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Right Ho, Jeeves | P. G. Wodehouse | |
Chapter 22 |
Page 8 of 11 |
"--a nine-mile ride, and another nine-mile ride back." "I am sorry, sir." "No good being sorry now. Where is this foul bone-shaker?" "I will bring it out, sir." He did so. I eyed it sourly. "Where's the lamp?" "I fear there is no lamp, sir." "No lamp?" "No, sir." "But I may come a fearful stinker without a lamp. Suppose I barge into something." I broke off and eyed him frigidly. "You smile, Jeeves. The thought amuses you?" "I beg your pardon, sir. I was thinking of a tale my Uncle Cyril used to tell me as a child. An absurd little story, sir, though I confess that I have always found it droll. According to my Uncle Cyril, two men named Nicholls and Jackson set out to ride to Brighton on a tandem bicycle, and were so unfortunate as to come into collision with a brewer's van. And when the rescue party arrived on the scene of the accident, it was discovered that they had been hurled together with such force that it was impossible to sort them out at all adequately. The keenest eye could not discern which portion of the fragments was Nicholls and which Jackson. So they collected as much as they could, and called it Nixon. I remember laughing very much at that story when I was a child, sir." I had to pause a moment to master my feelings. "You did, eh?" "Yes, sir." "You thought it funny?" |
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Right Ho, Jeeves P. G. Wodehouse |
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