Chapter XVI
THE DELAYED EXIT OF CLAUDE AND EUSTACE
The feeling I had when Aunt Agatha trapped me in my lair that morning and spilled the bad news was that my luck had broken at last. As a rule, you see, Iâm not lugged into Family Rows. On the occasions when Aunt is calling to Aunt like mastodons bellowing across primeval swamps and Uncle Jamesâs letter about Cousin Mabelâs peculiar behaviour is being shot round the family circle (âPlease read this carefully and send it on to Janeâ), the clan has a tendency to ignore me. Itâs one of the advantages I get from being a bachelorâand, according to my nearest and dearest, practically a half-witted bachelor at that. âItâs no good trying to get Bertie to take the slightest interestâ is more or less the slogan, and Iâm bound to say Iâm all for it. A quiet life is what I like. And thatâs why I felt that the Curse had come upon me, so to speak, when Aunt Agatha sailed into my sitting-room while I was having a placid cigarette and started to tell me about Claude and Eustace.
âThank goodness,â said Aunt Agatha, âarrangements have at last been made about Eustace and Claude.â
âArrangements?â I said, not having the foggiest.
âThey sail on Friday for South Africa. Mr. Van Alstyne, a friend of poor Emilyâs, has given them berths in his firm at Johannesburg, and we are hoping that they will settle down there and do well.â
I didnât get the thing at all.
âFriday? The day after to-morrow, do you mean?â
âYes.â
âFor South Africa?â
âYes. They leave on the Edinburgh Castle.â
âBut whatâs the idea? I mean, arenât they in the middle of their term at Oxford?â
Aunt Agatha looked at me coldly.
âDo you positively mean to tell me, Bertie, that you take so little interest in the affairs of your nearest relatives that you are not aware that Claude and Eustace were expelled from Oxford over a fortnight ago?â
âNo, really?â
âYou are hopeless, Bertie. I should have thought that even you____â
âWhy were they sent down?â
âThey poured lemonade on the Junior Dean of their college.⊠I see nothing amusing in the outrage, Bertie.â
âNo, no, rather not,â I said hurriedly. âI wasnât laughing. Choking. Got something stuck in my throat, you know.â
âPoor Emily,â went on Aunt Agatha, âbeing one of those doting mothers who are the ruin of their children, wished to keep the boys in London. She suggested that they might cram for the Army. But I was firm. The Colonies are the only place for wild youths like Eustace and Claude. So they sail on Friday. They have been staying for the last two weeks with your Uncle Clive in Worcestershire. They will spend to-morrow night in London and catch the boat-train on Friday morning.â
âBit risky, isnât it? I mean, arenât they apt to cut loose a bit to-morrow night if theyâre left all alone in London?â
âThey will not be alone. They will be in your charge.â
âMine!â
âYes. I wish you to put them up in your flat for the night, and see that they do not miss the train in the morning.â
âOh, I say, no!â
âBertie!â
âWell, I mean, quite jolly coves both of them, but I donât know. Theyâre rather nuts, you know____ Always glad to see them, of course, but when it comes to putting them up for the night____â
âBertie, if you are so sunk in callous self-indulgence that you cannot even put yourself to this trifling inconvenience for the sake of____â
âOh, all right,â I said. âAll right.â
It was no good arguing, of course. Aunt Agatha always makes me feel as if I had gelatine where my spine ought to be. Sheâs one of those forceful females. I should think Queen Elizabeth must have been something like her. When she holds me with her glittering eye and says, âJump to it, my lad,â or words to that effect, I make it so without further discussion.
When she had gone, I rang for Jeeves to break the news to him.
âOh, Jeeves,â I said, âMr. Claude and Mr. Eustace will be staying here to-morrow night.â
âVery good, sir.â
âIâm glad you think so. To me the outlook seems black and scaly. You know what those two lads are!â
âVery high-spirited young gentlemen, sir.â
âBlisters, Jeeves. Undeniable blisters. Itâs a bit thick!â
âWould there be anything further, sir?â
At that, Iâm bound to say, I drew myself up a trifle haughtily. We Woosters freeze like the dickens when we seek sympathy and meet with cold reserve. I knew what was up, of course. For the last day or so there had been a certain amount of coolness in the home over a pair of jazz spats which I had dug up while exploring in the Burlington Arcade. Some dashed brainy cove, probably the chap who invented those coloured cigarette-cases, had recently had the rather topping idea of putting out a line of spats on the same system. I mean to say, instead of the ordinary grey and white, you can now get them in your regimental or school colours. And, believe me, it would have taken a chappie of stronger fibre than I am to resist the pair of Old Etonian spats which had smiled up at me from inside the window. I was inside the shop, opening negotiations, before it had even occurred to me that Jeeves might not approve. And I must say he had taken the thing a bit hardly. The fact of the matter is, Jeeves, though in many ways the best valet in London, is too conservative. Hide-bound, if you know what I mean, and an enemy to Progress.
âNothing further, Jeeves,â I said, with quiet dignity.
âVery good, sir.â
He gave one frosty look at the spats and biffed off. Dash him!
ANYTHING MERRIER AND BRIGHTER THAN the Twins, when they curveted into the old flat while I was dressing for dinner the next night, I have never struck in my whole puff. Iâm only about half a dozen years older than Claude and Eustace, but in some rummy manner they always make me feel as if I were well on in the grandfather class and just waiting for the end. Almost before I realised they were in the place, they had collared the best chairs, pinched a couple of my special cigarettes, poured themselves out a whisky-and-soda apiece, and started to prattle with the gaiety and abandon of two birds who had achieved their lifeâs ambition instead of having come a most frightful purler and being under sentence of exile.
âHallo, Bertie, old thing,â said Claude. âJolly decent of you to put us up.â
âOh, no,â I said. âOnly wish you were staying a good long time.â
âHear that, Eustace? He wishes we were staying a good long time.â
âI expect it will seem a good long time,â said Eustace, philosophically.
âYou heard about the binge, Bertie? Our little bit of trouble, I mean?â
âOh, yes. Aunt Agatha was telling me.â
âWe leave our country for our countryâs good,â said Eustace.
âAnd let there be no moaning at the bar,â said Claude, âwhen I put out to sea. What did Aunt Agatha tell you?â
âShe said you poured lemonade on the Junior Dean.â
âI wish the deuce,â said Claude, annoyed, âthat people would get these things right. It wasnât the Junior Dean. It was the Senior Tutor.â
âAnd it wasnât lemonade,â said Eustace. âIt was soda-water. The dear old thing happened to be standing just under our window while I was leaning out with a siphon in my hand. He looked up, andâwell, it would have been chucking away the opportunity of a lifetime if I hadnât let him have it in the eyeball.â
âSimply chucking it away,â agreed Claude.
âMight never have occurred again,â said Eustace.
âHundred to one against it,â said Claude.
âNow what,â said Eustace, âdo you propose to do, Bertie, in the way of entertaining the handsome guests to-night?â
âMy idea was to have a bite of dinner in the flat,â I said. âJeeves is getting it ready now.â
âAnd afterwards?â
âWell, I thought we might chat of this and that, and then it struck me that you would probably like to turn in early, as your train goes about ten or something, doesnât it?â
The twins looked at each other in a pitying sort of way.
âBertie,â said Eustace, âyouâve got the programme nearly right, but not qu...