{"id":3609,"date":"2025-07-20T07:43:45","date_gmt":"2025-07-20T07:43:45","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/?p=3609"},"modified":"2025-07-20T07:43:45","modified_gmt":"2025-07-20T07:43:45","slug":"jeeves-and-the-chump-cyril-by-p-g-wodehouse","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/?p=3609","title":{"rendered":"Jeeves and the Chump Cyril by P. G. Wodehouse"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>Jeeves and the Chump Cyril by <a href=\"https:\/\/quizlit.org\/jeeves-and-the-unbidden-guest-by-p-g-wodehouse\">P. G. Wodehouse<\/a> was published in the Saturday Evening Post in New York in June 1918, and in The Strand Magazine in London in August 1918.<\/p>\n<p><em>This post may contain affiliate links that earn us a commission at no extra cost to you.<\/em><\/p>\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading has-text-align-center\">Jeeves and the Chump Cyril by P. G. Wodehouse<\/h2>\n<div class=\"epyt-video-wrapper\">\n<div class=\"__youtube_prefs__ epyt-facade no-lazyload\"><button class=\"epyt-facade-play\"><\/button><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<h3 class=\"wp-block-heading has-text-align-center\">Jeeves and the Chump Cyril by P. G. Wodehouse<\/h3>\n<p>You know, the longer I live, the more clearly I see that half the trouble in this bally world is caused by the light-hearted and thoughtless way in which chappies dash off letters of introduction and hand them to other chappies to deliver to chappies of the third part. It\u2019s one of those things that make you wish you were living in the Stone Age. What I mean to say is, if a fellow in those days wanted to give anyone a letter of introduction, he had to spend a month or so carving it on a large-sized boulder, and the chances were that the other chappie got so sick of lugging the thing round in the hot sun that he dropped it after the first mile. But nowadays it\u2019s so easy to write letters of introduction that everybody does it without a second thought, with the result that some perfectly harmless cove like myself gets in the soup.<\/p>\n<p>Mark you, all the above is what you might call the result of my riper experience. I don\u2019t mind admitting that in the first flush of the thing, so to speak, when Jeeves told me\u2014this would be about three weeks after I\u2019d landed in America\u2014that a blighter called Cyril Bassington-Bassington had arrived and I found that he had brought a letter of introduction to me from Aunt Agatha \u2026 where was I? Oh, yes \u2026 I don\u2019t mind admitting, I was saying, that just at first I was rather bucked. You see, after the painful events which had resulted in my leaving England I hadn\u2019t expected to get any sort of letter from Aunt Agatha which would pass the censor, so to speak. And it was a pleasant surprise to open this one and find it almost civil. Chilly, perhaps, in parts, but on the whole quite tolerably polite. I looked on the thing as a hopeful sign. Sort of olive-branch, you know. Or do I mean orange blossom? What I\u2019m getting at is that the fact that Aunt Agatha was writing to me without calling me names seemed, more or less, like a step in the direction of peace.<\/p>\n<p>And I was all for peace, and that right speedily. I\u2019m not saying a word against New York, mind you. I liked the place, and was having quite a ripe time there. But the fact remains that a fellow who\u2019s been used to London all his life does get a trifle homesick on a foreign strand, and I wanted to pop back to the cosy old flat in Berkeley Street\u2014which could only be done when Aunt Agatha had simmered down and got over the Glossop episode. I know that London is a biggish city, but, believe me, it isn\u2019t half big enough for any fellow to live in with Aunt Agatha when she\u2019s after him with the old hatchet. And so I\u2019m bound to say I looked on this chump Bassington-Bassington, when he arrived, more or less as a Dove of Peace, and was all for him.<\/p>\n<p>He would seem from contemporary accounts to have blown in one morning at seven-forty-five, that being the ghastly sort of hour they shoot you off the liner in New York. He was given the respectful raspberry by Jeeves, and told to try again about three hours later, when there would be a sporting chance of my having sprung from my bed with a glad cry to welcome another day and all that sort of thing. Which was rather decent of Jeeves, by the way, for it so happened that there was a slight estrangement, a touch of coldness, a bit of a row in other words, between us at the moment because of some rather priceless purple socks which I was wearing against his wishes: and a lesser man might easily have snatched at the chance of getting back at me a bit by loosing Cyril into my bedchamber at a moment when I couldn\u2019t have stood a two-minutes\u2019 conversation with my dearest pal. For until I have had my early cup of tea and have brooded on life for a bit absolutely undisturbed, I\u2019m not much of a lad for the merry chit-chat.<\/p>\n<p>So Jeeves very sportingly shot Cyril out into the crisp morning air, and didn\u2019t let me know of his existence till he brought his card in with the Bohea.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAnd what might all this be, Jeeves?\u201d I said, giving the thing the glassy gaze.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThe gentleman has arrived from England, I understand, sir. He called to see you earlier in the day.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cGood Lord, Jeeves! You don\u2019t mean to say the day starts earlier than this?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHe desired me to say he would return later, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI\u2019ve never heard of him. Have you ever heard of him, Jeeves?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI am familiar with the name Bassington-Bassington, sir. There are<br \/>three branches of the Bassington-Bassington family\u2014the Shropshire<br \/>Bassington-Bassingtons, the Hampshire Bassington-Bassingtons, and the<br \/>Kent Bassington-Bassingtons.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cEngland seems pretty well stocked up with Bassington-Bassingtons.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cTolerably so, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNo chance of a sudden shortage, I mean, what?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cPresumably not, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAnd what sort of a specimen is this one?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI could not say, sir, on such short acquaintance.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWill you give me a sporting two to one, Jeeves, judging from what you have seen of him, that this chappie is not a blighter or an excrescence?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNo, sir. I should not care to venture such liberal odds.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI knew it. Well, the only thing that remains to be discovered is what kind of a blighter he is.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cTime will tell, sir. The gentleman brought a letter for you, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOh, he did, did he?\u201d I said, and grasped the communication. And then I recognised the handwriting. \u201cI say, Jeeves, this is from my Aunt Agatha!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIndeed, sir?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cDon\u2019t dismiss it in that light way. Don\u2019t you see what this means? She says she wants me to look after this excrescence while he\u2019s in New York. By Jove, Jeeves, if I only fawn on him a bit, so that he sends back a favourable report to head-quarters, I may yet be able to get back to England in time for Goodwood. Now is certainly the time for all good men to come to the aid of the party, Jeeves. We must rally round and cosset this cove in no uncertain manner.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYes, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHe isn\u2019t going to stay in New York long,\u201d I said, taking another look at the letter. \u201cHe\u2019s headed for Washington. Going to give the nibs there the once-over, apparently, before taking a whirl at the Diplomatic Service. I should say that we can win this lad\u2019s esteem and affection with a lunch and a couple of dinners, what?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI fancy that should be entirely adequate, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThis is the jolliest thing that\u2019s happened since we left England. It looks to me as if the sun were breaking through the clouds.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cVery possibly, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>He started to put out my things, and there was an awkward sort of silence.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNot those socks, Jeeves,\u201d I said, gulping a bit but having a dash at the careless, off-hand tone. \u201cGive me the purple ones.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI beg your pardon, sir?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThose jolly purple ones.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cVery good, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>He lugged them out of the drawer as if he were a vegetarian fishing a caterpillar out of the salad. You could see he was feeling deeply. Deuced painful and all that, this sort of thing, but a chappie has got to assert himself every now and then. Absolutely.<\/p>\n<p>* * * * *<\/p>\n<p>I was looking for Cyril to show up again any time after breakfast, but he didn\u2019t appear: so towards one o\u2019clock I trickled out to the Lambs Club, where I had an appointment to feed the Wooster face with a cove of the name of Caffyn I\u2019d got pally with since my arrival\u2014George Caffyn, a fellow who wrote plays and what not. I\u2019d made a lot of friends during my stay in New York, the city being crammed with bonhomous lads who one and all extended a welcoming hand to the stranger in their midst.<\/p>\n<p>Caffyn was a bit late, but bobbed up finally, saying that he had been kept at a rehearsal of his new musical comedy, \u201cAsk Dad\u201d; and we started in. We had just reached the coffee, when the waiter came up and said that Jeeves wanted to see me.<\/p>\n<p>Jeeves was in the waiting-room. He gave the socks one pained look as I came in, then averted his eyes.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cMr. Bassington-Bassington has just telephoned, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOh?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYes, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhere is he?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIn prison, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I reeled against the wallpaper. A nice thing to happen to Aunt Agatha\u2019s nominee on his first morning under my wing, I did\u00a0<em>not<\/em>\u00a0think!<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIn prison!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYes, sir. He said on the telephone that he had been arrested and would be glad if you could step round and bail him out.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cArrested! What for?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHe did not favour me with his confidence in that respect, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThis is a bit thick, Jeeves.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cPrecisely, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I collected old George, who very decently volunteered to stagger along with me, and we hopped into a taxi. We sat around at the police-station for a bit on a wooden bench in a sort of ante-room, and presently a policeman appeared, leading in Cyril.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHalloa! Halloa! Halloa!\u201d I said. \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>My experience is that a fellow never really looks his best just after he\u2019s come out of a cell. When I was up at Oxford, I used to have a regular job bailing out a pal of mine who never failed to get pinched every Boat-Race night, and he always looked like something that had been dug up by the roots. Cyril was in pretty much the same sort of shape. He had a black eye and a torn collar, and altogether was nothing to write home about\u2014especially if one was writing to Aunt Agatha. He was a thin, tall chappie with a lot of light hair and pale-blue goggly eyes which made him look like one of the rarer kinds of fish.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI got your message,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOh, are you Bertie Wooster?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAbsolutely. And this is my pal George Caffyn. Writes plays and what not, don\u2019t you know.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>We all shook hands, and the policeman, having retrieved a piece of chewing-gum from the underside of a chair, where he had parked it against a rainy day, went off into a corner and began to contemplate the infinite.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThis is a rotten country,\u201d said Cyril.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOh, I don\u2019t know, you know, don\u2019t you know!\u201d I said.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWe do our best,\u201d said George.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOld George is an American,\u201d I explained. \u201cWrites plays, don\u2019t you know, and what not.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOf course, I didn\u2019t invent the country,\u201d said George. \u201cThat was Columbus. But I shall be delighted to consider any improvements you may suggest and lay them before the proper authorities.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWell, why don\u2019t the policemen in New York dress properly?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>George took a look at the chewing officer across the room.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI don\u2019t see anything missing,\u201d he said<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI mean to say, why don\u2019t they wear helmets like they do in London? Why do they look like postmen? It isn\u2019t fair on a fellow. Makes it dashed confusing. I was simply standing on the pavement, looking at things, when a fellow who looked like a postman prodded me in the ribs with a club. I didn\u2019t see why I should have postmen prodding me. Why the dickens should a fellow come three thousand miles to be prodded by postmen?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThe point is well taken,\u201d said George. \u201cWhat did you do?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI gave him a shove, you know. I\u2019ve got a frightfully hasty temper, you know. All the Bassington-Bassingtons have got frightfully hasty tempers, don\u2019t you know! And then he biffed me in the eye and lugged me off to this beastly place.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI\u2019ll fix it, old son,\u201d I said. And I hauled out the bank-roll and went off to open negotiations, leaving Cyril to talk to George. I don\u2019t mind admitting that I was a bit perturbed. There were furrows in the old brow, and I had a kind of foreboding feeling. As long as this chump stayed in New York, I was responsible for him: and he didn\u2019t give me the impression of being the species of cove a reasonable chappie would care to be responsible for for more than about three minutes.<\/p>\n<p>I mused with a considerable amount of tensity over Cyril that night, when I had got home and Jeeves had brought me the final whisky. I couldn\u2019t help feeling that this visit of his to America was going to be one of those times that try men\u2019s souls and what not. I hauled out Aunt Agatha\u2019s letter of introduction and re-read it, and there was no getting away from the fact that she undoubtedly appeared to be somewhat wrapped up in this blighter and to consider it my mission in life to shield him from harm while on the premises. I was deuced thankful that he had taken such a liking for George Caffyn, old George being a steady sort of cove. After I had got him out of his dungeon-cell, he and old George had gone off together, as chummy as brothers, to watch the afternoon rehearsal of \u201cAsk Dad.\u201d There was some talk, I gathered, of their dining together. I felt pretty easy in my mind while George had his eye on him.<\/p>\n<p>I had got about as far as this in my meditations, when Jeeves came in with a telegram. At least, it wasn\u2019t a telegram: it was a cable\u2014from Aunt Agatha\u2014and this is what it said:\u2014\u2014<\/p>\n<p>Has Cyril Bassington-Bassington called yet? On no account introduce him into theatrical circles. Vitally important. Letter follows.<\/p>\n<p>I read it a couple of times.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThis is rummy, Jeeves!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYes, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cVery rummy and dashed disturbing!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWill there be anything further to-night, sir?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Of course, if he was going to be as bally unsympathetic as that there was nothing to be done. My idea had been to show him the cable and ask his advice. But if he was letting those purple socks rankle to that extent, the good old\u00a0<em>noblesse oblige<\/em>\u00a0of the Woosters couldn\u2019t lower itself to the extent of pleading with the man. Absolutely not. So I gave it a miss.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNothing more, thanks.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cGood night, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cGood night.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>He floated away, and I sat down to think the thing over. I had been directing the best efforts of the old bean to the problem for a matter of half an hour, when there was a ring at the bell. I went to the door, and there was Cyril, looking pretty festive.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI\u2019ll come in for a bit if I may,\u201d he said. \u201cGot something rather priceless to tell you.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>He curveted past me into the sitting-room, and when I got there after shutting the front door I found him reading Aunt Agatha\u2019s cable and giggling in a rummy sort of manner. \u201cOughtn\u2019t to have looked at this, I suppose. Caught sight of my name and read it without thinking. I say, Wooster, old friend of my youth, this is rather funny. Do you mind if I have a drink? Thanks awfully and all that sort of rot. Yes, it\u2019s rather funny, considering what I came to tell you. Jolly old Caffyn has given me a small part in that musical comedy of his, \u2018Ask Dad.\u2019 Only a bit, you know, but quite tolerably ripe. I\u2019m feeling frightfully braced, don\u2019t you know!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>He drank his drink, and went on. He didn\u2019t seem to notice that I wasn\u2019t jumping about the room, yapping with joy.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou know, I\u2019ve always wanted to go on the stage, you know,\u201d he said. \u201cBut my jolly old guv\u2019nor wouldn\u2019t stick it at any price. Put the old Waukeesi down with a bang, and turned bright purple whenever the subject was mentioned. That\u2019s the real reason why I came over here, if you want to know. I knew there wasn\u2019t a chance of my being able to work this stage wheeze in London without somebody getting on to it and tipping off the guv\u2019nor, so I rather brainily sprang the scheme of popping over to Washington to broaden my mind. There\u2019s nobody to interfere on this side, you see, so I can go right ahead!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I tried to reason with the poor chump.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cBut your guv\u2019nor will have to know some time.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThat\u2019ll be all right. I shall be the jolly old star by then, and he won\u2019t have a leg to stand on.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt seems to me he\u2019ll have one leg to stand on while he kicks me with the other.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhy, where do you come in? What have you got to do with it?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI introduced you to George Caffyn.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSo you did, old top, so you did. I\u2019d quite forgotten. I ought to have thanked you before. Well, so long. There\u2019s an early rehearsal of \u2018Ask Dad\u2019 to-morrow morning, and I must be toddling. Rummy the thing should be called \u2018Ask Dad,\u2019 when that\u2019s just what I\u2019m not going to do. See what I mean, what, what? Well, pip-pip!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cToodle-oo!\u201d I said sadly, and the blighter scudded off. I dived for the phone and called up George Caffyn.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI say, George, what\u2019s all this about Cyril Bassington-Bassington?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat about him?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHe tells me you\u2019ve given him a part in your show.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOh, yes. Just a few lines.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cBut I\u2019ve just had fifty-seven cables from home telling me on no account to let him go on the stage.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI\u2019m sorry. But Cyril is just the type I need for that part. He\u2019s simply got to be himself.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt\u2019s pretty tough on me, George, old man. My Aunt Agatha sent this blighter over with a letter of introduction to me, and she will hold me responsible.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cShe\u2019ll cut you out of her will?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt isn\u2019t a question of money. But\u2014of course, you\u2019ve never met my Aunt Agatha, so it\u2019s rather hard to explain. But she\u2019s a sort of human vampire-bat, and she\u2019ll make things most fearfully unpleasant for me when I go back to England. She\u2019s the kind of woman who comes and rags you before breakfast, don\u2019t you know.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWell, don\u2019t go back to England, then. Stick here and become<br \/>President.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cBut, George, old top\u2014\u2014!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cGood night!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cBut, I say, George, old man!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou didn\u2019t get my last remark. It was \u2018Good night!\u2019 You Idle Rich may not need any sleep, but I\u2019ve got to be bright and fresh in the morning. God bless you!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I felt as if I hadn\u2019t a friend in the world. I was so jolly well worked up that I went and banged on Jeeves\u2019s door. It wasn\u2019t a thing I\u2019d have cared to do as a rule, but it seemed to me that now was the time for all good men to come to the aid of the party, so to speak, and that it was up to Jeeves to rally round the young master, even if it broke up his beauty-sleep.<\/p>\n<p>Jeeves emerged in a brown dressing-gown.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSir?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cDeuced sorry to wake you up, Jeeves, and what not, but all sorts of dashed disturbing things have been happening.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI was not asleep. It is my practice, on retiring, to read a few pages of some instructive book.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThat\u2019s good! What I mean to say is, if you\u2019ve just finished exercising the old bean, it\u2019s probably in mid-season form for tackling problems. Jeeves, Mr. Bassington-Bassington is going on the stage!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIndeed, sir?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAh! The thing doesn\u2019t hit you! You don\u2019t get it properly! Here\u2019s the point. All his family are most fearfully dead against his going on the stage. There\u2019s going to be no end of trouble if he isn\u2019t headed off. And, what\u2019s worse, my Aunt Agatha will blame me, you see.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI see, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWell, can\u2019t you think of some way of stopping him?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNot, I confess, at the moment, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWell, have a stab at it.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI will give the matter my best consideration, sir. Will there be anything further to-night?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI hope not! I\u2019ve had all I can stand already.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cVery good, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>He popped off.<\/p>\n<p>* * * * *<\/p>\n<p>The part which old George had written for the chump Cyril took up about two pages of typescript; but it might have been Hamlet, the way that poor, misguided pinhead worked himself to the bone over it. I suppose, if I heard him his lines once, I did it a dozen times in the first couple of days. He seemed to think that my only feeling about the whole affair was one of enthusiastic admiration, and that he could rely on my support and sympathy. What with trying to imagine how Aunt Agatha was going to take this thing, and being woken up out of the dreamless in the small hours every other night to give my opinion of some new bit of business which Cyril had invented, I became more or less the good old shadow. And all the time Jeeves remained still pretty cold and distant about the purple socks. It\u2019s this sort of thing that ages a chappie, don\u2019t you know, and makes his youthful\u00a0<em>joie-de-vivre<\/em>\u00a0go a bit groggy at the knees.<\/p>\n<p>In the middle of it Aunt Agatha\u2019s letter arrived. It took her about six pages to do justice to Cyril\u2019s father\u2019s feelings in regard to his going on the stage and about six more to give me a kind of sketch of what she would say, think, and do if I didn\u2019t keep him clear of injurious influences while he was in America. The letter came by the afternoon mail, and left me with a pretty firm conviction that it wasn\u2019t a thing I ought to keep to myself. I didn\u2019t even wait to ring the bell: I whizzed for the kitchen, bleating for Jeeves, and butted into the middle of a regular tea-party of sorts. Seated at the table were a depressed-looking cove who might have been a valet or something, and a boy in a Norfolk suit. The valet-chappie was drinking a whisky and soda, and the boy was being tolerably rough with some jam and cake.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOh, I say, Jeeves!\u201d I said. \u201cSorry to interrupt the feast of reason and flow of soul and so forth, but\u2014\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p>At this juncture the small boy\u2019s eye hit me like a bullet and stopped me in my tracks. It was one of those cold, clammy, accusing sort of eyes\u2014the kind that makes you reach up to see if your tie is straight: and he looked at me as if I were some sort of unnecessary product which Cuthbert the Cat had brought in after a ramble among the local ash-cans. He was a stoutish infant with a lot of freckles and a good deal of jam on his face.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHallo! Hallo! Hallo!\u201d I said. \u201cWhat?\u201d There didn\u2019t seem much else to say.<\/p>\n<p>The stripling stared at me in a nasty sort of way through the jam. He may have loved me at first sight, but the impression he gave me was that he didn\u2019t think a lot of me and wasn\u2019t betting much that I would improve a great deal on acquaintance. I had a kind of feeling that I was about as popular with him as a cold Welsh rabbit.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat\u2019s your name?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cMy name? Oh, Wooster, don\u2019t you know, and what not.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cMy pop\u2019s richer than you are!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>That seemed to be all about me. The child having said his say, started in on the jam again. I turned to Jeeves.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI say, Jeeves, can you spare a moment? I want to show you something.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cVery good, sir.\u201d We toddled into the sitting-room.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWho is your little friend, Sidney the Sunbeam, Jeeves?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThe young gentleman, sir?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt\u2019s a loose way of describing him, but I know what you mean.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI trust I was not taking a liberty in entertaining him, sir?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNot a bit. If that\u2019s your idea of a large afternoon, go ahead.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI happened to meet the young gentleman taking a walk with his father\u2019s valet, sir, whom I used to know somewhat intimately in London, and I ventured to invite them both to join me here.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWell, never mind about him, Jeeves. Read this letter.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>He gave it the up-and-down.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cVery disturbing, sir!\u201d was all he could find to say.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat are we going to do about it?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cTime may provide a solution, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOn the other hand, it mayn\u2019t, what?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cExtremely true, sir.\u201d.<\/p>\n<p>We\u2019d got as far as this, when there was a ring at the door. Jeeves shimmered off, and Cyril blew in, full of good cheer and blitheringness.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI say, Wooster, old thing,\u201d he said, \u201cI want your advice. You know this jolly old part of mine. How ought I to dress it? What I mean is, the first act scene is laid in an hotel of sorts, at about three in the afternoon. What ought I to wear, do you think?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I wasn\u2019t feeling fit for a discussion of gent\u2019s suitings.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou\u2019d better consult Jeeves,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cA hot and by no means unripe idea! Where is he?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cGone back to the kitchen, I suppose.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI\u2019ll smite the good old bell, shall I? Yes? No?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cRight-o!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Jeeves poured silently in.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOh, I say, Jeeves,\u201d began Cyril, \u201cI just wanted to have a syllable or two with you. It\u2019s this way\u2014Hallo, who\u2019s this?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I then perceived that the stout stripling had trickled into the room after Jeeves. He was standing near the door looking at Cyril as if his worst fears had been realised. There was a bit of a silence. The child remained there, drinking Cyril in for about half a minute; then he gave his verdict:<\/p>\n<p>\u201cFish-face!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cEh? What?\u201d said Cyril.<\/p>\n<p>The child, who had evidently been taught at his mother\u2019s knee to speak the truth, made his meaning a trifle clearer.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou\u2019ve a face like a fish!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>He spoke as if Cyril was more to be pitied than censured, which I am bound to say I thought rather decent and broad-minded of him. I don\u2019t mind admitting that, whenever I looked at Cyril\u2019s face, I always had a feeling that he couldn\u2019t have got that way without its being mostly his own fault. I found myself warming to this child. Absolutely, don\u2019t you know. I liked his conversation.<\/p>\n<p>It seemed to take Cyril a moment or two really to grasp the thing, and then you could hear the blood of the Bassington-Bassingtons begin to sizzle.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWell, I\u2019m dashed!\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019m dashed if I\u2019m not!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI wouldn\u2019t have a face like that,\u201d proceeded the child, with a good deal of earnestness, \u201cnot if you gave me a million dollars.\u201d He thought for a moment, then corrected himself. \u201cTwo million dollars!\u201d he added.<\/p>\n<p>Just what occurred then I couldn\u2019t exactly say, but the next few minutes were a bit exciting. I take it that Cyril must have made a dive for the infant. Anyway, the air seemed pretty well congested with arms and legs and things. Something bumped into the Wooster waistcoat just around the third button, and I collapsed on to the settee and rather lost interest in things for the moment. When I had unscrambled myself, I found that Jeeves and the child had retired and Cyril was standing in the middle of the room snorting a bit.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWho\u2019s that frightful little brute, Wooster?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI don\u2019t know. I never saw him before to-day.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI gave him a couple of tolerably juicy buffets before he legged it. I say, Wooster, that kid said a dashed odd thing. He yelled out something about Jeeves promising him a dollar if he called me\u2014er\u2014what he said.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>It sounded pretty unlikely to me.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat would Jeeves do that for?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt struck me as rummy, too.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhere would be the sense of it?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThat\u2019s what I can\u2019t see.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI mean to say, it\u2019s nothing to Jeeves what sort of a face you have!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNo!\u201d said Cyril. He spoke a little coldly, I fancied. I don\u2019t know why. \u201cWell, I\u2019ll be popping. Toodle-oo!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cPip-pip!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>It must have been about a week after this rummy little episode that George Caffyn called me up and asked me if I would care to go and see a run-through of his show. \u201cAsk Dad,\u201d it seemed, was to open out of town in Schenectady on the following Monday, and this was to be a sort of preliminary dress-rehearsal. A preliminary dress-rehearsal, old George explained, was the same as a regular dress-rehearsal inasmuch as it was apt to look like nothing on earth and last into the small hours, but more exciting because they wouldn\u2019t be timing the piece and consequently all the blighters who on these occasions let their angry passions rise would have plenty of scope for interruptions, with the result that a pleasant time would be had by all.<\/p>\n<p>The thing was billed to start at eight o\u2019clock, so I rolled up at ten-fifteen, so as not to have too long to wait before they began. The dress-parade was still going on. George was on the stage, talking to a cove in shirt-sleeves and an absolutely round chappie with big spectacles and a practically hairless dome. I had seen George with the latter merchant once or twice at the club, and I knew that he was Blumenfield, the manager. I waved to George, and slid into a seat at the back of the house, so as to be out of the way when the fighting started. Presently George hopped down off the stage and came and joined me, and fairly soon after that the curtain went down. The chappie at the piano whacked out a well-meant bar or two, and the curtain went up again.<\/p>\n<p>I can\u2019t quite recall what the plot of \u201cAsk Dad\u201d was about, but I do know that it seemed able to jog along all right without much help from Cyril. I was rather puzzled at first. What I mean is, through brooding on Cyril and hearing him in his part and listening to his views on what ought and what ought not to be done, I suppose I had got a sort of impression rooted in the old bean that he was pretty well the backbone of the show, and that the rest of the company didn\u2019t do much except go on and fill in when he happened to be off the stage. I sat there for nearly half an hour, waiting for him to make his entrance, until I suddenly discovered he had been on from the start. He was, in fact, the rummy-looking plug-ugly who was now leaning against a potted palm a couple of feet from the O.P. side, trying to appear intelligent while the heroine sang a song about Love being like something which for the moment has slipped my memory. After the second refrain he began to dance in company with a dozen other equally weird birds. A painful spectacle for one who could see a vision of Aunt Agatha reaching for the hatchet and old Bassington-Bassington senior putting on his strongest pair of hob-nailed boots. Absolutely!<\/p>\n<p>The dance had just finished, and Cyril and his pals had shuffled off into the wings when a voice spoke from the darkness on my right.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cPop!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Old Blumenfield clapped his hands, and the hero, who had just been about to get the next line off his diaphragm, cheesed it. I peered into the shadows. Who should it be but Jeeves\u2019s little playmate with the freckles! He was now strolling down the aisle with his hands in his pockets as if the place belonged to him. An air of respectful attention seemed to pervade the building.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cPop,\u201d said the stripling, \u201cthat number\u2019s no good.\u201d Old Blumenfield beamed over his shoulder.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cDon\u2019t you like it, darling?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt gives me a pain.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou\u2019re dead right.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou want something zippy there. Something with a bit of jazz to it!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cQuite right, my boy. I\u2019ll make a note of it. All right. Go on!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I turned to George, who was muttering to himself in rather an overwrought way.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI say, George, old man, who the dickens is that kid?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Old George groaned a bit hollowly, as if things were a trifle thick.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI didn\u2019t know he had crawled in! It\u2019s Blumenfield\u2019s son. Now we\u2019re going to have a Hades of a time!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cDoes he always run things like this?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAlways!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cBut why does old Blumenfield listen to him?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNobody seems to know. It may be pure fatherly love, or he may regard him as a mascot. My own idea is that he thinks the kid has exactly the amount of intelligence of the average member of the audience, and that what makes a hit with him will please the general public. While, conversely, what he doesn\u2019t like will be too rotten for anyone. The kid is a pest, a wart, and a pot of poison, and should be strangled!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The rehearsal went on. The hero got off his line. There was a slight outburst of frightfulness between the stage-manager and a Voice named Bill that came from somewhere near the roof, the subject under discussion being where the devil Bill\u2019s \u201cambers\u201d were at that particular juncture. Then things went on again until the moment arrived for Cyril\u2019s big scene.<\/p>\n<p>I was still a trifle hazy about the plot, but I had got on to the fact that Cyril was some sort of an English peer who had come over to America doubtless for the best reasons. So far he had only had two lines to say. One was \u201cOh, I say!\u201d and the other was \u201cYes, by Jove!\u201d; but I seemed to recollect, from hearing him read his part, that pretty soon he was due rather to spread himself. I sat back in my chair and waited for him to bob up.<\/p>\n<p>He bobbed up about five minutes later. Things had got a bit stormy by that time. The Voice and the stage-director had had another of their love-feasts\u2014this time something to do with why Bill\u2019s \u201cblues\u201d weren\u2019t on the job or something. And, almost as soon as that was over, there was a bit of unpleasantness because a flower-pot fell off a window-ledge and nearly brained the hero. The atmosphere was consequently more or less hotted up when Cyril, who had been hanging about at the back of the stage, breezed down centre and toed the mark for his most substantial chunk of entertainment. The heroine had been saying something\u2014I forget what\u2014and all the chorus, with Cyril at their head, had begun to surge round her in the restless sort of way those chappies always do when there\u2019s a number coming along.<\/p>\n<p>Cyril\u2019s first line was, \u201cOh, I say, you know, you mustn\u2019t say that, really!\u201d and it seemed to me he passed it over the larynx with a goodish deal of vim and\u00a0<em>je-ne-sais-quoi.<\/em>\u00a0But, by Jove, before the heroine had time for the come-back, our little friend with the freckles had risen to lodge a protest.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cPop!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYes, darling?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThat one\u2019s no good!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhich one, darling?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThe one with a face like a fish.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cBut they all have faces like fish, darling.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The child seemed to see the justice of this objection. He became more definite.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThe ugly one.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhich ugly one? That one?\u201d said old Blumenfield, pointing to Cyril.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYep! He\u2019s rotten!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI thought so myself.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHe\u2019s a pill!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou\u2019re dead right, my boy. I\u2019ve noticed it for some time.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Cyril had been gaping a bit while these few remarks were in progress. He now shot down to the footlights. Even from where I was sitting, I could see that these harsh words had hit the old Bassington-Bassington family pride a frightful wallop. He started to get pink in the ears, and then in the nose, and then in the cheeks, till in about a quarter of a minute he looked pretty much like an explosion in a tomato cannery on a sunset evening.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat the deuce do you mean?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat the deuce do you mean?\u201d shouted old Blumenfield. \u201cDon\u2019t yell at me across the footlights!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI\u2019ve a dashed good mind to come down and spank that little brute!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cA dashed good mind!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Old Blumenfield swelled like a pumped-up tyre. He got rounder than ever.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSee here, mister\u2014I don\u2019t know your darn name\u2014\u2014!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cMy name\u2019s Bassington-Bassington, and the jolly old Bassington-Bassingtons\u2014I mean the Bassington-Bassingtons aren\u2019t accustomed\u2014\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Old Blumenfield told him in a few brief words pretty much what he thought of the Bassington-Bassingtons and what they weren\u2019t accustomed to. The whole strength of the company rallied round to enjoy his remarks. You could see them jutting out from the wings and protruding from behind trees.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou got to work good for my pop!\u201d said the stout child, waggling his head reprovingly at Cyril.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI don\u2019t want any bally cheek from you!\u201d said Cyril, gurgling a bit.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d barked old Blumenfield. \u201cDo you understand that this boy is my son?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYes, I do,\u201d said Cyril. \u201cAnd you both have my sympathy!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou\u2019re fired!\u201d bellowed old Blumenfield, swelling a good bit more.<br \/>\u201cGet out of my theatre!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>* * * * *<\/p>\n<p>About half-past ten next morning, just after I had finished lubricating the good old interior with a soothing cup of Oolong, Jeeves filtered into my bedroom, and said that Cyril was waiting to see me in the sitting-room.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHow does he look, Jeeves?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSir?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat does Mr. Bassington-Bassington look like?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt is hardly my place, sir, to criticise the facial peculiarities of your friends.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI don\u2019t mean that. I mean, does he appear peeved and what not?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNot noticeably, sir. His manner is tranquil.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThat\u2019s rum!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSir?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNothing. Show him in, will you?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I\u2019m bound to say I had expected to see Cyril showing a few more traces of last night\u2019s battle. I was looking for a bit of the overwrought soul and the quivering ganglions, if you know what I mean. He seemed pretty ordinary and quite fairly cheerful.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHallo, Wooster, old thing!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cCheero!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI just looked in to say good-bye.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cGood-bye?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYes. I\u2019m off to Washington in an hour.\u201d He sat down on the bed. \u201cYou know, Wooster, old top,\u201d he went on, \u201cI\u2019ve been thinking it all over, and really it doesn\u2019t seem quite fair to the jolly old guv\u2019nor, my going on the stage and so forth. What do you think?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI see what you mean.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI mean to say, he sent me over here to broaden my jolly old mind and words to that effect, don\u2019t you know, and I can\u2019t help thinking it would be a bit of a jar for the old boy if I gave him the bird and went on the stage instead. I don\u2019t know if you understand me, but what I mean to say is, it\u2019s a sort of question of conscience.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cCan you leave the show without upsetting everything?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOh, that\u2019s all right. I\u2019ve explained everything to old Blumenfield, and he quite sees my position. Of course, he\u2019s sorry to lose me\u2014said he didn\u2019t see how he could fill my place and all that sort of thing\u2014but, after all, even if it does land him in a bit of a hole, I think I\u2019m right in resigning my part, don\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOh, absolutely.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI thought you\u2019d agree with me. Well, I ought to be shifting. Awfully glad to have seen something of you, and all that sort of rot. Pip-pip!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cToodle-oo!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>He sallied forth, having told all those bally lies with the clear, blue, pop-eyed gaze of a young child. I rang for Jeeves. You know, ever since last night I had been exercising the old bean to some extent, and a good deal of light had dawned upon me.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cJeeves!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSir?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cDid you put that pie-faced infant up to bally-ragging Mr.<br \/>Bassington-Bassington?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSir?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOh, you know what I mean. Did you tell him to get Mr.<br \/>Bassington-Bassington sacked from the \u2018Ask Dad\u2019 company?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI would not take such a liberty, sir.\u201d He started to put out my clothes. \u201cIt is possible that young Master Blumenfield may have gathered from casual remarks of mine that I did not consider the stage altogether a suitable sphere for Mr. Bassington-Bassington.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI say, Jeeves, you know, you\u2019re a bit of a marvel.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI endeavour to give satisfaction, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAnd I\u2019m frightfully obliged, if you know what I mean. Aunt Agatha would have had sixteen or seventeen fits if you hadn\u2019t headed him off.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI fancy there might have been some little friction and unpleasantness, sir. I am laying out the blue suit with the thin red stripe, sir. I fancy the effect will be pleasing.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>* * * * *<\/p>\n<p>It\u2019s a rummy thing, but I had finished breakfast and gone out and got as far as the lift before I remembered what it was that I had meant to do to reward Jeeves for his really sporting behaviour in this matter of the chump Cyril. It cut me to the heart to do it, but I had decided to give him his way and let those purple socks pass out of my life. After all, there are times when a cove must make sacrifices. I was just going to nip back and break the glad news to him, when the lift came up, so I thought I would leave it till I got home.<\/p>\n<p>The coloured chappie in charge of the lift looked at me, as I hopped in, with a good deal of quiet devotion and what not.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI wish to thank yo\u2019, suh,\u201d he said, \u201cfor yo\u2019 kindness.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cEh? What?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cMisto\u2019 Jeeves done give me them purple socks, as you told him. Thank yo\u2019 very much, suh!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I looked down. The blighter was a blaze of mauve from the ankle-bone southward. I don\u2019t know when I\u2019ve seen anything so dressy.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOh, ah! Not at all! Right-o! Glad you like them!\u201d I said.<\/p>\n<p>Well, I mean to say, what? Absolutely!<\/p>\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading has-text-align-center\">Best P. G. Wodehouse Books to Read<\/h2>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/amzn.to\/3RZuSCz\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><\/a><\/p>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/amzn.to\/46REPG6\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><\/a><\/p>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/amzn.to\/3tpctEL\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><\/a><\/p>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/amzn.to\/3RUqCUN\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><\/a><br \/>\nClick on the image to buy a copy<\/p>\n<p>If you enjoyed Jeeves and the Chump Cyril by P. G. Wodehouse, you can also read <a href=\"https:\/\/quizlit.org\/death-at-the-excelsior-by-p-g-wodehouse\">Death at the Excelsior by P. G. Wodehouse here on Quizlit<\/a><\/p>\n<p>Narrated by Seth Dresser, courtesy of Librivox<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Jeeves and the Chump Cyril by P. G. Wodehouse was published in the Saturday Evening Post in New York in June 1918, and in The Strand Magazine in London in August 1918. This post may contain affiliate links that earn us a commission at no extra cost to you. Jeeves and the Chump Cyril by [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":0,"featured_media":3610,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3609","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-bookreviews"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3609"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=3609"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3609\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/3610"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=3609"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=3609"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=3609"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}