R: Impulse #81 (February 2002), art by Carlo Barberi and Wayne Faucher
(Click picture to Chunk-size)
'....I gave my notice. I was not sorry to do so, for I had found my colleagues at the Waterbury house most uncongenial.'You'd never catch Jeeves making such observations.
'What was wrong with them?'
'Several of them were Swedes, and the rest Irish.'
'You don't like Swedes?'
'I disapprove of them.'
'Their heads are too square.'
'And you disapprove of the Irish?'
'Because they are Irish.'
To Clarkson, some of whose best friends were Swedish and Irish, it occurred as a passing thought that his companion, however gifted at buttling, must have been a difficult man to fit in socially.
'They can't help being Irish,' he argued.
Ferris pursed his lips, as though affronted by this specious reasoning. He seemed to be thinking that they could if they tried.
As they made their way to the oubliette to which feminine guests of the club were confined, Jane was aware of an odd and disagreeable feeling. Analysing this, she found that what was causing it was what Roget in his Thesaurus would have called violent anger, extreme agitation, fury, wrath and the rest of the emotions listed under the heading of 'Rage.' As she thought of how Lionel, after a six months parting, had turned the tête-a-tête to which she had been looking forward into a threesome that included the bearded Tarvin. Fume, frenzy, and acharnement bubbled and sizzled within her as if they had been the scrambled eggs assembled in his frying pan that morning by her Uncle Henry.If Wodehouse had written the famous "Who's on first?" sketch, it might have started out like this:
'What do you plan to do with your wealth?'A running joke is how hideously designed Ashby Hall is:
'I was telling Algy. I'm going to settle down in the country somewhere.'
'What will you do there? Raise chickens?'
'Oh? Well, I suppose you know your own business best,' said Jane dubiously. 'I don't think I'd like to run a poultry farm myself.'
Bill saw that the intricacies of the English language had misled her.
'When I said write, I didn't mean right, I meant write,' he said helpfully.
'I'm glad we've got that straight. It was worrying me.'
Arriving at the post office and finding the telegram window occupied by a man in his bowler hat, he had filled in the time of waiting by looking through the picture postcards on the other side of the shop, and among these he had found a coloured presentation of Ashby Hall. His initial emotion, like that of everybody who saw the Hall for the first time, was one of shock. In spite of Jane's warning he had not been prepared for anything quite so hideous. It had obviously been designed by an architect steeped to the tonsils in spirituous liquor, as so many architects were in the days of the Regency.