The Awkward Holiday 2/4
Title: The Awkward Holiday 2/?
Fandom: PG Wodehouse
Pairings/ Characters: Jeeves/ Wooster, Psmith
Rating: PG
Warnings: None that I can think of.
Disclaimer: I own no characters, all thanks to the incredible PG Wodehouse
Part One
It became our custom for me to amble casually ‘round the boarding house, checking carefully for pretty French girls before Bingo emerged and it was on one of these morning strolls that I happened to encounter well-dressed fellow we had nearly knocked over on our arrival.
“How do you do?” he said. “I seem to recall seeing you before. Wait, check your natural eagerness, the thought has come to me. Boat Race Night! I watched with some interest as you attempted to make of with a policeman’s helmet. A noble action! Friendships have been based upon less solid ground, Comrade…?”
“Oh, er, Wooster!” I was somewhat overwhelmed by the words that fairly flooded from the chap.
“Greetings, Comrade Wooster. My name is Psmith. The ‘P’ is entirely silent, as in ptarmigan.”
I was swiftly beginning to get the metaphorically-bashed-on-the-head-by-sheer-brainpower feeling I get with Jeeves. “Er, ‘P’?”
“Yes,” he replied encouragingly. “Psmith, P-S-M-I-T-H. Originally, of course, I was a humble Shropshire Smith, but such commonalities are not for me. I am unique. I am Psmith.”
I thought I had grasped the matter. “What ho, Psmith!” I exclaimed, shaking his hand vigorously.
“What ho, indeed, Comrade Wooster! And what has befallen your charming companion from our encounter in the vestibule? I have not espied him for several days.”
“Oh Bingo’s in his room. As a matter of fact, he’s hiding from a girl…” And I proceeded to tell Psmith about Bingo’s dilemma. Psmith gave out an air of Jeevesishness that made me trust him, you see.
While I was regaling Psmith with the whole sorry tale, the girl in question sailed in through the front door. There was nowhere to hide as she bore down upon me.
“Mr Wooster! How are you? It has been so long!” Her English was perfect, with the exotic hint of an accent.
“I’m afraid you have the advantage of me Miss… er…”
She made a moue. “Why! Do you not recall? We met last summer at Totleigh Towers. But with so many beautiful girls, it is no wonder you do not remember me! Eloise Harrison.”
“Oh no!” I protested, chivalrously. “Of course I remember you, I just couldn’t remember the name. Er.” I glanced at Psmith, who was watching the exchange with every appearance of delight. “This is Psmith. Psmith, Miss Harrison.”
The formalities over, we seemed to graduate to the small terrace. There we sat, talking of this and that, or rather listening to Psmith as he entertained us with tales of New York, until Bingo stomped out, irritated at having been left in his room for two hours.
I’ll say this for him: he did manage to cover his initial expression of horror jolly well. Indeed, we were quite a social little group as we sat on the terrace drinking impossible amounts of coffee and watching the boats in the harbour.
Finally, after nearly an hour of small talk, Bingo managed to broach the topic of engagements. Immediately, Psmith and I cast each other agonised looks and began to make our excuses.
As we were making our way to the door, stealthy as a pair of whatsits, I distinctly heard the words “engagement” “off” and “don’t want to be moulded”, followed by the ladylike thud of a handbag hitting a head.
“I think, Comrade Wooster, that we should depart with all haste,” murmured Psmith.
Part Three
Fandom: PG Wodehouse
Pairings/ Characters: Jeeves/ Wooster, Psmith
Rating: PG
Warnings: None that I can think of.
Disclaimer: I own no characters, all thanks to the incredible PG Wodehouse
Part One
It became our custom for me to amble casually ‘round the boarding house, checking carefully for pretty French girls before Bingo emerged and it was on one of these morning strolls that I happened to encounter well-dressed fellow we had nearly knocked over on our arrival.
“How do you do?” he said. “I seem to recall seeing you before. Wait, check your natural eagerness, the thought has come to me. Boat Race Night! I watched with some interest as you attempted to make of with a policeman’s helmet. A noble action! Friendships have been based upon less solid ground, Comrade…?”
“Oh, er, Wooster!” I was somewhat overwhelmed by the words that fairly flooded from the chap.
“Greetings, Comrade Wooster. My name is Psmith. The ‘P’ is entirely silent, as in ptarmigan.”
I was swiftly beginning to get the metaphorically-bashed-on-the-head-by-sheer-brainpower feeling I get with Jeeves. “Er, ‘P’?”
“Yes,” he replied encouragingly. “Psmith, P-S-M-I-T-H. Originally, of course, I was a humble Shropshire Smith, but such commonalities are not for me. I am unique. I am Psmith.”
I thought I had grasped the matter. “What ho, Psmith!” I exclaimed, shaking his hand vigorously.
“What ho, indeed, Comrade Wooster! And what has befallen your charming companion from our encounter in the vestibule? I have not espied him for several days.”
“Oh Bingo’s in his room. As a matter of fact, he’s hiding from a girl…” And I proceeded to tell Psmith about Bingo’s dilemma. Psmith gave out an air of Jeevesishness that made me trust him, you see.
While I was regaling Psmith with the whole sorry tale, the girl in question sailed in through the front door. There was nowhere to hide as she bore down upon me.
“Mr Wooster! How are you? It has been so long!” Her English was perfect, with the exotic hint of an accent.
“I’m afraid you have the advantage of me Miss… er…”
She made a moue. “Why! Do you not recall? We met last summer at Totleigh Towers. But with so many beautiful girls, it is no wonder you do not remember me! Eloise Harrison.”
“Oh no!” I protested, chivalrously. “Of course I remember you, I just couldn’t remember the name. Er.” I glanced at Psmith, who was watching the exchange with every appearance of delight. “This is Psmith. Psmith, Miss Harrison.”
The formalities over, we seemed to graduate to the small terrace. There we sat, talking of this and that, or rather listening to Psmith as he entertained us with tales of New York, until Bingo stomped out, irritated at having been left in his room for two hours.
I’ll say this for him: he did manage to cover his initial expression of horror jolly well. Indeed, we were quite a social little group as we sat on the terrace drinking impossible amounts of coffee and watching the boats in the harbour.
Finally, after nearly an hour of small talk, Bingo managed to broach the topic of engagements. Immediately, Psmith and I cast each other agonised looks and began to make our excuses.
As we were making our way to the door, stealthy as a pair of whatsits, I distinctly heard the words “engagement” “off” and “don’t want to be moulded”, followed by the ladylike thud of a handbag hitting a head.
“I think, Comrade Wooster, that we should depart with all haste,” murmured Psmith.
Part Three