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, A Red, Red Summer, by the same author?”
“No.”
“I have an aunt, sir, who owns an almost complete set of Rosie M. Banks. I could easily borrow as many volumes as young Mr Little might require.”
“Well, it’s worth trying.”
“I should certainly recommend the scheme, sir.”
“All right, then. Go to your aunt tomorrow and grab a couple of the best stories. We shall try.”
“Precisely, sir.”
2
No Wedding Bells for Bingo
Bingo reported three days later that Rosie M. Banks worked well. At the beginning, Old Little was not happy with the change of literary diet; but Bingo had read him Chapter One of All for Love and after everything went well. They had finished A Red, Red Summer Rose, Madcap Myrtle[27] and Only a Factory Girl, and were reading The Courtship of Lord Strathmorlick[28].
Bingo told me all this in a husky voice. The only thing to complain was his throat which was beginning to show signs of cracking under the strain. He was looking his symptoms in a medical dictionary, and he thought he had got “clergyman’s throat[29].” But I was not sorry for him, because his aim was near, and also after the evening’s reading he always stayed on to dinner; and the dinners, as he told me, by old Little’s cook were excellent. There were tears in his eyes when he was talking about the clear soup[30].
Old Little wasn’t able to take part in these banquets, but Bingo said that he came to the table and had his arrowroot[31], and sniffed the dishes, and told stories of entrées[32] he had had in the past. Anyhow, things seemed to be quite wonderful, and Bingo said he had got an idea. He wouldn’t tell me what it was.
“We make progress, Jeeves,” I said.
“That is very satisfactory, sir.”
“Mr Little tells me that when he came to the big scene[33] in Only a Factory Girl, his uncle was crying like a baby.”
“Indeed, sir?”
“Where Lord Claude[34] takes the girl in his arms, you know, and says—”
“I am familiar with the passage, sir. It is distinctly moving. It is my aunt’s favourite scene.”
“I think we’re on the right track.”
“It seems so, sir.”
“In fact, this looks like another success of yours. I’ve always said, and I always shall say, that you are a sage, Jeeves. All the other great thinkers of the age are nothing.”
“Thank you very much, sir. You can always rely on me.”
About a week after this, Bingo told the news that his uncle’s gout had ceased to trouble him, and that he would be back at the table with a knife and a fork as before.
“And, by the way,” said Bingo, “he wants you to lunch with him tomorrow.”
“Me? Why me? He doesn’t know I exist.”
“Oh, yes, he does. I’ve told him about you.”
“What have you told him?”
“Oh, various things. Anyhow, he wants to meet you. And take my tip, you’ll go! I think the lunch tomorrow will be something special.”
I don’t know why it was, but Bingo’s words sounded strange.
“There is something strange in it,” I said. “Why should your uncle ask a fellow to lunch whom he’s never seen?”
“My dear old fathead, haven’t I just said that I’ve been telling him all about you—that you’re my best friend—at school together, and all that sort of thing?”
“So what? Why do want me to come?”
Bingo hesitated for a moment.
“Well, I told you I’d got an idea. This is it. I want you to tell him the news. I’m not brave enough.”
“What!”
“And you call yourself a friend of mine!”
“Yes, I know; but there are limits.”
“Bertie,”
partly that – отчасти
Direct Suggestion – непосредственное внушение
class distinctions – классовое неравенство
Rosie M. Banks – Рози М.Бэнкс
Strathmorlick – Стартморлик
clergyman's throat – воспаление голосовых связок
clear soup – бульон
arrowroot – аррорут (крахмал, изготовленный из маранты, тропического растения из Южной Америки)
entrées – первые блюда (франц.)
big scene – главный эпизод
Claude – Клод
