Этот неподражаемый Дживс! / The Inimitable Jeeves. Пелам Гренвилл Вудхаус

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roll and butter and a small coffee seemed the only things on the list that were eatable, so I chose them, and Mabel went away.

      “Well?” said Bingo rapturously.

      He wanted my opinion of the female poisoner[16] who had just left us.

      “Very nice,” I said.

      He seemed dissatisfied.

      “You don’t think she’s the most wonderful girl you ever saw?” he said.

      “Oh, absolutely!” I said. “Where did you meet her?”

      “At a subscription dance[17] at Camberwell[18].”

      “What were you doing at a subscription dance at Camberwell?”

      “Your Jeeves asked me to buy a couple of tickets. It was in aid of some charity or other.”

      “Jeeves? I didn’t know about that business of his.”

      “Well, I suppose he has to relax a bit every sometimes. Anyway, he was there, too. And danced. I didn’t want to dance at first, but changed my mind. Oh, Bertie, think what I might have missed[19]!”

      “What might have you missed?” I asked.

      “Mabel, you fool. If I hadn’t gone I shouldn’t have met Mabel.”

      “Oh, ah!”

      “Bertie,” said Bingo, “I want your advice.”

      “Go on.”

      “At least, not your advice, because that wouldn’t be good to anybody. Not that I want to hurt your feelings, of course.”

      “No, no, I see that.”

      “What I wish you would do is to tell the whole story to that fellow Jeeves, and see what he suggests. You’ve often told me that he has helped other friends of yours. From what you tell me, he’s the brains of the family. Tell him about my problem.”

      “What problem?”

      “Why, you idiot, my uncle, of course. What do you think my uncle’s going to say to all this? If I tell him about the marriage, he’d die at once.”

      “One of these emotional guys, eh?”

      “He needs to be prepared to receive the news. But how?”

      “Ah!”

      “You see, I’m dependent on my uncle. So tell Jeeves the case. Tell him my future is in his hands, and that, if the wedding bells ring out, he can rely on me, even unto half my kingdom. Well, ten pounds. So, will he help me for ten pounds?”

      “Undoubtedly,” I said.

      I wasn’t surprised that Bingo wanted to tell Jeeves his private affairs like this. It was the first thing I would do myself. As I have observed, Jeeves is full of bright ideas. If anybody could fix things for poor old Bingo, he could.

      I stated the case to him[20] that night after dinner.

      “Jeeves.”

      “Sir?”

      “Are you busy just now?”

      “No, sir.”

      “I mean, not doing anything in particular?”

      “No, sir. Usually at this hour I read useful books; but, if you desire my services, this can easily be postponed.”

      “Well, I want your advice. It’s about Mr Little.”

      “Young Mr Little, sir, or the elder Mr Little, his uncle, who lives in Pounceby Gardens[21]?”

      Jeeves seemed to know everything. Amazing. I’d known Bingo practically all my life, and yet I didn’t know where his uncle lived.

      “How did you know he lived in Pounceby Gardens?” I said.

      “I know the elder Mr Little’s cook, sir.”

      “Do you mean you’re engaged?”

      “It may be said, sir.”

      “Well, well!”

      “She is a remarkably excellent cook, sir,” said Jeeves, as though he had to give some explanation. “What was it you wished to ask me about Mr Little?”

      I gave him the details.

      “And that’s it, Jeeves,” I said. “I think we must help poor old Bingo. Tell me about old Mr Little. What sort of a man is he?”

      “A somewhat curious character, sir. He retired from business and became a great recluse, and now devotes himself almost entirely to the pleasures of the table.”

      “Greedy, you mean?”

      “I would not, perhaps, take the liberty of describing him in precisely those terms, sir. He is what is usually called a gourmet. Very particular about what he eats, and for that reason values Miss Watson’s services.”

      “The cook?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “Well, it seems to me that our best plan would be to tell him everything after dinner one night. He will be in a good mood, and all that.”

      “The difficulty is, sir, that at the moment Mr Little is on a diet, because of an attack of gout.”

      “Things begin to look badly.”

      “No, sir, I think that the elder Mr Little’s misfortune may be turned to the younger Mr Little’s advantage. Yesterday I was speaking to Mr Little’s valet, and he was telling me that it has become his duty to read to Mr Little in the evenings. If I were in your place, sir, I should send young Mr Little to read to his uncle.”

      “Nephew’s devotion, you mean? The old man will be touched, right?”

      “Partly that[22], sir. But I would rely more on young Mr Little’s choice of literature.”

      “That’s no good. Bingo is a good fellow, but when it conies to literature he stops at the Sporting Times[23].”

      “That difficulty may be overcome. I would be happy to select books for Mr Little to read. Perhaps I might explain my idea a little further.”

      “I can’t say I quite understand.”

      “The method which I advocate is what, I believe, they call Direct Suggestion[24], sir. You may have had experience of the system?”

      “You mean they keep on telling you that some soap or other is the best, and after a while you come under the influence and buy twenty pieces?”

      “Exactly, sir. The same method was the basis of all the most valuable propaganda during the recent war. I see no reason why it should not be adopted by us to get the desired result with regard to the subject’s views on class distinctions[25]. If young Mr Little reads day after day to his uncle a series of stories in which marriage with young persons of an inferior social status was appropriate and admirable, I think it will prepare the elder Mr Little’s mind for the reception of the information that his nephew wishes to marry a waitress in a tea-shop.”

      “Are there any books of that sort nowadays? The only ones I ever see mentioned in the papers are about married couples who hate each other.”

      “Yes, sir, there are some. You have never read All for Love, by Rosie M. Banks[26]?”

      “No.”

      “Nor,

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