9

A Letter of Introduction

You know, the longer I live, the more clearly I see that half the trouble in this world is caused by the thoughtless way in which fellows write letters of introduction and hand them to other fellows to deliver to fellows of the third part. It’s one of those things that make you wish you were living in the Stone Age. But nowadays it’s 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 suffers.

All the above is what you might call the result of my experience. When Jeeves told me—this would be about three weeks after I’d landed in America—that a blighter called Bassington-Bassington had arrived and I found that he had brought a letter of introduction to me from Aunt Agatha … where was I? Oh, yes … You see, after the painful events which had resulted in my leaving England I hadn’t expected to get any letters from Aunt Agatha. 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. This was a hopeful sign. Sort of an olive branch, you know. Or do I mean orange blossom?

I’m not saying a word against New York, mind you. I liked the place, and was having quite a good time there. But the fact remains that a fellow who’s lived in London all his life gets a homesick on a foreign strand, and I wanted to come back to my old flat in Berkeley Street—which could only be done when Aunt Agatha had forgotten the Glossop episode. I know that London is a big city, but, believe me, it isn’t big enough for any fellow to live in with Aunt Agatha. And so I’m bound to say I looked on this chump Bassington-Bassington, when he arrived, more or less as a Dove of Peace.

He arrived in one morning at seven-forty-five. Jeeves told him to try again about three hours later. Which was rather decent of Jeeves, by the way, for it so happened that there was a slight estrangement between us at the moment because of some rather priceless purple socks which I was wearing against his wishes.

So Jeeves brought his card in with my morning tea.

“And what might all this be, Jeeves?” I asked.

“The gentleman has arrived from England, I understand, sir. He wanted to see you earlier in the morning.”

“Good Lord, Jeeves! You don’t mean to say the morning starts earlier than this?”

“He desired me to say he would return later, sir.”

“I’ve never heard of him. Have you ever heard of him, Jeeves?”

“I am familiar with the name Bassington-Bassington, sir. There are three branches of the Bassington-Bassington family—the Shropshire Bassington-Bassingtons, the Hampshire Bassington-Bassingtons, and the Kent Bassington-Bassingtons.”

“England seems pretty well stocked up with Bassington-Bassingtons.”

“Looks like, sir.”

“And what sort of a specimen is this one?”

“I could not say, sir, on such short acquaintance.”

“Well, the only thing that remains to be discovered is what kind of a blighter he is.”

“Time will tell, sir. The gentleman brought a letter for you, sir.”

“Oh, he did, did he?” I said, and took the envelope. And then I recognized the handwriting. “I say, Jeeves, this is from my Aunt Agatha!”

“Indeed, sir?”

“Don’t you see what this means? She says she wants me to look after this loony while he’s in New York. By God, Jeeves, if I only please him, he sends back a favourable report to headquarters, and I may be able to get back to England in time for Goodwood. Now, Jeeves, we must do our best.”

“Yes, sir.”

“He isn’t going to stay in New York long,” I said, taking another look at the letter. “He’s headed for Washington, to the Diplomatic Service. I should say that we can win this lad’s esteem and affection with a lunch and a couple of dinners.”

“I think that should be entirely adequate, sir.”

“This is the nicest thing that’s happened since we left England. It looks to me as if the sun were breaking through the clouds.”

“Very possibly, sir.”

He started to put out my things, and there was an awkward sort of silence.

“Not those socks, Jeeves,” I said. “Give me the purple ones.”

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

“Those purple ones.”

“Very good, sir.”

He took them out of the drawer as if he were a vegetarian taking a caterpillar out of the salad.

Towards one o’clock I went to the Lambs Club, where I had an appointment with a cove of the name of Caffyn, George Caffyn, a fellow who wrote plays and what not. I’d made a lot of friends during my stay in New York, the city was being crammed with bonhomous.

Caffyn was a bit late, saying that he had been kept at a rehearsal of his new musical comedy, Ask Dad; and we started in. We had just reached the coffee, when the waiter came up and said that Jeeves wanted to see me.

Jeeves was in the waiting-room. He gave the socks one pained look as I came in, then averted his eyes.

“Mr Bassington-Bassington has just telephoned, sir.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where is he?”

“In prison, sir.”

I reeled against the wall. A nice thing to happen to Aunt Agatha’s nominee on his first morning under my wing!

“In prison!”

“Yes, sir. He said on the telephone that he had been arrested and would be glad if you could come and bail him out.”

“Arrested! What for?”

“He did not favour me with his confidence in that respect, sir.”

“Terrible, Jeeves.”

“Precisely, sir.”

I collected old George, and we hopped into a taxi. We sat around at the police station for a bit on a wooden bench, and presently a policeman appeared, leading in the poor lad.

“Hallo! Hallo! Hallo!” I said. “What?”

My experience is that a fellow never really looks his best just after he’s come out of a prison. Bassington-Bassington had a black eye and a torn collar. He was a thin, tall fellow with a lot of light hair and pale-blue eyes which made him look like a fish.

“I got your message,” I said.

“Oh, are you Bertie Wooster?”

“Absolutely. And this is my pal George Caffyn. He writes plays and what not.”

We all shook hands, and the policeman went off into a corner and began to contemplate the infinite.

“This is a rotten country,” said Cyril.

“Oh, I don’t know, you know, I don’t know!” I said.

“We do our best,” said George.

“Old George is an American,” I explained. “Writes plays, and what not.”

“Of course, I didn’t invent the country,” said George. “That was Columbus. But I shall be delighted to consider any improvements you may suggest and lay them before the proper authorities.”

“Well, why don’t the policemen in New York dress properly?”

George took a look at the chewing officer across the room.

“I don’t see anything missing,” he said.

“I mean to say, why don’t they wear helmets like they do in London? Why do they look like postmen? It isn’t fair. 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. Why should a fellow come three thousand miles to be prodded by postmen?”

“Sounds reasonable,” said George. “What did you do?”

“I gave him a shove, you know. I’ve got a hasty temper, you know. All the Bassington-Bassingtons have got hasty tempers! And then he hit me in the eye and drew me to this beastly place.”

“I’ll fix it, old man,” I said. And I took money out of my pocket and went to the policeman, leaving Bassington-Bassington to talk to George. As long as this chump stayed in New York, I was responsible for him.

After I had got him out of the prison, he and George went off together to watch the afternoon rehearsal of Ask Dad. They were going to dine together. I came back home.

I was sitting and meditating, when Jeeves came in with a telegram from Aunt Agatha, and this is what it said:

Has Cyril Bassington-Bassington called yet?

On no account introduce him into theatrical circles.

Vitally important.

Letter follows.

I read it a couple of times.

“This is strange, Jeeves!”

“Yes, sir?”

“Very strange and disturbing!”

“Will you be needing me tonight, sir?”

Of course, my idea had been to show him the telegram and ask his advice. But I said.

“Nothing more, thanks.”

“Good night, sir.”

“Good night.”

He went away, and I sat down to think the situation over. There was a ring at the bell. I went to the door, and there was Cyril—his name was Cyril.

“I’ll come in for a bit if I may,” he said. “I’ve got something rather priceless to tell you.”

He went past me into the sitting-room, and when I got there after shutting the front door I found him reading Aunt Agatha’s telegram and giggling in a strange sort of manner.

“I oughtn’t to have looked at this, I suppose. I just saw my name and read it without thinking. I say, Wooster, my friend, this is rather funny. Do you mind if I have a drink? Thanks awfully. Yes, it’s rather funny, considering what I came to tell you. Old Caffyn has given me a small part in that musical comedy of his, Ask Dad. Only a bit, you know, but a part! I’m feeling glad, you know!”

He drank his drink, and went on. He didn’t notice that I wasn’t dancing with joy.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to go on the stage,” he said. “But my father does not want to hear about that. That’s the real reason why I came over here, if you want to know. That’s why I told everybody that I would go to Washington. Here I can go right ahead!”

I tried to reason with the poor chump.

“But your father will know everything some time.”

“That’ll be all right. I shall be the star by then.”

“And what will he do with me?”

“Why, what have you got to do with it?”

“I introduced you to George Caffyn.”

“So you did, old man, so you did. I quite forgot to thank you. Well, so long. There’s an early rehearsal of Ask Dad tomorrow morning. It’s strange that the thing should be called Ask Dad, when that’s just what I’m not going to do. See what I mean? Well, bye-bye!”

“Bye!” I said sadly. He went away.

I called up George Caffyn.

“I say, George, what’s all this about Cyril Bassington-Bassington?”

“What about him?”

“He tells me you’ve given him a part in your show.”

“Oh, yes. Just a few lines.”

“But I’ve just had a telegram from home telling me on no account to let him go on the stage.”

“I’m sorry. But Cyril is just the type I need for that part. He’s simply got to be himself.”

“Look, George, old man. My Aunt Agatha sent this blighter over here with a letter of introduction to me, and she will hold me responsible.”

“She’ll cut you out of her will?”

“It isn’t a question of money. But—of course, you’ve never met my Aunt Agatha, so it’s rather hard to explain. But she’s a sort of a vampire, and she’ll make things most fearfully unpleasant for me when I go back to England.’

“Well, don’t go back to England, then. Stay here and become President.”

“But, George, old man—!”

“Good night!”

“But, I say, George, old man!”

“You didn’t get my last remark. It was “Good night!” You Idle Rich may not need any sleep, but I’ve got to be bright and fresh in the morning. God bless you!”

I felt as if I hadn’t a friend in the world. I went and banged on Jeeves’s door.

Jeeves emerged in a brown dressing gown.

“Sir?”

“I’m sorry to wake you up, Jeeves, but disturbing things have been happening.”

“I was not asleep. It is my practice to read a few pages of some instructive book before I go to sleep.”

“That’s good! What I mean to say is, Jeeves, Mr Bassington-Bassington is going on the stage!”

“Indeed, sir?”

“Ah! This doesn’t hit you! You don’t understand! Here’s the point. All his family is against his going on the stage. And, what’s worse, my Aunt Agatha will blame me, you see.”

“I see, sir.”

“Well, can’t you think of some way of stopping him?”

“Not, I confess, at the moment, sir. But I shall try, sir.”