Jeeves and Wooster s01e03 Episode Script

# Good night, Vienna # You city of a million something or others # La, la, la, la, la, la # La-la, la-la # La-la, la-la, something else # Good afternoon, Jeeves # Good afternoon, sir.
No, no.
That's the song, Jeeves.
And a rum song it is, too.
- I don't know how they think them up.
- No, sir, it is a great mystery.
I mean, fancy writing a song about saying good night to a whole city.
You may as well say, "Good afternoon, Manchester", or "Fancy bumping into you, Basingstoke.
" Yes, sir.
Or "I didn't see you at the club, Cleethorpes.
" I take your point.
If you sang the rest of the lyric, it might throw light on the matter.
I don't know the rest of the lyric.
I heard it at the cinema and that's all I can remember.
It goes # Good night, Vienna # You city of a million # Or maybe it's thousands.
Some fairly substantial number, anyway.
I wonder if Uncle George isn't thinking of going off to foreign parts.
Sir? Well, he's asked me to ankle round to his club to discuss some urgent matter or other.
Hmm.
- Morning.
- Good morning, sir.
Lord Yaxley.
Young Lord Yaxley in the dining room, sir.
But he won't want to be disturbed at his lunch.
- Well, he did say it was quite urgent.
- Well, off you go.
Thank you.
- What ho, Uncle George.
- Ah, Bertie.
Sit down, sit down.
I don't eat much at midday, I'm afraid.
It's my stomach lining.
My man in Harley Street says it's very sensitive.
Had your luncheon? - Yes, thanks, I have.
Yes.
- Good.
I got a message that it was urgent.
Oh, it is.
Oh, yes.
Yes, yes, yes.
What I wanted to ask you was where do you get those ties you wear? - Ties? - Like that.
Erm Bookers in the Burlington Arcade.
Good.
Good.
Thank you.
I'm not so old.
So old as what? Properly considered, I'm in my prime.
Besides, what a young and inexperienced girl needs is a man of weight and years to lean on.
Great Scot, Uncle George, you're not thinking of getting married? Yes, confound you, I am thinking of getting married.
If your Aunt Agatha comes sticking her oar in, I'll Well, I'll know what to do about it.
A man is as young as he feels.
No, no, no, Jeeves.
Do you know what my Uncle George is thinking of doing? Contracting a matrimonial alliance, sir.
Good lord! How did you know that? Oddly enough, I am acquainted with the other party in the matter.
The girl? Yes.
But it was from her aunt, a Mrs Wilberforce who resides with her, that I received the information.
So who is she, this other person? A Miss Rhoda Platt, sir, of Wisteria Lodge, Kitchener Road, East Dulwich.
Young? Yes, sir.
- The old fat-head.
- Yes, sir.
The expression is one which I would not have employed myself, but I do think his lordship ill-advised.
One must remember that it is not unusual to find gentlemen of a certain age yielding to a sentimental urge.
The phenomenon is particularly noticeable, I understand, in the United States of America amongst the wealthier inhabitants of Pittsburgh.
I'm told that sooner or later, unless restrained, they always endeavour to marry a chorus girl.
The high turnover rate of chorus girls has been a matter of comment for some time.
- Have you finished, Jeeves? - Thank you, sir, yes.
Uncle George's manner, as he referred to Aunt Agatha's probable reception to the news, I gather that Miss Platt is not of the noblesse.
No, sir.
She is a waitress.
How is Aunt Agatha going to take to that? She's not like me.
I'm broad-minded.
If Uncle George wants to marry a waitress, let him, say I.
- The rank is but the penny stamp.
- The guinea stamp, sir.
- The poet Burns was writing at a time - Never mind the poet Burns, Jeeves.
No, sir.
Expunge the poet Burns from your mind.
I have already done so, sir.
What about the Aunt Agatha? She will kick, Jeeves.
Very probably, sir.
She is a lady of strong opinion.
Yes.
That will be the curse of the Woosters now if I'm any judge.
Aunt Agatha.
How nice to see you.
I wish to speak to you, Bertie.
- Oh, quite.
- I'm greatly upset.
I'm sorry to have to tell you that my brother has gone mad.
- Well - He called on me this morning, announced his intention of marrying an impossible girl from South Norwood.
East Dulwich, Jeeves informed me.
And pray, what does Jeeves know about it? - He's met the girl.
- Has he indeed? And who is she? She's a waitress.
A waitress.
First a barmaid at the Criterion and now a waitress.
Well, the barmaid was 30 years ago, Aunt Agatha.
She must be dealt with in the same way.
We shall offer her money to release your Uncle George from her thrall.
Just as you like, but whenever people do that in books, the girl gets the sympathy.
She draws herself up and looks at them with steady eyes, causing them to feel not a little cheesy.
What trash you do read, Bertie.
I sometimes despair of you.
I just think you'll find it dashed embarrassing offering this girl money.
I am not proposing to do any such thing.
You will undertake the negotiations.
Me? Certainly.
Here is a cheque for £100.
That should be ample.
The point is that your uncle must be released from this grim entanglement.
But what if she draws herself up and looks at me with steady eyes? If it's not troubling you too much, Bertie, I should be greatly obliged if you would stop dribbling.
Right.
You can get to East Dulwich in half an hour.
There is a frequent service of trains.
And you will come direct to Pont Street on your return.
Yes, Aunt Agatha.
Wilberforce? Madam.
Thank you.
- Ah, good afternoon.
- Ooh! Here at last, are you? - Eh? - Do sit down.
Oh, right-ho.
You can't see Rhoda yet.
She's asleep.
When you've got flu, you can't sleep at night sometimes, can you? - Miss Platt's got the flu? - That's for you to say.
But while you're here, I'd like you to take a look at my knee.
Er What for? Oh, you are a one! What do you think? Well terrific.
It's a sort of shooting pain, just comes and goes.
- And I'll tell you something funny.
- What's that? Lately I've had the same sort of pain here at the end of my spine.
I wish you'd take a look.
Er, no, no, no.
No.
Um Knees, yes, spines, no.
- You're a funny sort of doctor.
- Doctor? - Aren't you the doctor? - No.
Oh, you'll be the death of me! And me showing you all I've got, too! Yes, yes.
No.
I've actually come here to see Miss Platt.
- What about? - Nothing, really.
My uncle heard she was seedy.
- Your uncle? - Yes.
Lord Yaxley.
- Oh.
You're his nephew.
- That's right, yes.
I expect he's always popping in here.
No.
I've never set eyes on him.
Rhoda talks about him a lot, but she's never so much as asked him in for a cup of tea.
But er there's no doing anything with girls these days, is there? No.
No, no, no.
Not much, no.
Well, um I'd better be tootling off, then.
Oh.
Well, I'll show you to the door.
Oh, quite.
I have never heard anything so spineless in all my life! Well, I'm sorry.
Can a chap say more? You know, I lost my nerve.
- Could have happened to anyone.
- Not to anyone with a spine.
You will go and see the girl again, Bertie, and this time you will do as I told you.
But dash it, Aunt Agatha And kindly do not use that sort of language in my presence.
You may go now.
Ah.
Um, Jeeves.
No, no.
Don't get up.
Look, Jeeves.
I know this is your night off and all that and normally I wouldn't intrude.
Is Mrs Gregson in good spirits, sir? No, Jeeves, she is not.
She wants me to go down to East Dulwich again tomorrow.
I wish someone could come up with a better idea for getting rid of Uncle George's folly.
- Ha.
- Have you come up with a corker? Mmm.
Modesty forbids, sir, but it did occur to me to wonder whether in your expedition to East Dulwich, you encountered the young person's aunt, Mrs Wilberforce? Jeeves, I encountered nothing but Mrs Wilberforce.
It is Mrs Wilberforce's intention to continue residing with her niece after the marriage, sir.
Mmm.
She's a kind-hearted woman, but definitely of the people.
Should he meet her, this might give his lordship pause.
You mean if I am to invite Uncle George and Mrs Wilberforce to lunch tomorrow Precisely, sir.
Jeeves, you've done it again.
Thank you, sir.
# Good afternoon, kitchen # De-da, de-da, de-dum, di-dee # Da-da, dum # So, Jeeves, how did you meet this Mrs Wilberforce and Miss Platt? Through a young fellow of my acquaintance.
Oh, what young fellow? Colonel Mainwaring-Smith's personal gentleman's gentleman, sir.
He and Miss Platt had an understanding, and I accompanied him to Wisteria Lodge to meet her.
So they broke it off and Uncle George got her on the rebound.
So what did they quarrel about? They did not quarrel, sir.
But when his lordship, your uncle, began to pay his addresses, she was naturally flattered and began to waver between love and ambition.
Ah.
So if your scheme works and Uncle George edges out, it will do your pal a bit of good.
Precisely, sir.
My friend Smethurst would regard it as a consummation devoutly to be wished.
That's rather well put, Jeeves.
Is that your own? No, sir.
The swan of Avon, sir.
Ah.
Hello.
- Mrs Wilberforce, sir.
- Mrs Wilberforce! How I'm going to keep a straight face with you standing behind me saying, "Can I tempt madam with a potato?" I shall never know.
I know him, you know.
He's been to tea round at our house.
- Yes.
So he told me.
- See you later.
Bye.
Oh.
Nice place you've got here.
Though I like more pink about myself.
It's cheerful.
What's that you've got there? Cocktails? Martini with a spot of absinthe.
Oh, gawd.
Don't you make me drink that stuff.
What that does to the lining of your stomach.
- Oh, I don't know.
- Well, I do, dear.
And if you'd been a barmaid as long as I was, you'd know too.
Oh, you were a barmaid? Was I? For years I was.
When I was younger.
At the Criterion.
There you are, you see.
It's that stuff.
Makes your hands wobble.
Give me a drop of port any old time.
Erm when you were at the Criterion, did you ever run into anyone with my name? Foster? No, dear, not that I know of.
- No, no.
Wooster.
He's Lord Yaxley now.
- Wooster?! Lord Yaxley.
Oh, Bertie, this is Maudie! Piggy! Oh.
Well, I'm dashed.
Oh.
Oh.
- Oh.
Beastly shot.
- It's this cue.
I'm going to speak to the steward about this.
- Come off it, Oofy.
- You're just a rotten player.
That was a perfect shot, bridge steady, smoothly back.
- Mr Wooster, sir.
- Oh, dash it, Rogers! I'm so sorry, sir, but there's a lady asking for you.
A Mrs Gregson.
Ah.
I spy aunts.
I haven't had lunch.
Could you tell her I'm not here? I've told her that, sir.
She's most insistent.
Oh, very well.
Ah.
Let me try Bertie's cue.
Ah, yes.
That's better, that's better.
Oh.
- Ah, Bertie.
- Hello, Aunt Agatha.
Your uncle is not going to marry the girl.
Not? Apparently he's been thinking it over and sees the wisdom of what I told him.
The surprising thing is that he is going to marry somebody else.
- He is? - An old friend of his.
A Mrs Wilberforce.
A widower of sensible age, he gives me to understand.
I wonder which of the Wilberforces that would be.
There are two main branches to the family, the Essex Wilberforces and the Cumberland Wilberforces.
And the East Dulwich Wilberforces.
- What did you say, Bertie? - Nothing, Aunt Agatha.
Really nothing.
I do wish you would speak more clearly, Bertie.
I've had to tell you about it before.
Ah, Jeeves.
I don't know if you're aware of it, but this has depreciated your stock considerably.
I'm sorry to hear that, sir.
You might at least have ascertained that she was Uncle George's barmaid.
I did, sir.
What? The young man Smethurst approached me in the hope that I might be able to do something to further his cause with Miss Platt.
There will now be no obstacle to their union.
Well, that's all fine, Jeeves, but what about Uncle George? You've landed him nicely in the cart.
No, sir, if I might take the liberty of opposing your view, I fancy Mrs Wilberforce will make an admirable mate for his lordship.
Oh, no, no, no, Jeeves, think.
You said yourself that Maudie Wilberforce is definitely of the people.
Sturdy lower-middle class stock, sir.
A much needed injection of fresh blood.
Now, perhaps you'd like to change before the journey, sir.
I thought you could drive down after lunch while I take the baggage by train.
What train? What journey? Why are we packing? Your uncle has taken Mrs Wilberforce to meet Mrs Gregson this afternoon, sir.
He's taking her to meet Aunt Agatha? I think if we were to leave the metropolis for a while it might be expedient, sir.
Lord Wickhammersley invited us to Twing some time ago for the village festivities.
I think we'll go before lunch, don't you, Jeeves? Just as you say, sir.
Well? Well, I'm waiting.
Mummy, please.
I simply want an answer from your father.
I bitterly regret now that I was so kind and forgiving when he lost the Rolls Royce to Lord Ickenham last year.
Oh, it was just a run of bad luck, Drusilla.
I had three kings Enough.
As for this latest outrage Not in front of the guests, Mummy.
I am sorry if I'm embarrassing the guests, but what I have to say applies equally to them.
There will be no more betting of any sort in this house.
Oh, I say! No.
Oh.
Just a few little bets, mmm? No.
I have said all I intend to say on the matter.
Oh, jimballs! - Bertie! - Bingo! - What are you doing down here? - Staying at Twing Hall.
- There's something I want to show you.
- Right-oh.
Come on.
Look inside behind the bar.
Her name is Myrtle.
- Isn't she beautiful? - She's a tender goddess.
She is, she is.
You can see it, can't you? - What happened to Daphne? - Daphne? The one who came after Honoria.
Passing fancy, Bertie, the folly of one's youth.
- It was only a week and a half ago.
- Myrtle was in town to see her uncle.
We met on top of a bus.
She was Hello, Steggles.
- Meet my friend, Bertie Wooster.
- How do you do? - This is Rupert Steggles.
- What ho, Steggles.
I'm going inside.
This fresh air is getting into my lungs.
- He's staying at Lord Wickhammersley's.
- Snappy dresser.
I wish he wouldn't hang around Myrtle, she doesn't like it.
I say, Bertie, do you want to come in on a little flutter? You interest me strangely, old bird.
One thing we Woosters are positively dripping with is sporting blood.
Steggles has decided to make a book on the sports at the village fete.
I say.
I think I can put you in the way of making a parcel on the mothers' sack race.
Lead on, old scout.
The idea is an attractive one, sir.
Unfortunately, Lady Wickhammersley has come down strongly against any form of betting at Twing.
Apparently, I understand, as a result of his lordship losing the east wing in a game of shove ha'penny.
- This is bad news, Jeeves.
- Indeed, sir.
It was only the strongest representations to the other party involved, and the passage of a considerable sum in money that saved the old place.
No, no.
I meant about the betting.
I'm so looking forward to the fete on Monday.
Me too.
I love all those races they have.
My favourite is the boys and girls' mixed animal potato race.
- What on Earth is that? - It's wonderful.
You get into couples and each couple is given an animal noise and a potato.
One of you stands in a fixed spot holding the potato and making the animal noise.
- Mewing like a cat, or barking like a dog.
- The other one has a bag over his head.
And has to try and find his partner.
I've forgotten what the potato is for.
I'm damned if you could estimate form, anyhow.
Hugo.
Shh.
Quiet.
Oh! - Got the race card? - Yes.
- Do you know the wonderful thing? - Later.
- Guess where I got it from.
- Later.
Shhh! - I got it from Myrtle.
- Yes, yes, yes.
Right.
Oh, you can still smell her scent on it.
See? No, thank you, Bingo.
Can we get on? Right.
Um The girls under-12 egg-and-spoon race.
Any thoughts about that, Jeeves? Last year's winner, Sarah Mills, is the favourite, sir.
- What are her chances? - I haven't seen the gallops, of course, but I understand little Sarah carries a beautiful egg.
She Bertie.
He's not here.
Jeeves! It's Lady Cynthia, sir.
We thought you were your mother.
She's too busy giving Daddy his evening lecture.
Rupert Steggles thinks you're forming a syndicate.
What rot! - Can I join? - Absolutely.
Thank you.
We were just going through the card.
- Right.
- Carry on, Bingo.
- Mothers' sack race.
- Now, you know something about that.
A gift from Mrs Penworthy, the tobacconist's wife.
She told me that she'd won three times at fairs in Worcestershire.
She only moved here a few weeks ago, so no one knows about her.
- Risk a tenner each way, Jeeves? - I think so, sir.
Er Fathers' hat-trimming contest.
Mmm.
A very speculative event, sir.
Married couples' three-legged long jump.
I cannot advocate any large-scale dispersement.
Ah, Mr Wooster.
Ah.
What ho, Jeeves.
- I hoped I might find you here, sir.
- You look positively animated, Jeeves.
I'm sorry, sir.
I have information regarding the choirboys' handicap, sir.
The probable winner of that event is even now under the roof of Twing Hall.
Harold, sir, the pageboy.
I don't see it, Jeeves, he's practically circular.
- The boy is a flier, sir.
- How do you know? I was pursuing him this morning with a view to fetching him a clip on the side of the head.
Great Scot, Jeeves! You? The lad made an opprobrious remark about my appearance.
What did he say about your appearance? I do not recall, sir.
But it was opprobrious.
I attempted to correct him, but he out-distanced me by yards and escaped.
This is sensational.
We are sure, are we, Jeeves? Hm.
Oi! That sounds like the off now, sir.
I say, Jeeves.
Mr Wooster.
Mr Little, Mr Widgeon.
What in God's name are you doing there? - We are - Er We The gentlemen had expressed an interest in horticulture, my lady.
I was enlightening them as to the life cycle of the earthworm.
Essential, I've always felt, for a proper understanding of the subject.
Oh.
Oh, I see.
Very well, then.
- Do carry on.
- Thank you, my lady.
Observe, gentlemen, the distended saddle on this specimen.
What ho, Steggles.
- Hello, Wooster.
- Morning, Myrtle.
- Mr Wooster.
- Might I have a word? Now, then, touching on the choirboys' 100-yard handicap, I'd like to place a small bet on Harold Harmsworth.
- The fat boy.
- Well We're quoting um 18-1 at the moment.
To win.
Ante post.
£20 to win? Do you know something? Know something? No.
Why? No, no, no.
I just er I just like the name.
Harold.
Harold Harmsworth.
Got a sort of ring to it, don't you think? Well, I think it has, anyway.
Yes, yes.
Never mind about that.
Thank you.
- Good shot, Bingo.
- Thank you, Bertie.
You're looking very doleful.
Myrtle went to the cinema with Steggles last night.
Oh, yes.
You know what Kipling said, "The F and the S have much more D than the M.
" - Really? - Well, Jeeves, what do you think? Well, if I might paraphrase the poet, sir, I think we should be valiant but not too adventurous.
But was the poet's ball in the bramble, surrounded by trees? He made no mention of it, sir.
Perhaps I can suggest that a spade-mashie on to the fairway would be the intelligent shot.
- Oh, I agree.
- Leaving us with a pitch onto the green.
Ah, yes, but we Woosters are made of sterner stuff.
Hand me my No.
2 iron.
Very good, sir.
Thank you, Jeeves.
Very good, sir.
Thank you, Jeeves.
- Say that again.
- Well, part of the secret I've found, is not to close my eyes till I'm almost at the top of the back sweep.
Very interesting.
That's £2.
10 you owe me.
I'll just get some change in the bar.
Wait here for five minutes.
- Come on.
- One, two, three.
One, two, three.
So where did it come down, Jeeves? - I'm not altogether certain that it did, sir.
- Is it still in the air? Bit of a hefty hit, eh? Yes, sir.
I fancy that our next stroke may pose us some small difficulty.
What a ridiculous place to leave a tree.
Right.
Yes.
I think um I think stroke and distance don't you, eh, Jeeves? Just shin up there and get it for me, will you? I say, Jeeves, isn't that Harold the pageboy over there? Yes, sir.
I believe he comes here caddying on his days off.
The few shillings he earns buys food to supplement his diet.
Well, whoever owns that club he's ruining isn't going to be too pleased.
I enjoyed the game, Steggles.
Me, too.
Hey! You! Hey! I dun't see that it affects us.
I put us all on ante post for this very reason, so we have nothing to lose by Harold's form becoming known.
- It affects us if he doesn't start at all! - What do you mean? Jeeves said Steggles may try to nobble him before the race.
No.
Good lord! There's all sorts of ways of nobbling favourites in racing novels.
In Pipped At The Post, Lord Jasper outs Bonny Betsy by bribing the head lad to slip a cobra into her stalls before the derby.
I can't imagine where Steggles is going to get a cobra.
You wouldn't like to stand guarding Harold, Freddie? No fear.
What are the chances of a cobra biting Harold, do you think? Well, from the look of Harold, it's the snake I'd be worried about.
So as we look around the valley of our lives, do we like Ezekiel see nothing but dry bones? Do we like Ezekiel doubt the lord's capacity to animate these bones? Do we doubt the Lord's miraculous powers? Do we shake our heads when the Lord asks us, "Can these bones live?" Or do we with the lord's help Agh! Do we with the lord's help put breath back into these bones? It is up to us, isn't it? In the name of the father, and the son and the Holy Ghost, Amen.
- Someone put a beetle down my back! - Nonsense.
I felt it wriggling.
Disgraceful behaviour of these choirboys.
Very enjoyable service.
I have warned you about this before.
- Jolly good, Vicar.
- So glad.
Splendid, splendid.
From this moment, you cease to be a member of my choir.
Go! Miserable boy.
I don't want to be in your rotten choir, anyway.
Those bets, old boy.
- I'm afraid you lose your money.
- What do you mean? If I recall them, the race rules read, "Open to all those members of the choir whose voices haven't broken for the second Sunday in Epiphany.
" Members of the choir, you notice.
- Well, of all the - Pity you didn't opt for the starting price.
I always think SP is the only safe way.
And they talk about the purity of the turf! A most ingenious young gentleman, Mr Steggles, sir.
Bally swindler, you mean.
It now seems for this afternoon's sports we rely entirely on Mrs Penworthy in the mothers' sack race.
- Not entirely, Jeeves.
- Indeed, sir? I've entered Bingo in the 80-yards dash for mature gentlemen.
Mr Little, sir? I can't seem to buck him over Myrtle, and a win on the field does wonders for impressing the ladies.
If I may say so, sir, I think that when the organisers use the word "mature", they are in fact using it as a euphemism for elderly.
Quite.
So he'll obviously start as favourite.
Now if we put say 50 crowns on Bingo to win, well, the syndicate can take Steggles to the cleaners.
If I may also say, sir, I think that Mr Little is bound to start at such short odds Oh, tush, Jeeves! A faint heart never won lots of money.
£50 on Mr Little to win.
I fear, sir, that even so substantial an investment as £50 will yield little more than pennies.
All right, then, make it £100.
I still believe, sir Everything's under control, my dear.
Not too hard.
Hildy, not too hard.
- Everything all right, dear? - Yes.
Fine.
Now Hildy! Blast! Entry is closed for all events in ten minutes.
Come along, please.
There's a rise in the ground to the right of the track, so stay in lanes 1 or 2, all the way, Mrs Penworthy.
- What's the going like, Jeeves? - Good to firm, sir.
It will suit Mrs Hodges, she likes to feel the ground.
I'm not afraid of no Mrs Hodges.
Oh, no, no, no.
Of course not.
Rubbish, she is.
Thank you.
Roll up, roll up.
- Three shies a penny.
- Three shies a penny.
- It's Myrtle.
Don't look.
- What are you telling me for, then? - Look at her, Bertie.
- You told me not to.
She walks in beauty, Bertie.
- Why don't you go and speak to her? - Oh, I couldn't.
Could I? I will.
All couples for the three-legged race, report to the starter's table now.
Cynthia.
Starter's orders.
- Take over, Mavis.
- Right-ho, Cynthia.
We've backed a winner on this one, and what's more, Mr and Mrs Puckeridge are completely incorruptible.
On your marks.
Get set.
Go! Ooh.
I say.
Wooster, old chap, could I crave a boon? Anything, sir.
I hear Steggles is making a book on the sports.
Would you place a bet for me? - Hugo.
- Oh! Oh.
What are you doing with that money? I was just asking young Wooster here to buy me a slice of Eccles cake.
Any Eccles cake that you require, Hugo, I will go.
Come.
Here.
I'll show you.
Vicar.
- Thank you, my dear.
- Thank you, Vicar.
Good luck.
Ah, Wooster, my dear fellow.
I must say, I'm delighted at the way you young chaps are throwing yourselves into the spirit of our festivity.
- Nothing I like better, Vicar.
- Even Rupert Steggles.
Between ourselves, I've never thought of Rupert Steggles as the sort of chap who'd put himself out to further the enjoyment of others.
And yet, twice in the last half-hour, I have seen him escort Mrs Penworthy to the refreshment tent.
Mr Wooster, I Excuse me.
Sorry, sorry.
Excuse me.
Sorry.
Um Er, excuse me.
Er, this hat.
Mrs Penworthy's.
Mrs Penworthy is that hat, isn't it, Doris? - Yes.
She was here with Mr Steggles.
- Steggles.
Did you serve any drink? No, it was the food, wasn't it, Daisy? I thought it must be for a party.
Four of them pork pies, he bought her.
And three pieces of fruitcake.
And then she had two servings of the trifle after the ice cream.
On your marks.
Get set, go! You seem very interested in the mothers' sack race, Mr Wooster.
What? No.
Well, that's to say yes.
Erm Development of the thoroughbred, you know.
Thoroughbred? Right, Jeeves, the hour approaches.
£100, Mr Little, on the nose.
£100.
Really.
£100, Bertie? Bingo, I want to show you another dead cert.
Well done, Mr Donkin.
- And now, Miss Watson.
- Thank you, Vicar.
Only four competitors hit the bell so far.
Oh.
Sorry.
Oh, dear! I don't know what to I think we shall have to cancel the event.
This is rapidly turning into a rout.
- You're our last chance, Bingo.
- Suppose I lose, though.
You can't possibly lose.
Your youngest competitor is 65.
And his bunions were playing him up this morning.
You can get a bet on for me, Cynthia.
- All right, Daddy.
But don't tell Mummy.
- Don't tell Mummy what? Three shies, darling, thank you.
Thank you.
Here you are, Hugo.
It will do you good.
Pssst! Sh.
- Your Aunt Agatha's not here, is she? - Good lord, no.
It's all right, Maudie.
- We went to see her.
- Oh, it was awful.
Well, you're quite safe down here.
Now, tell me, Bertie, is the vicar about anywhere? Absolutely.
He's er He's over there.
Why? Want to get the banns read, as a matter of fact.
Before she catches up with us.
Come on, Piggy.
Jeeves, could you hang on to this while I'm doing the race? With great pleasure, sir.
May I introduce Beryl, sir? Beryl, this is Mr Little.
I say.
Mr Little is the gentleman who is going to win the 80-yards dash.
Oh, I'm so looking forward to the race, Mr Little.
- Richard's the name.
- I know you'll win.
Well Good luck.
Richard.
Oh.
My friends call me Bingo.
Sorry.
The mature gentlemen's race is about to begin.
Assemble at the start, gentlemen.
Please.
- I say, Jeeves, have you seen Bingo? - That's Mr Little coming up to the start.
I shall watch this one from the tape.
Very good, sir.
On your marks.
Get set.
Go! Come on, Bingo! Mr Little.
Richard.
Bingo.
If you'll just drink this, sir.
This is the end, Jeeves.
Everything we've worked and prayed for.
£100, Jeeves.
The darkest hour is proverbially just before the dawn, sir.
I say, Jeeves.
- Have you seen Beryl? - Not since the race, sir.
I have to find her, Jeeves.
What a wonderful girl.
Yes, sir.
Would you care for your jacket, sir? Thank you, Jeeves.
Thank you.
Thank you.
How could he lose, Jeeves? That fellow who won, Charlie Bembo, was old enough to give Bingo's grandmother the glad eye.
Mr Steggles.
Excuse me, excuse me.
Excuse me.
Betting slips? No.
I You may catch the train to London, Mr Steggles.
Your things will be sent on.
As for your ill-gotten gains they will go towards the new church roof.
- It can all be arranged, Lord Yaxley.
- Thank you so much.
- Goodbye, Vicar.
- Goodbye.
Goodbye, Vicar.
Ah, Vicar.
A little something for the fund.
How kind.
Oh, thank you.
Well, you'll bally well pardon me for saying so, Jeeves, but you seem to have landed us in a complete mess.
- All right, was it, Mr Jeeves? - Beautifully judged, Beryl, thank you.
- Now, see you later in the Five Crowns.
- All right, Mr Jeeves.
Bye-bye.
Yes, er probably none of my business, Jeeves, but may I ask you what you were thanking that young lady for? I have a confession to make, sir.
Oh, yes? I requested the girl Beryl to shout at Mr Little at the strategic moment.
You did what, Jeeves? I surmised that Myrtle is a large-hearted girl, who would sympathise with a gallant loser.
But Bingo doesn't care a fig about Myrtle.
It's all Beryl now.
Sir, I must confess that where the fair sex is concerned, Mr Little is rather quicker out of the gate than even I had imagined.
So you ruined the syndicate just for Bingo.
Not quite, sir.
The syndicate is well into profit, I'm happy to say.
Profit, Jeeves! Every single thing we backed was either scratched, axed, nobbled, or fell at the first fence.
- We lost £100 on Bingo alone.
- Ahem.
What do you mean, "Ahem"? Is that an "ahem" of remorse, Jeeves? I hope so.
I'm afraid I couldn't bring myself to place the bet on Mr Little, sir.
What?! Jeeves, I distinctly told you - You mean we didn't lose the £100? - Indeed not, sir.
I took it into my head to put, what I believe is called in racing parlance, a bundle on Charlie Bembo at 15 to 1, sir.
Jeeves.
A further safeguard was to collect our winnings before I informed Lady Wickhammersley of Mr Steggles's activities.
Jeeves, you're a wonder.
Thank you, sir.
We do our best.