the name of this rich git, Kranton?"
* * * *
"How's the packing coming, Jeeves?" said Bertie Wooster coming back in from a shopping spree.
"I've already finished, sir," said Jeeves.
"Oh no you haven't, Jeeves," said Bertie, smiling.
"Sir?"
"I just bought the most fantastic pair of trousers a Wooster's ever laid his eyes upon." Bertie took from the bag a pair of yellow trousers, with blue stripes running vertically down the front and back. Then, pulling out a dress suit with the same hideous pattern, he said, "And I've got a matching suit to go with it! Well what do you think of it, Jeeves?"
"I can't really say, sir," Jeeves said, clearly disgusted by the outfit.
"Oh, come now, Jeeves. Tell me what you really think of it," said Bertie.
"Very good, sir. I think that it would be quite unwise to wear that to Totleigh Towers, sir."
"What's wrong with it, Jeeves?"
"Nothing, sir, if you are attempting to attract a herd of color-blind zebras. But as a guest for a formal birthday party with people who have already grown a great displeasure with having you as their guest would be greatly inadvisable, sir."
"Oh, pish tosh!" said Bertie, "Just put it in the suitcase, Jeeves."
Jeeves looked at the suit. Then, placing it on the chair, Jeeves announced, "I am afraid that I cannot oblige, sir."
"What? Well, of all the nerve, Jeeves! I've had it with your insolence, I really have. What business is it of yours what color suit I wear? Just because you have no sense of style, Jeeves, doesn't mean that your master shouldn't as well! Either you start taking orders as they're given, or you can find yourself a new employer!"
"Very well, sir," said Jeeves, as he crossed the room and picked up his own suitcase and his hat.
"What? Wait. What are you doing, Jeeves," Bertie stammered.
"I'm leaving, sir. I hope you are able to find a valet who is more suitable to your needs, sir. Please enjoy your stay at Totleigh Towers. It's been a pleasure working for you, sir." And with that, Jeeves left, leaving Bertie all alone.
A moment later Jeeves stepped back into the room. "Ah ha! I knew you couldn't last but a few seconds without your master, Jeeves!" said Bertie, satisfied, "Well, you can save the apologies for now, but..."
Jeeves interrupted, "Here is a list of available valets at the Ganymede Club. All of them would make suitable employees. But I would advise you to stay away from this one," Jeeves said, pointing to the name, Edmund Blackadder. "He is a corrupt, disgruntled butler who would make no hesitation in robbing you blind, sir."
"Jeeves, I do not need nor desire your help in finding a new valet. I am perfectly capable of choosing one for myself, thank you very much," Bertie argued.
"Very good, sir. Good day," Jeeves said, making his second exit.
Bertie looked at the list of names Jeeves had given him. He scrolled down through the names. His finger stopped. "Edmund Blackadder, eh?"