“Bit cart before the horse, what? I’ve barely bowed to the girl. Dance card may be full, and then?” I shrugged, hiding my hopes for that happy dénouement. “No chance for me, what with all these better prospects around.”
“She has millions, and her father wants her to land a peerage. Lacking better prospects, he’ll settle for you.”
At that point, the ship settled. Rather sideways-ish a bit, if you get my meaning. Left this lad with a sinking sensation. So to speak.
“Fine words if the old girl were going there – the boat I mean - but I’m more thinking we will be pulling in to Davy Jones’ pier.”
Or somewhere unhappy. I had spotted my man, Jeeves, shimming his way into the service end of the room. He had a grimmer-than-common demeanor, one more clouded than even the most eligible and inescapable of bridal bait might justify, and he was making the sort of ‘come here’ gesture utterly out of keeping with his characteristic unruffled propriety.
“Nonsense, Bertram.” Ant Agatha stopped me before my second step. “Not even an iceberg will get you out of this match.”
Jeeves appeared at my elbow.
“An urgent communication for you, Mr. Wooster. In the radio room.”
“Right ho. Must go.” I tossed my napkin and fled.
I did not stop until we both reached the sanctuary of the outside walk.
"A message, old chap? Whom from?”
He produced my overcoat.
“Sanity, sir. With a postscript from self-preservation urging you to make haste to your proper lifeboat.”
Jeeves pushed me up the narrow metal stairs with a blasted improper vigor. Out of character, even for a man of iron will and iron hands.
Up top was a small vessel of the rescue sort, swinging on the ropes that supported it at the ends. Fore and aft, as it were. Rather shocking to see. Not that we hadn’t been given a tour of sorts after our departure. Those interested, at any rate. I had accepted the invite, being the casually curious sort and also thinking it a fair excuse to take a stroll with my man. Jeeves had asked questions, being the brainy and curious sort. Still, those boats had been politely dressed with their white canvas toppers – a nautical sort of Sunday best – and these were looking far more the work-a-day sort with sailors’ heave-ho-in and avast-ing in a non-ginger-headed manner.
One young man, an officer by his coat, was counting passengers as they moved onto the benches.
“But?” I stood frozen, rather at a loss for words, as he snapped me into the gaudy cork vest. “What about the …?”
“The ladies, sir?” He paused at that, but only to gather a life vest of his own. “I shall send a steward back for them, although given Lady Agatha’s intransigence? I do ßnot know that she will obey him.”
With a nod to the ship’s officer, he helped me into the smaller boat.
no subject
“She has millions, and her father wants her to land a peerage. Lacking better prospects, he’ll settle for you.”
At that point, the ship settled. Rather sideways-ish a bit, if you get my meaning. Left this lad with a sinking sensation. So to speak.
“Fine words if the old girl were going there – the boat I mean - but I’m more thinking we will be pulling in to Davy Jones’ pier.”
Or somewhere unhappy. I had spotted my man, Jeeves, shimming his way into the service end of the room. He had a grimmer-than-common demeanor, one more clouded than even the most eligible and inescapable of bridal bait might justify, and he was making the sort of ‘come here’ gesture utterly out of keeping with his characteristic unruffled propriety.
“Nonsense, Bertram.” Ant Agatha stopped me before my second step. “Not even an iceberg will get you out of this match.”
Jeeves appeared at my elbow.
“An urgent communication for you, Mr. Wooster. In the radio room.”
“Right ho. Must go.” I tossed my napkin and fled.
I did not stop until we both reached the sanctuary of the outside walk.
"A message, old chap? Whom from?”
He produced my overcoat.
“Sanity, sir. With a postscript from self-preservation urging you to make haste to your proper lifeboat.”
Jeeves pushed me up the narrow metal stairs with a blasted improper vigor. Out of character, even for a man of iron will and iron hands.
Up top was a small vessel of the rescue sort, swinging on the ropes that supported it at the ends. Fore and aft, as it were. Rather shocking to see. Not that we hadn’t been given a tour of sorts after our departure. Those interested, at any rate. I had accepted the invite, being the casually curious sort and also thinking it a fair excuse to take a stroll with my man. Jeeves had asked questions, being the brainy and curious sort. Still, those boats had been politely dressed with their white canvas toppers – a nautical sort of Sunday best – and these were looking far more the work-a-day sort with sailors’ heave-ho-in and avast-ing in a non-ginger-headed manner.
One young man, an officer by his coat, was counting passengers as they moved onto the benches.
“But?” I stood frozen, rather at a loss for words, as he snapped me into the gaudy cork vest. “What about the …?”
“The ladies, sir?” He paused at that, but only to gather a life vest of his own. “I shall send a steward back for them, although given Lady Agatha’s intransigence? I do ßnot know that she will obey him.”
With a nod to the ship’s officer, he helped me into the smaller boat.
“Meetings of immovable icebergs?”
“Sadly but wisely put, Sir. “