Speccie Second Thoughts
 

He'll need one, That's all I can say The word 'Doomed!' hovers in the air like a Wodehousian simile

No. 2794: on second thoughts

You are invited to give a helping hand to Sebastian Faulks, who will write the first-ever authorised Wodehouse sequel, and submit a scene from an imaginary sequel in which Wodeshousian characters of your choice debate the wisdom of such an enterprise (150 words max.). Please email entries to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 17 April.

They play into your hands, John, don't they? Just play into your hands.

“Some writer chappie called Faulks wants to call round, Jeeves. Says he’s gathering material for a book, just like the last one - what was the fellow’s name? Treehome, or something of the kind.”

“That would be the late Mr Wodehouse, sir.”

“I’m sorry to hear it, Jeeves. Seemed a decent sort, apart from that pestilential pipe of his. Anyway, I’m relying on you to give this new fellow the lowdown on aunts, cow-creamers, and suchlike.”

Jeeves coughed discreetly, and said: “ I fear, sir, that it would not be my place to indulge in the kind of gossip that Mr Faulks will undoubtedly be seeking.”

I sighed. I knew all too well what was causing Jeeves’s frostiness. “About those mauve shirts, Jeeves ... Oh, dash it, you may give them to the poor.”

“Thank you, sir. I have already done so. I shall prepare afternoon tea for Mr Faulks in the kitchen.”

'I don't know what's come over me. I keep saying thingsI would never say and doing things I would never do. Has that happened to you, Jeeves?'
'Never, sir.'
'Yesterday I called Aunt Agatha an Old Trout. To her face, Jeeves.'
'She is an Old Trout, sir.'
'Great Heavens, Jeeves, you've caught it too. Did you hear yourself.
Horror spread over Jeeves's finely chiselled features like the yolk of a boiled egg when you put too much devil into your spoonwork. 'I fear, sir, we are in the grip on an unseen power.'
'You talk in riddles, Jeeves.'
'There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough hew them how we will.'
'That's well put, Jeeves. Your own?'
'The Swan of Avon, sir. There's a Mr Faulks to see you with a project he says may surprise us. He awaits without?'
'Without what, Jeeves?'
'Shall I throw the bastard out, sir?'

We Woosters are a placable tribe, but can be forthright when rudely awakened.
'What's that bally racket, Jeeves?'
'The noise sir? Birdsong.'
'Not that noise. I mean the one that sounded like a nine-inch shell exploding at close range.'
'A perceptive simile, sir. It was indeed such a shell, and uncomfortably near. Our new proprietor has placed us on the Western Front.'
'Why on earth should he do that?'
'He likes to inform his readers that war is both unpleasant and futile.'
'Don't they know that already?'
'He is not, sir, a man who fears stating the obvious.'
'Grim news, Jeeves. We'll come through, won't we?'
Jeeves's brow took on a furrowed look: 'He is, I fear, considerably fonder of pathos than the previous incumbent.'
At which point Lieutenant Owen entered, looking poetical: 'I say, Bertie, has it ever occurred to you that the stars are God's Very lights?'

Good 'uns, John and George.

George, I love the idea of their new proprietor relocating them on the Western Front.

(But I'm not sure that Jeeves was capable of anything as revealing as "a furrowed look", let alone "horror" ...)

Ah, that's the effect of the new writing, you see.

Ah, that's the effect of the new writing, you see.

“Your Aunt Charlotte has called to see you, sir. I have shown her into the library.”

I groaned. “Righty-ho, Jeeves, though I must say it’s confoundedly early ... But hang on a minute - I haven’t got an Aunt Charlotte!”

“That was Mr Faulks’s doing, sir. He felt that a new Aunt would rejuvenate the saga.”

“Good Lord! Bit of a bally nerve, what? I mean, inflicting supernumerary Aunts on chaps who are already infested with the blighters.”

“Authors can be somewhat dictatorial in these matters, sir.”

“And where’s old Bingo Little? Haven’t seen him for ages.”

“I regret to inform you, sir, that Mr Little is no more.”

“What! You don’t mean -?"

”Yes, sir. Mr Faulks has written him out of the story.”

“Well, that’s a bit stiff! Give these writer johnnies an inch, and they’ll take a what’s-its-name.”

“ ‘Ell’, sir.”

I was startled. I had never heard Jeeves swear before.

You're right, Brian. I shall start unfurrowing.