Дживс, вы – гений! / Thank you, Jeeves!

Do you know what it was he wanted to see me about so urgently that day in London?”

“What?”

“He’s found an American he thinks he can sell the Hall to.”

“Really?”

“Yes. If all goes well, I shall at last get rid of it and have a bit of money in my pocket. Thanks to Uncle Roderick, as I like to think of him. So Bertie, you must learn to love Uncle Roddie for my sake[45 - for my sake – ради меня].”

I shook my head.

“No, Chuffy, I fear I can’t.”

“Well, go to hell, then,” said Chuffy agreeably.

“But are you sure this thing is going to be? What would this fellow do with the Hall?”

“Oh, it is simple enough. He’s a great pal of old Glossop’s and the idea is that he will let Glossop run the house as a sort of country club for his nerve patients.”

“Why doesn’t old Glossop simply rent it from you?”

“What sort of state do you suppose the place is in these days? Most of the rooms haven’t been used for forty years.

“Oh, he’s a millionaire, is he?”

“Yes. All I’m worrying about is getting his signature. Well, he’s coming to lunch today, and it’s going to be a good one too. He will like it.”

“Unless he’s got dyspepsia. Many American millionaires have. This man of yours may be one of those fellows who can’t get outside more than a glass of milk and a dog biscuit[46 - dog biscuit – сухарик].

Chuffy laughed jovially.

“Not much. Not old Stoker.” He suddenly began to leap about like a lamb in the springtime. “Hallo-hallo-hallo!”

A car had drawn up at the steps. Passenger A was J. Washburn Stoker. Passenger B was his daughter, Pauline. Passenger C was his young son, Dwight[47 - Dwight – Дуайт]. And Passenger D was Sir Roderick Glossop.

4

Pauline Stoker Asks for Help

Chuffy was the genial host.

“Hallo-allo-allo! Here you all are. How are you, Mr Stoker? How are you, Sir Roderick? Hallo, Dwight. Er—good morning, Miss Stoker. May I introduce my friend, Bertie Wooster? Mr Stoker, my friend, Bertie Wooster. Dwight, my friend, Bertie Wooster. Miss Stoker, my friend, Bertie Wooster. Sir Roderick Glossop, my friend, Bertie—Oh, but you know each other already, don’t you?”

I surveyed the mob. Old Stoker was glaring at me.