Download Right Ho, Jeeves by P.G. Wodehouse. Available in PDF, EPUB, and MOBI formats. Enjoy a summary, excerpt, and related recommendations.
Right Ho, Jeeves Summary
Right Ho, Jeeves by P.G. Wodehouse is a comedic novel first published in 1934. It follows the humorous escapades of Bertie Wooster and his astute valet, Jeeves, as they navigate romantic entanglements and social mishaps within British high society.
Right Ho, Jeeves Excerpt
Short Summary: Bertie Wooster attempts to play matchmaker and problem-solver among his friends and family, leading to a series of comedic misunderstandings that only his valet, Jeeves, can deftly resolve.
"Jeeves," I said, "may I speak frankly?"
"Certainly, sir."
"What I have to say may wound you."
"Not at all, sir."
"Well, then—"
No—wait. Hold the line a minute. I've gone off the rails.
I don't know if you have had the same experience, but the snag I always come up against when I'm telling a story is this dashed difficult problem of where to begin it. It's a thing you don't want to go wrong over, because one false step and you're sunk. I mean, if you fool about too long at the start, trying to establish atmosphere, as they call it, and all that sort of rot, you fail to grip and the customers walk out on you.
Get off the mark, on the other hand, like a scalded cat, and your public is at a loss. It simply raises its eyebrows, and can't make out what you're talking about.
And in opening my report of the complex case of Gussie Fink-Nottle, Madeline Bassett, my Cousin Angela, my Aunt Dahlia, my Uncle Thomas, young Tuppy Glossop and the cook, Anatole, with the above spot of dialogue, I see that I have made the second of these two floaters.
I shall have to hark back a bit. And taking it for all in all and weighing this against that, I suppose the affair may be said to have had its inception, if inception is the word I want, with that visit of mine to Cannes. If I hadn't gone to Cannes, I shouldn't have met the Bassett or bought that white mess jacket, and Angela wouldn't have met her shark, and Aunt Dahlia wouldn't have played baccarat.
Yes, most decidedly, Cannes was the point d'appui.
Right ho, then. Let me marshal my facts.
I went to Cannes—leaving Jeeves behind, he having intimated that he did not wish to miss Ascot—round about the beginning of June. With me travelled my Aunt Dahlia and her daughter Angela. Tuppy Glossop, Angela's betrothed, was to have been of the party, but at the last moment couldn't get away. Uncle Tom, Aunt Dahlia's husband, remained at home, because he can't stick the South of France at any price.
So there you have the layout—Aunt Dahlia, Cousin Angela and self off to Cannes round about the beginning of June.
All pretty clear so far, what?
We stayed at Cannes about two months, and except for the fact that Aunt Dahlia lost her shirt at baccarat and Angela nearly got inhaled by a shark while aquaplaning, a pleasant time was had by all.
On July the twenty-fifth, looking bronzed and fit, I accompanied aunt and child back to London. At seven p.m. on July the twenty-sixth we alighted at Victoria. And at seven-twenty or thereabouts we parted with mutual expressions of esteem—they to shove off in Aunt Dahlia's car to Brinkley Court, her place in Worcestershire, where they were expecting to entertain Tuppy in a day or two; I to go to the flat, drop my luggage, clean up a bit, and put on the soup and fish preparatory to pushing round to the Drones for a bite of dinner.
And it was while I was at the flat, towelling the torso after a much-needed rinse, that Jeeves, as we chatted of this and that—picking up the threads, as it were—suddenly brought the name of Gussie Fink-Nottle into the conversation.
As I recall it, the dialogue ran something as follows:
SELF: Well, Jeeves, here we are, what?
JEEVES: Yes, sir.
SELF: I mean to say, home
again.
JEEVES: Precisely, sir.
SELF: Good trip, what?
JEEVES: Very agreeable, sir.
SELF: Paris still there?
JEEVES: Yes, sir.
SELF: And the people?
JEEVES: Still there also, sir.
SELF: Well, well! And what news on the Rialto, Jeeves?
JEEVES: Mr. Fink-Nottle has been a guest here for nearly three weeks, sir.
I stared. The name, you understand, was familiar to me. It was that of an old schoolmate, Augustus Fink-Nottle, who, in my boyhood days, had been one of my closest chums, but with whom I had since lost touch. It sent me into a bit of a reverie, thinking of old times at Malvern House, and I recalled the rather peculiar traits which had marked him even then. He had always been obsessed with newts.
‘Do you mean to say Gussie Fink-Nottle has been staying here?’ I said, amazed.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Three weeks?’
‘Yes, sir.’
I simply couldn’t grasp it.
‘A hermit like Gussie Fink-Nottle coming to stay in London? Why, the last I heard of him, he was living all alone in some isolated country cottage, solely devoted to the study of newts!’
‘Indeed, sir?’
‘And now he’s suddenly in London?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And staying here?’
‘Yes, sir.’
I floundered a bit.
‘Well, I suppose he came up for the day and lost his way or something?’
‘No, sir. Mr. Fink-Nottle specifically desired to remain for an extended period.’
I was now thoroughly baffled. The whole thing seemed out of all sense and reason.
‘Why, Jeeves?’ I said. ‘Why?’
‘He has matters to attend to, sir.’
‘Matters? What matters?’
Jeeves inclined his head slightly.
‘If I might make a conjecture, sir, I believe it concerns the young lady of whom he has recently spoken—Miss Madeline Bassett.’
At this, I emitted a sharp cry. I had met Madeline Bassett before. She was, in short, one of those dreamy, soulful girls who believe the stars are God’s daisy chain and that rabbits are gnomes in disguise. The thought of Gussie Fink-Nottle, newt fancier and social recluse, falling for someone like that was almost too much to take in.
‘You don’t mean he’s in love, Jeeves?’
‘I believe that would be a fair assumption, sir.’
This, of course, was the beginning of a series of blunders and mix-ups that would later become legendary in the annals of Brinkley Court."
