Soothing Music
It was lucky that I had already heard of Rammy when I met him.
Technically he's the Duke of Ramfurleigh, but he's Rammy to his friends, and an utterly charming friend he makes. Certainly, he thinks he's a canary, but there's nothing else wrong with him and I rather like canaries, cheerful little things that they are. It was only after I had become chummy with Roderick Glossop that I made Rammy's acquaintance, but I had already heard of him as a chap who would get a bit shirty without the morning lump of sugar.
Roderick was at my flat putting on the nosebag when his answering service rang. Jeeves answered, and shimmered in to inform Roderick that one of his patients was in need of his aid. He rushed to the 'phone and listened for a long while, making thoughtful little noises. "Yes," He said at last, "I see. I'll be there shortly." He hung up and came back to me.
"Bertram, I must impose upon you. I shall need someone musical to help the Duke of Ramfurleigh."
"The canary case?"
"Indeed. It seems he has been deeply despondent today, and the staff are worried that he will harm himself."
"Well, that won't do! The poor chap! If you think I can possibly help, of course I'll come along."
He thanked me profusely and we headed Ramfurleighwards. He had a flat in town as well as the old Ramfurleigh place out in the country, and it was to the former that we went. It was a quiet, out of the way building, and we hopped out and biffed on in, where Rammy's valet met us looking like a spooked horse about the eyes.
"Thank god you're here, gentlemen. Please, come this way." He had managed to dress his master on this miserable day, but that was about it. My first sight of Rammy was as a small, round sort of chap who was sitting on the sofa and miserably tugging out his own bright yellow hair. He was not exactly chubby, just sort of roundly built. He looked up and whistled at us, a dismal, falling note. Roderick whistled back, something a bit more hopeful sounding.
"Come now, your grace," I said, "there's no need to take on like this. Would a spot of music make you feel better?"
He whistled a pretty little affirmative sounding noise, so I went to the piano and sat down. After a few experimental plinks, I launched into 'Forty-Seven Ginger-Headed Sailors.' Soon enough Rammy was beside me on the piano bench, whistling along. He hadn't pulled out so very much hair after all, and soon the footman came in with a crystal dish of lump sugar, looking cautiously hopeful. Rammy chirped and took one, crunching it up.
"Thank you, James," He said at the end of the song, and the footman lit up behind that mask really competent servants wear.
"So you can talk!" I said, quite surprised by it.
"I can, and thank you so much for the song. It gets lonely without a flock, and hard to pretend that I'm human."
"Why not come and have lunch at the Drones with me, old thing?" I of course didn't mention Roderick's and my abortive nosebag. No need to make the poor chap feel bad for feeling bad. "We've already got Gussie Fink-Nottle, who's very nearly a newt."
Roderick agreed, and soon I was off to the Drones with the patient, hoping the place would work its restorative magic. Rammy stuck close to me as we went in, but soon enough was whistling a merry tune as he took part in a friendly game of darts. I was proven right about him fitting in. After all, if Gussie and Barmy each have a place in our merry circle, there was surely room for a chap who thought he was a canary. He sipped his drinks by tipping his head back, just like a bird, and whistled along when I played piano.