{"id":4661,"date":"2025-11-02T01:40:02","date_gmt":"2025-11-02T01:40:02","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/?p=4661"},"modified":"2025-11-02T01:40:02","modified_gmt":"2025-11-02T01:40:02","slug":"the-metropolitan-touch-by-p-g-wodehouse","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/?p=4661","title":{"rendered":"The Metropolitan Touch by P. G. Wodehouse"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>The Metropolitan Touch by <a href=\"https:\/\/quizlit.org\/jeeves-and-the-unbidden-guest-by-p-g-wodehouse\">P. G. Wodehouse<\/a> features the young gentleman Bertie Wooster and his valet Jeeves. The story was published in The Strand Magazine in London and Cosmopolitan in New York in September 1922.<\/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\">The Metropolitan Touch 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\">The Metropolitan Touch by P. G. Wodehouse<\/h3>\n\n<p>Nobody is more alive than I am to the fact that young Bingo Little is in many respects a sound old egg. In one way and another he has made life pretty interesting for me at intervals ever since we were at school. As a companion for a cheery hour I think I would choose him before anybody. On the other hand, I\u2019m bound to say that there are things about him that could be improved. His habit of falling in love with every second girl he sees is one of them; and another is his way of letting the world in on the secrets of his heart. If you want shrinking reticence, don\u2019t go to Bingo, because he\u2019s got about as much of it as a soap-advertisement.<\/p>\n<p>I mean to say\u2014well, here\u2019s the telegram I got from him one evening in November, about a month after I\u2019d got back to town from my visit to Twing Hall:<\/p>\n<p>I say Bertie old man I am in love at last. She is the most wonderful girl Bertie old man. This is the real thing at last Bertie. Come here at once and bring Jeeves. Oh I say you know that tobacco shop in Bond Street on the left side as you go up. Will you get me a hundred of their special cigarettes and send them to me here. I have run out. I know when you see her you will think she is the most wonderful girl. Mind you bring Jeeves. Don\u2019t forget the cigarettes.\u2014Bingo.<\/p>\n<p>It had been handed in at Twing Post Office. In other words, he had submitted that frightful rot to the goggling eye of a village post-mistress who was probably the main spring of local gossip and would have the place ringing with the news before nightfall. He couldn\u2019t have given himself away more completely if he had hired the town-crier. When I was a kid, I used to read stories about knights and vikings and that species of chappie who would get up without a blush in the middle of a crowded banquet and loose off a song about how perfectly priceless they thought their best girl. I\u2019ve often felt that those days would have suited young Bingo down to the ground.<\/p>\n<p>Jeeves had brought the thing in with the evening drink, and I slung it over to him.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt\u2019s about due, of course,\u201d I said. \u201cYoung Bingo hasn\u2019t been in love for at least a couple of months. I wonder who it is this time?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cMiss Mary Burgess, sir,\u201d said Jeeves, \u201cthe niece of the Reverend Mr. Heppenstall. She is staying at Twing Vicarage.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cGreat Scott!\u201d I knew that Jeeves knew practically everything in the world, but this sounded like second-sight. \u201cHow do you know that?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhen we were visiting Twing Hall in the summer, sir, I formed a somewhat close friendship with Mr. Heppenstall\u2019s butler. He is good enough to keep me abreast of the local news from time to time. From his account, sir, the young lady appears to be a very estimable young lady. Of a somewhat serious nature, I understand. Mr. Little is very \u00e9pris, sir. Brookfield, my correspondent, writes that last week he observed him in the moonlight at an advanced hour gazing up at his window.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhose window! Brookfield\u2019s?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYes, sir. Presumably under the impression that it was the young lady\u2019s.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cBut what the deuce is he doing at Twing at all?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cMr. Little was compelled to resume his old position as tutor to Lord Wickhammersley\u2019s son at Twing Hall, sir. Owing to having been unsuccessful in some speculations at Hurst Park at the end of October.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cGood Lord, Jeeves! Is there anything you don\u2019t know?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI could not say, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I picked up the telegram.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI suppose he wants us to go down and help him out a bit?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThat would appear to be his motive in dispatching the message, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWell, what shall we do? Go?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI would advocate it, sir. If I may say so, I think that Mr. Little should be encouraged in this particular matter.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou think he\u2019s picked a winner this time?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI hear nothing but excellent reports of the young lady, sir. I think it is beyond question that she would be an admirable influence for Mr. Little, should the affair come to a happy conclusion. Such a union would also, I fancy, go far to restore Mr. Little to the good graces of his uncle, the young lady being well connected and possessing private means. In short, sir, I think that if there is anything that we can do we should do it.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWell, with you behind him,\u201d I said, \u201cI don\u2019t see how he can fail to click.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou are very good, sir,\u201d said Jeeves. \u201cThe tribute is much appreciated.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Bingo met us at Twing station next day, and insisted on my sending Jeeves on in the car with the bags while he and I walked. He started in about the female the moment we had begun to hoof it.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cShe is very wonderful, Bertie. She is not one of these flippant, shallow-minded modern girls. She is sweetly grave and beautifully earnest. She reminds me of\u2014what is the name I want?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cMarie Lloyd?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSaint Cecilia,\u201d said young Bingo, eyeing me with a good deal of loathing. \u201cShe reminds me of Saint Cecilia. She makes me yearn to be a better, nobler, deeper, broader man.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat beats me,\u201d I said, following up a train of thought, \u201cis what principle you pick them on. The girls you fall in love with, I mean. I mean to say, what\u2019s your system? As far as I can see, no two of them are alike. First it was Mabel the waitress, then Honoria Glossop, then that fearful blister Charlotte Corday Rowbotham\u2014\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I own that Bingo had the decency to shudder. Thinking of Charlotte always made me shudder, too.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou don\u2019t seriously mean, Bertie, that you are intending to compare the feeling I have for Mary Burgess, the holy devotion, the spiritual\u2014\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOh, all right, let it go,\u201d I said. \u201cI say, old lad, aren\u2019t we going rather a long way round?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Considering that we were supposed to be heading for Twing Hall, it seemed to me that we were making a longish job of it. The Hall is about two miles from the station by the main road, and we had cut off down a lane, gone across country for a bit, climbed a stile or two, and were now working our way across a field that ended in another lane.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cShe sometimes takes her little brother for a walk round this way,\u201d explained Bingo. \u201cI thought we would meet her and bow, and you could see her, you know, and then we would walk on.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOf course,\u201d I said, \u201cthat\u2019s enough excitement for anyone, and undoubtedly a corking reward for tramping three miles out of one\u2019s way over ploughed fields with tight boots, but don\u2019t we do anything else? Don\u2019t we tack on to the girl and buzz along with her?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cGood Lord!\u201d said Bingo, honestly amazed. \u201cYou don\u2019t suppose I\u2019ve got nerve enough for that, do you? I just look at her from afar off and all that sort of thing. Quick! Here she comes! No, I\u2019m wrong!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>It was like that song of Harry Lauder\u2019s where he\u2019s waiting for the girl and says \u201cThis is her-r-r. No, it\u2019s a rabbut.\u201d Young Bingo made me stand there in the teeth of a nor\u2019east half-gale for ten minutes, keeping me on my toes with a series of false alarms, and I was just thinking of suggesting that we should lay off and give the rest of the proceedings a miss, when round the corner there came a fox-terrier, and Bingo quivered like an aspen. Then there hove in sight a small boy, and he shook like a jelly. Finally, like a star whose entrance has been worked up by the personnel of the ensemble, a girl appeared, and his emotion was painful to witness. His face got so red that, what with his white collar and the fact that the wind had turned his nose blue, he looked more like a French flag than anything else. He sagged from the waist upwards, as if he had been filleted.<\/p>\n<p>He was just raising his fingers limply to his cap when he suddenly saw that the girl wasn\u2019t alone. A chappie in clerical costume was also among those present, and the sight of him didn\u2019t seem to do Bingo a bit of good. His face got redder and his nose bluer, and it wasn\u2019t till they had nearly passed that he managed to get hold of his cap.<\/p>\n<p>The girl bowed, the curate said, \u201cAh, Little. Rough weather,\u201d the dog barked, and then they toddled on and the entertainment was over.<\/p>\n<p>* * * *<\/p>\n<p>The curate was a new factor in the situation to me. I reported his movements to Jeeves when I got to the hall. Of course, Jeeves knew all about it already.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThat is the Reverend Mr. Wingham, Mr. Heppenstall\u2019s new curate, sir. I gather from Brookfield that he is Mr. Little\u2019s rival, and at the moment the young lady appears to favour him. Mr. Wingham has the advantage of being on the premises. He and the young lady play duets after dinner, which acts as a bond. Mr. Little on these occasions, I understand, prowls about in the road, chafing visibly.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThat seems to be all the poor fish is able to do, dash it. He can chafe all right, but there he stops. He\u2019s lost his pep. He\u2019s got no dash. Why, when we met her just now, he hadn\u2019t even the common manly courage to say \u2018Good evening\u2019!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI gather that Mr. Little\u2019s affection is not unmingled with awe, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWell, how are we to help a man when he\u2019s such a rabbit as that? Have you anything to suggest? I shall be seeing him after dinner, and he\u2019s sure to ask first thing what you advise.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIn my opinion, sir, the most judicious course for Mr. Little to pursue would be to concentrate on the young gentleman.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThe small brother? How do you mean?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cMake a friend of him, sir\u2014take him for walks and so forth.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt doesn\u2019t sound one of your red-hottest ideas. I must say I expected something fruitier than that.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt would be a beginning, sir, and might lead to better things.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWell, I\u2019ll tell him. I liked the look of her, Jeeves.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cA thoroughly estimable young lady, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I slipped Bingo the tip from the stable that night, and was glad to observe that it seemed to cheer him up.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cJeeves is always right,\u201d he said. \u201cI ought to have thought of it myself. I\u2019ll start in to-morrow.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>It was amazing how the chappie bucked up. Long before I left for town it had become a mere commonplace for him to speak to the girl. I mean he didn\u2019t simply look stuffed when they met. The brother was forming a bond that was a dashed sight stronger than the curate\u2019s duets. She and Bingo used to take him for walks together. I asked Bingo what they talked about on these occasions, and he said Wilfred\u2019s future. The girl hoped that Wilfred would one day become a curate, but Bingo said no, there was something about curates he didn\u2019t quite like.<\/p>\n<p>The day we left, Bingo came to see us off with Wilfred frisking about him like an old college chum. The last I saw of them, Bingo was standing him chocolates out of the slot-machine. A scene of peace and cheery good-will. Dashed promising, I thought.<\/p>\n<p>* * * *<\/p>\n<p>Which made it all the more of a jar, about a fortnight later, when his telegram arrived. As follows:\u2014<\/p>\n<p>Bertie old man I say Bertie could you possibly come down here at once. Everything gone wrong hang it all. Dash it Bertie you simply must come. I am in a state of absolute despair and heart-broken. Would you mind sending another hundred of those cigarettes. Bring Jeeves when you come Bertie. You simply must come Bertie. I rely on you. Don\u2019t forget to bring Jeeves. Bingo.<\/p>\n<p>For a chap who\u2019s perpetually hard-up, I must say that young Bingo is the most wasteful telegraphist I ever struck. He\u2019s got no notion of condensing. The silly ass simply pours out his wounded soul at twopence a word, or whatever it is, without a thought.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHow about it, Jeeves?\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019m getting a bit fed up. I can\u2019t go chucking all my engagements every second week in order to biff down to Twing and rally round young Bingo. Send him a wire telling him to end it all in the village pond.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIf you could spare me for the night, sir, I should be glad to run down and investigate.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOh, dash it! Well, I suppose there\u2019s nothing else to be done. After all, you\u2019re the fellow he wants. All right, carry on.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Jeeves got back late the next day.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWell?\u201d I said.<\/p>\n<p>Jeeves appeared perturbed. He allowed his left eyebrow to flicker upwards in a concerned sort of manner.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI have done what I could, sir,\u201d he said, \u201cbut I fear Mr. Little\u2019s chances do not appear bright. Since our last visit, sir, there has been a decidedly sinister and disquieting development.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOh, what\u2019s that?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou may remember Mr. Steggles, sir\u2014the young gentleman who was studying for an examination with Mr. Heppenstall at the Vicarage?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat\u2019s Steggles got to do with it?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI gather from Brookfield, sir, who chanced to overhear a conversation, that Mr. Steggles is interesting himself in the affair.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cGood Lord! What, making a book on it?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI understand that he is accepting wagers from those in his immediate circle, sir. Against Mr. Little, whose chances he does not seem to fancy.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI don\u2019t like that, Jeeves.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNo, sir. It is sinister.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cFrom what I know of Steggles there will be dirty work.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt has already occurred, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAlready?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYes, sir. It seems that, in pursuance of the policy which he had been good enough to allow me to suggest to him, Mr. Little escorted Master Burgess to the church bazaar, and there met Mr. Steggles, who was in the company of young Master Heppenstall, the Reverend Mr. Heppenstall\u2019s second son, who is home from Rugby just now, having recently recovered from an attack of mumps. The encounter took place in the refreshment-room, where Mr. Steggles was at that moment entertaining Master Heppenstall. To cut a long story short, sir, the two gentlemen became extremely interested in the hearty manner in which the lads were fortifying themselves; and Mr. Steggles offered to back his nominee in a weight-for-age eating contest against Master Burgess for a pound a side. Mr. Little admitted to me that he was conscious of a certain hesitation as to what the upshot might be, should Miss Burgess get to hear of the matter, but his sporting blood was too much for him and he agreed to the contest. This was duly carried out, both lads exhibiting the utmost willingness and enthusiasm, and eventually Master Burgess justified Mr. Little\u2019s confidence by winning, but only after a bitter struggle. Next day both contestants were in considerable pain; inquiries were made and confessions extorted, and Mr. Little\u2014I learn from Brookfield, who happened to be near the door of the drawing-room at the moment\u2014had an extremely unpleasant interview with the young lady, which ended in her desiring him never to speak to her again.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>There\u2019s no getting away from the fact that, if ever a man required watching, it\u2019s Steggles. Machiavelli could have taken his correspondence course.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt was a put-up job, Jeeves!\u201d I said. \u201cI mean, Steggles worked the whole thing on purpose. It\u2019s his old nobbling game.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThere would seem to be no doubt about that, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWell, he seems to have dished poor old Bingo all right.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThat is the prevalent opinion, sir. Brookfield tells me that down in the village at the \u2018Cow and Horses\u2019 seven to one is being freely offered on Mr. Wingham and finding no takers.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cGood Lord! Are they betting about it down in the village, too?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYes, sir. And in adjoining hamlets also. The affair has caused widespread interest. I am told that there is a certain sporting reaction in even so distant a spot as Lower Bingley.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWell, I don\u2019t see what there is to do. If Bingo is such a chump\u2014\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOne is fighting a losing battle, I fear, sir, but I did venture to indicate to Mr. Little a course of action which might prove of advantage. I recommended him to busy himself with good works.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cGood works?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAbout the village, sir. Reading to the bedridden\u2014chatting with the sick\u2014that sort of thing, sir. We can but trust that good results will ensue.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYes, I suppose so,\u201d I said doubtfully. \u201cBut, by gosh, if I was a sick man I\u2019d hate to have a looney like young Bingo coming and gibbering at my bedside.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThere is that aspect of the matter, sir,\u201d said Jeeves.<\/p>\n<p>* * * *<\/p>\n<p>I didn\u2019t hear a word from Bingo for a couple of weeks, and I took it after a while that he had found the going too hard and had chucked in the towel. And then, one night not long before Christmas, I came back to the flat pretty latish, having been out dancing at the Embassy. I was fairly tired, having swung a practically non-stop shoe from shortly after dinner till two a.m., and bed seemed to be indicated. Judge of my chagrin and all that sort of thing, therefore, when, tottering to my room and switching on the light, I observed the foul features of young Bingo all over the pillow. The blighter had appeared from nowhere and was in my bed, sleeping like an infant with a sort of happy, dreamy smile on his map.<\/p>\n<p>A bit thick I mean to say! We Woosters are all for the good old medi\u00e6val hosp. and all that, but when it comes to finding chappies collaring your bed, the thing becomes a trifle too mouldy. I hove a shoe, and Bingo sat up, gurgling.<\/p>\n<p>\u201c\u2019s matter? \u2019s matter?\u201d said young Bingo.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat the deuce are you doing in my bed?\u201d I said.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOh, hallo, Bertie! So there you are!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYes, here I am. What are you doing in my bed?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI came up to town for the night on business.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYes, but what are you doing in my bed?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cDash it all, Bertie,\u201d said young Bingo querulously, \u201cdon\u2019t keep harping on your beastly bed. There\u2019s another made up in the spare room. I saw Jeeves make it with my own eyes. I believe he meant it for me, but I knew what a perfect host you were, so I just turned in here. I say, Bertie, old man,\u201d said Bingo, apparently fed up with the discussion about sleeping-quarters, \u201cI see daylight.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWell, it\u2019s getting on for three in the morning.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI was speaking figuratively, you ass. I meant that hope has begun to dawn. About Mary Burgess, you know. Sit down and I\u2019ll tell you all about it.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI won\u2019t. I\u2019m going to sleep.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cTo begin with,\u201d said young Bingo, settling himself comfortably against the pillows and helping himself to a cigarette from my special private box, \u201cI must once again pay a marked tribute to good old Jeeves. A modern Solomon. I was badly up against it when I came to him for advice, but he rolled up with a tip which has put me\u2014I use the term advisedly and in a conservative spirit\u2014on velvet. He may have told you that he recommended me to win back the lost ground by busying myself with good works? Bertie, old man,\u201d said young Bingo earnestly, \u201cfor the last two weeks I\u2019ve been comforting the sick to such an extent that, if I had a brother and you brought him to me on a sick-bed at this moment, by Jove, old man, I\u2019d heave a brick at him. However, though it took it out of me like the deuce, the scheme worked splendidly. She softened visibly before I\u2019d been at it a week. Started to bow again when we met in the street, and so forth. About a couple of days ago she distinctly smiled\u2014in a sort of faint, saint-like kind of way, you know\u2014when I ran into her outside the Vicarage. And yesterday\u2014I say, you remember that curate chap, Wingham? Fellow with a long nose.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOf course I remember him. Your rival.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cRival?\u201d Bingo raised his eyebrows. \u201cOh, well, I suppose you could have called him that at one time. Though it sounds a little far-fetched.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cDoes it?\u201d I said, stung by the sickening complacency of the chump\u2019s manner. \u201cWell, let me tell you that the last I heard was that at the \u2018Cow and Horses\u2019 in Twing village and all over the place as far as Lower Bingley they were offering seven to one on the curate and finding no takers.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Bingo started violently, and sprayed cigarette-ash all over my bed.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cBetting!\u201d he gargled. \u201cBetting! You don\u2019t mean that they\u2019re betting on this holy, sacred\u2014\u2014 Oh, I say, dash it all! Haven\u2019t people any sense of decency and reverence? Is nothing safe from their beastly, sordid graspingness? I wonder,\u201d said young Bingo thoughtfully, \u201cif there\u2019s a chance of my getting any of that seven-to-one money? Seven to one! What a price! Who\u2019s offering it, do you know? Oh, well, I suppose it wouldn\u2019t do. No, I suppose it wouldn\u2019t be quite the thing.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou seem dashed confident,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019d always thought that Wingham\u2014\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOh, I\u2019m not worried about him,\u201d said Bingo. \u201cI was just going to tell you. Wingham\u2019s got the mumps, and won\u2019t be out and about for weeks. And, jolly as that is in itself, it\u2019s not all. You see, he was producing the Village School Christmas Entertainment, and now I\u2019ve taken over the job. I went to old Heppenstall last night and clinched the contract. Well, you see what that means. It means that I shall be absolutely the centre of the village life and thought for three solid weeks, with a terrific triumph to wind up with. Everybody looking up to me and fawning on me, don\u2019t you see, and all that. It\u2019s bound to have a powerful effect on Mary\u2019s mind. It will show her that I am capable of serious effort; that there is a solid foundation of worth in me; that, mere butterfly as she may once have thought me, I am in reality\u2014\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOh, all right, let it go!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt\u2019s a big thing, you know, this Christmas Entertainment. Old Heppenstall is very much wrapped up in it. Nibs from all over the countryside rolling up. The Squire present, with family. A big chance for me, Bertie, my boy, and I mean to make the most of it. Of course, I\u2019m handicapped a bit by not having been in on the thing from the start. Will you credit it that that uninspired doughnut of a curate wanted to give the public some rotten little fairy play out of a book for children published about fifty years ago without one good laugh or the semblance of a gag in it? It\u2019s too late to alter the thing entirely, but at least I can jazz it up. I\u2019m going to write them in something zippy to brighten the thing up a bit.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou can\u2019t write.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWell, when I say write, I mean pinch. That\u2019s why I\u2019ve popped up to town. I\u2019ve been to see that revue, \u2018Cuddle Up!\u2019 at the Palladium, to-night. Full of good stuff. Of course, it\u2019s rather hard to get anything in the nature of a big spectacular effect in the Twing Village Hall, with no scenery to speak of and a chorus of practically imbecile kids of ages ranging from nine to fourteen, but I think I see my way. Have you seen \u2018Cuddle Up\u2019?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYes. Twice.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWell, there\u2019s some good stuff in the first act, and I can lift practically all the numbers. Then there\u2019s that show at the Palace. I can see the matin\u00e9e of that to-morrow before I leave. There\u2019s sure to be some decent bits in that. Don\u2019t you worry about my not being able to write a hit. Leave it to me, laddie, leave it to me. And now, my dear old chap,\u201d said young Bingo, snuggling down cosily, \u201cyou mustn\u2019t keep me up talking all night. It\u2019s all right for you fellows who have nothing to do, but I\u2019m a busy man. Good night, old thing. Close the door quietly after you and switch out the light. Breakfast about ten to-morrow, I suppose, what? Right-o. Good night.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>* * * *<\/p>\n<p>For the next three weeks I didn\u2019t see Bingo. He became a sort of Voice Heard Off, developing a habit of ringing me up on long-distance and consulting me on various points arising at rehearsal, until the day when he got me out of bed at eight in the morning to ask whether I thought \u201cMerry Christmas!\u201d was a good title. I told him then that this nuisance must now cease, and after that he cheesed it, and practically passed out of my life, till one afternoon when I got back to the flat to dress for dinner and found Jeeves inspecting a whacking big poster sort of thing which he had draped over the back of an arm-chair.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cGood Lord, Jeeves!\u201d I said. I was feeling rather weak that day, and the thing shook me. \u201cWhat on earth\u2019s that?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cMr. Little sent it to me, sir, and desired me to bring it to your notice.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWell, you\u2019ve certainly done it!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I took another look at the object. There was no doubt about it, he caught the eye. It was about seven feet long, and most of the lettering in about as bright red ink as I ever struck.<\/p>\n<p>This was how it ran:<\/p>\n<p>TWING VILLAGE HALL,<br \/>Friday, December 23rd,<br \/>RICHARD LITTLE<br \/>presents<br \/>A New and Original Revue<br \/>Entitled<br \/>WHAT HO, TWING!!<br \/>Book by<br \/>RICHARD LITTLE<br \/>Lyrics by<br \/>RICHARD LITTLE<br \/>Music by<br \/>RICHARD LITTLE.<br \/>With the Full Twing Juvenile<br \/>Company and Chorus.<br \/>Scenic Effects by<br \/>RICHARD LITTLE<br \/>Produced by<br \/>RICHARD LITTLE.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat do you make of it, Jeeves?\u201d I said.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI confess I am a little doubtful, sir. I think Mr. Little would have done better to follow my advice and confine himself to good works about the village.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou think the things will be a frost?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI could not hazard a conjecture, sir. But my experience has been that what pleases the London public is not always so acceptable to the rural mind. The metropolitan touch sometimes proves a trifle too exotic for the provinces.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI suppose I ought to go down and see the dashed thing?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI think Mr. Little would be wounded were you not present, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>* * * *<\/p>\n<p>The Village Hall at Twing is a smallish building, smelling of apples. It was full when I turned up on the evening of the twenty-third, for I had purposely timed myself to arrive not long before the kick-off. I had had experience of one or two of these binges, and didn\u2019t want to run any risk of coming early and finding myself shoved into a seat in one of the front rows where I wouldn\u2019t be able to execute a quiet sneak into the open air half-way through the proceedings, if the occasion seemed to demand it. I secured a nice strategic position near the door at the back of the hall.<\/p>\n<p>From where I stood I had a good view of the audience. As always on these occasions, the first few rows were occupied by the Nibs\u2014consisting of the Squire, a fairly mauve old sportsman with white whiskers, his family, a platoon of local parsons and perhaps a couple of dozen of prominent pew-holders. Then came a dense squash of what you might call the lower middle classes. And at the back, where I was, we came down with a jerk in the social scale, this end of the hall being given up almost entirely to a collection of frankly Tough Eggs, who had rolled up not so much for any love of the drama as because there was a free tea after the show. Take it for all in all, a representative gathering of Twing life and thought. The Nibs were whispering in a pleased manner to each other, the Lower Middles were sitting up very straight, as if they\u2019d been bleached, and the Tough Eggs whiled away the time by cracking nuts and exchanging low rustic wheezes. The girl, Mary Burgess, was at the piano playing a waltz. Beside her stood the curate, Wingham, apparently recovered. The temperature, I should think, was about a hundred and twenty-seven.<\/p>\n<p>Somebody jabbed me heartily in the lower ribs, and I perceived the man Steggles.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHallo!\u201d he said. \u201cI didn\u2019t know you were coming down.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I didn\u2019t like the chap, but we Woosters can wear the mask. I beamed a bit.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOh, yes,\u201d I said. \u201cBingo wanted me to roll up and see his show.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI hear he\u2019s giving us something pretty ambitious,\u201d said the man Steggles. \u201cBig effects and all that sort of thing.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI believe so.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOf course, it means a lot to him, doesn\u2019t it? He\u2019s told you about the girl, of course?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYes. And I hear you\u2019re laying seven to one against him,\u201d I said, eyeing the blighter a trifle austerely.<\/p>\n<p>He didn\u2019t even quiver.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cJust a little flutter to relieve the monotony of country life,\u201d he said. \u201cBut you\u2019ve got the facts a bit wrong. It\u2019s down in the village that they\u2019re laying seven to one. I can do you better than that, if you feel in a speculative mood. How about a tenner at a hundred to eight?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cGood Lord! Are you giving that?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYes. Somehow,\u201d said Steggles meditatively, \u201cI have a sort of feeling, a kind of premonition that something\u2019s going to go wrong to-night. You know what Little is. A bungler, if ever there was one. Something tells me that this show of his is going to be a frost. And if it is, of course, I should think it would prejudice the girl against him pretty badly. His standing always was rather shaky.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAre you going to try and smash up the show?\u201d I said sternly.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cMe!\u201d said Steggles. \u201cWhy, what could I do? Half a minute, I want to go and speak to a man.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>He buzzed off, leaving me distinctly disturbed. I could see from the fellow\u2019s eye that he was meditating some of his customary rough stuff, and I thought Bingo ought to be warned. But there wasn\u2019t time and I couldn\u2019t get at him. Almost immediately after Steggles had left me the curtain went up.<\/p>\n<p>Except as a prompter, Bingo wasn\u2019t much in evidence in the early part of the performance. The thing at the outset was merely one of those weird dramas which you dig out of books published around Christmas time and entitled \u201cTwelve Little Plays for the Tots,\u201d or something like that. The kids drooled on in the usual manner, the booming voice of Bingo ringing out from time to time behind the scenes when the fatheads forgot their lines; and the audience was settling down into the sort of torpor usual on these occasions, when the first of Bingo\u2019s interpolated bits occurred. It was that number which What\u2019s-her-name sings in that revue at the Palace\u2014you would recognise the tune if I hummed it, but I can never get hold of the dashed thing. It always got three encores at the Palace, and it went well now, even with a squeaky-voiced child jumping on and off the key like a chamois of the Alps leaping from crag to crag. Even the Tough Eggs liked it. At the end of the second refrain the entire house was shouting for an encore, and the kid with the voice like a slate-pencil took a deep breath and started to let it go once more.<\/p>\n<p>At this point all the lights went out.<\/p>\n<p>* * * *<\/p>\n<p>I don\u2019t know when I\u2019ve had anything so sudden and devastating happen to me before. They didn\u2019t flicker. They just went out. The hall was in complete darkness.<\/p>\n<p>Well, of course, that sort of broke the spell, as you might put it. People started to shout directions, and the Tough Eggs stamped their feet and settled down for a pleasant time. And, of course, young Bingo had to make an ass of himself. His voice suddenly shot at us out of the darkness.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cLadies and gentlemen, something has gone wrong with the lights\u2014\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The Tough Eggs were tickled by this bit of information straight from the stable. They took it up as a sort of battle-cry. Then, after about five minutes, the lights went up again, and the show was resumed.<\/p>\n<p>It took ten minutes after that to get the audience back into its state of coma, but eventually they began to settle down, and everything was going nicely when a small boy with a face like a turbot edged out in front of the curtain, which had been lowered after a pretty painful scene about a wishing-ring or a fairy\u2019s curse or something of that sort, and started to sing that song of George Thingummy\u2019s out of \u201cCuddle Up.\u201d You know the one I mean. \u201cAlways Listen to Mother, Girls!\u201d it\u2019s called, and he gets the audience to join in and sing the refrain. Quite a ripeish ballad, and one which I myself have frequently sung in my bath with not a little vim; but by no means\u2014as anyone but a perfect sapheaded prune like young Bingo would have known\u2014by no means the sort of thing for a children\u2019s Christmas entertainment in the old village hall. Right from the start of the first refrain the bulk of the audience had begun to stiffen in their seats and fan themselves, and the Burgess girl at the piano was accompanying in a stunned, mechanical sort of way, while the curate at her side averted his gaze in a pained manner. The Tough Eggs, however, were all for it.<\/p>\n<p>At the end of the second refrain the kid stopped and began to sidle towards the wings. Upon which the following brief duologue took place:<\/p>\n<p>Young Bingo (Voice heard off, ringing against the rafters): \u201cGo on!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The Kid (coyly): \u201cI don\u2019t like to.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Young Bingo (still louder): \u201cGo on, you little blighter, or I\u2019ll slay you!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I suppose the kid thought it over swiftly and realised that Bingo, being in a position to get at him, had better be conciliated, whatever the harvest might be; for he shuffled down to the front and, having shut his eyes and giggled hysterically, said: \u201cLadies and gentlemen, I will now call upon Squire Tressidder to oblige by singing the refrain!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>You know, with the most charitable feelings towards him, there are moments when you can\u2019t help thinking that young Bingo ought to be in some sort of a home. I suppose, poor fish, he had pictured this as the big punch of the evening. He had imagined, I take it, that the Squire would spring jovially to his feet, rip the song off his chest, and all would be gaiety and mirth. Well, what happened was simply that old Tressidder\u2014and, mark you, I\u2019m not blaming him\u2014just sat where he was, swelling and turning a brighter purple every second. The lower middle classes remained in frozen silence, waiting for the roof to fall. The only section of the audience that really seemed to enjoy the idea was the Tough Eggs, who yelled with enthusiasm. It was jam for the Tough Eggs.<\/p>\n<p>And then the lights went out again.<\/p>\n<p>* * * *<\/p>\n<p>When they went up, some minutes later, they disclosed the Squire marching stiffly out at the head of his family, fed up to the eyebrows; the Burgess girl at the piano with a pale, set look; and the curate gazing at her with something in his expression that seemed to suggest that, although all this was no doubt deplorable, he had spotted the silver lining.<\/p>\n<p>The show went on once more. There were great chunks of Plays-for-the-Tots dialogue, and then the girl at the piano struck up the prelude to that Orange-Girl number that\u2019s the big hit of the Palace revue. I took it that this was to be Bingo\u2019s smashing act one finale. The entire company was on the stage, and a clutching hand had appeared round the edge of the curtain, ready to pull at the right moment. It looked like the finale all right. It wasn\u2019t long before I realised that it was something more. It was the finish.<\/p>\n<p>I take it you know that Orange number at the Palace? It goes:<\/p>\n<p>Oh, won\u2019t you something something oranges,<br \/>My something oranges,<br \/>My something oranges;<br \/>Oh, won\u2019t you something something something I forget,<br \/>Something something something tumty tumty yet:<br \/>Oh\u2014\u2014<\/p>\n<p>or words to that effect. It\u2019s a dashed clever lyric, and the tune\u2019s good, too; but the thing that made the number was the business where the girls take oranges out of their baskets, you know, and toss them lightly to the audience. I don\u2019t know if you\u2019ve ever noticed it, but it always seems to tickle an audience to bits when they get things thrown at them from the stage. Every time I\u2019ve been to the Palace the customers have simply gone wild over this number.<\/p>\n<p>But at the Palace, of course, the oranges are made of yellow wool, and the girls don\u2019t so much chuck them as drop them limply into the first and second rows. I began to gather that the business was going to be treated rather differently to-night when a dashed great chunk of pips and mildew sailed past my ear and burst on the wall behind me. Another landed with a squelch on the neck of one of the Nibs in the third row. And then a third took me right on the tip of the nose, and I kind of lost interest in the proceedings for awhile.<\/p>\n<p>When I had scrubbed my face and got my eye to stop watering for a moment, I saw that the evening\u2019s entertainment had begun to resemble one of Belfast\u2019s livelier nights. The air was thick with shrieks and fruit. The kids on the stage, with Bingo buzzing distractedly to and fro in their midst, were having the time of their lives. I suppose they realised that this couldn\u2019t go on for ever, and were making the most of their chances. The Tough Eggs had begun to pick up all the oranges that hadn\u2019t burst and were shooting them back, so that the audience got it both coming and going. In fact, take it all round, there was a certain amount of confusion; and, just as things had begun really to hot up, out went the lights again.<\/p>\n<p>It seemed to me about my time for leaving, so I slid for the door. I was hardly outside when the audience began to stream out. They surged about me in twos and threes, and I\u2019ve never seen a public body so dashed unanimous on any point. To a man\u2014and to a woman\u2014they were cursing poor old Bingo; and there was a large and rapidly growing school of thought which held that the best thing to do would be to waylay him as he emerged and splash him about in the village pond a bit.<\/p>\n<p>There were such a dickens of a lot of these enthusiasts and they looked so jolly determined that it seemed to me that the only matey thing to do was to go behind and warn young Bingo to turn his coat-collar up and breeze off snakily by some side exit. I went behind, and found him sitting on a box in the wings, perspiring pretty freely and looking more or less like the spot marked with a cross where the accident happened. His hair was standing up and his ears were hanging down, and one harsh word would undoubtedly have made him burst into tears.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cBertie,\u201d he said hollowly, as he saw me, \u201cit was that blighter Steggles! I caught one of the kids before he could get away and got it all out of him. Steggles substituted real oranges for the balls of wool which with infinite sweat and at a cost of nearly a quid I had specially prepared. Well, I will now proceed to tear him limb from limb. It\u2019ll be something to do.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I hated to spoil his day-dreams, but it had to be.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cGood heavens, man,\u201d I said, \u201cyou haven\u2019t time for frivolous amusements now. You\u2019ve got to get out. And quick!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cBertie,\u201d said Bingo in a dull voice, \u201cshe was here just now. She said it was all my fault and that she would never speak to me again. She said she had always suspected me of being a heartless practical joker, and now she knew. She said\u2014\u2014 Oh, well, she ticked me off properly.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThat\u2019s the least of your troubles,\u201d I said. It seemed impossible to rouse the poor zib to a sense of his position. \u201cDo you realise that about two hundred of Twing\u2019s heftiest are waiting for you outside to chuck you into the pond?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNo!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAbsolutely!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>For a moment the poor chap seemed crushed. But only for a moment. There has always been something of the good old English bulldog breed about Bingo. A strange, sweet smile flickered for an instant over his face.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt\u2019s all right,\u201d he said. \u201cI can sneak out through the cellar and climb over the wall at the back. They can\u2019t intimidate me!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>* * * *<\/p>\n<p>It couldn\u2019t have been more than a week later when Jeeves, after he had brought me my tea, gently steered me away from the sporting page of the Morning Post and directed my attention to an announcement in the engagements and marriages column.<\/p>\n<p>It was a brief statement that a marriage had been arranged and would shortly take place between the Hon. and Rev. Hubert Wingham, third son of the Right Hon. the Earl of Sturridge, and Mary, only daughter of the late Matthew Burgess, of Weatherly Court, Hants.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOf course,\u201d I said, after I had given it the east-to-west, \u201cI expected this, Jeeves.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYes, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cShe would never forgive him what happened that night.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNo, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWell,\u201d I said, as I took a sip of the fragrant and steaming, \u201cI don\u2019t suppose it will take old Bingo long to get over it. It\u2019s about the hundred and eleventh time this sort of thing has happened to him. You\u2019re the man I\u2019m sorry for.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cMe, sir?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWell, dash it all, you can\u2019t have forgotten what a deuce of a lot of trouble you took to bring the thing off for Bingo. It\u2019s too bad that all your work should have been wasted.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNot entirely wasted, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cEh?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt is true that my efforts to bring about the match between Mr. Little and the young lady were not successful, but still I look back upon the matter with a certain satisfaction.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cBecause you did your best, you mean?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNot entirely, sir, though of course that thought also gives me pleasure. I was alluding more particularly to the fact that I found the affair financially remunerative.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cFinancially remunerative? What do you mean?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhen I learned that Mr. Steggles had interested himself in the contest, sir, I went shares with my friend Brookfield and bought the book which had been made on the issue by the \u2018Cow and Horses.\u2019 It has proved a highly profitable investment. Your breakfast will be ready almost immediately, sir. Kidneys on toast and mushrooms. I will bring it when you ring.\u201d<\/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 The Metropolitan Touch by P. G. Wodehouse, check out <a href=\"https:\/\/quizlit.org\/jeeves-and-the-chump-cyril-by-p-g-wodehouse\">Jeeves and the Chump Cyril by P. G. Wodehouse.<\/a><\/p>\n<p>Narrated by Gordon MacKay, courtesy of Librivox<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>The Metropolitan Touch by P. G. Wodehouse features the young gentleman Bertie Wooster and his valet Jeeves. The story was published in The Strand Magazine in London and Cosmopolitan in New York in September 1922. This post may contain affiliate links that earn us a commission at no extra cost to you. The Metropolitan Touch [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":0,"featured_media":4662,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-4661","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\/4661"}],"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=4661"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4661\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/4662"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=4661"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=4661"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bookloves.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=4661"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}