Adventure Of The Hefty Mole
The Adventure of the Hefty Mole
A Blandings Castle Story
By Alistair Brazier
Based on characters by P. G. Wodehouse
The evening sun shone brightly over the British countryside, covering Blandings Castle in a beautiful sea of red. The stream nearby gleamed with the sunlight, which shone on the windows. An evening like this usually means this is an inevitable sign that the weather would be a beautiful day the next day, but not at Blandings, for the back lawn was in a terrible mess! The flowers in the gardens were drooping, for they had not received any water for two days and the grass was so long, it made the lawn look like a tropical jungle. But the real problem for Lord Emsworth was a small molehill, right in the middle of the lawn!
"Dash it all, Beech!" complained Lord Emsworth to his butler, a patient man, who observed everything with a keen eye. "If McAllister the gardener doesn't recover from the flu anytime soon, this garden won't get any better before Bertie Wooster pays a visit on Saturday morning!" The two men were on the balcony of the castle, which overlooked the lawn and gardens. Lord Emsworth had bought a telescope two days ago, and was looking through it down into the gardens below, first onto the lawn, then onto the molehill, then to the flower gardens, and finally onto the small hut in the flower gardens, where Angus McAllister, the head gardener, a tall man with a red beard, lived, and indeed now lay ill in bed. Lord Emsworth was a tall man, who was fond of new toys. He was wearing his usual tweed suit, which suited him very badly, as well as a hat he had no right to wear indoors, let alone outdoors. He was particularly anxious about the garden because a son of an old school friend, who had deceased some years ago, was coming to visit. His valet, Jeeves, was coming Friday evening, so Lord Emsworth was desperate to make a good impression on them both, even if he found valets common.
'Just look at it!' Lord Emsworth continued hotly, 'A proper…' He broke off when he saw his son, the Right Hon. Freddie Threepwood on the porch, playing marbles with the cook's son! Lord Emsworth screamed loudly in fury, and stormed off the balcony.
Thoughts ran through his head as he stormed downstairs to the back door. None of these thoughts were of the type which a person wouldn't have if that person was cheerful and happy. They were all thoughts that were things like 'Did I have to let the wife of that layabout have him accompany her over here, while she was looking after her cousin?', 'Couldn't Gally have taken Freddie, instead of George, to Brighton with him?' and 'Why must I have this miserable blot for a son as part of the family's history?'
Lord Emsworth flung open the back door and stormed out onto the front porch. "Frederick!" he barked. "Oh, hullo, Guv'nor!" stuttered his son, clearly surprised to see his parent red with fury. The Right Hon. Freddie Threepwood was a tall, young man in a white suit, and desperately tried to cover up the fact that he was playing marbles by a scruffy young boy in a school uniform that was in tatters. This was the cook's son, Percy. "Now, Percy, if I mix blue and red together, what do I get?" Freddie asked Percy, trying desperately to make it look like it was an art lesson, but without any luck! "Purple!" replied Percy, unsure why Freddie had changed his tune so quickly, in front of his father. Lord Emsworth had only just hired a new cook from London, a single mother with a son, Percy, who got on quite well with Freddie, but had never seen much of Lord Emsworth, and so, knew little about him. "No, it's green!" replied Freddie, who had failed in Art at school, and knew nothing about mixing colours! "Frederick, the boy knows more things about art, than you've had hot dinners!" snapped Lord Emsworth, "Anyway, what makes you think you're allowed to be playing marbles at your age, eh?" "W-well, Guv'nor, I was just amusing…" "If you want to make yourself useful, you can start by going up to London-No, wait, you'll only get into trouble there, you can go into Shrewsbury and hire a new head gardener, and make sure you find one I like, otherwise, you're packing your bags on Saturday for America!" Lord Emsworth then rounded on Percy. This time, he spoke with a softer voice, but still kept it strict. The fact was that Lord Emsworth once punished Percy for accidentally making ink blots on the best table, when he was trying to do his homework! Lord Emsworth had locked Percy in the coal-cellar, and forgot about him, until after dinner, when the cook burst into dining room, looking for Percy. It was Percy's bed-time, and the cook was frantic, having failed to find him anywhere. At this point Lord Emsworth suddenly remembered Percy and looked guiltily at the cook, telling her everything. When they found Percy, he was cold, hungry and miserable. The cook then threatened that if Lord Emsworth were to treat Percy cruelly once more, she would hand in her resignation notice.
"As for you, Percy", Lord Emsworth went on, tomorrow, you shall be in charge of mowing the lawn tomorrow, first thing in the morning!" "Yessir!" piped Percy eagerly. Lord Emsworth grunted with satisfaction. This boy was common, yet he went about his jobs loyally, whenever he wasn't occupied by school-work, or some childish occupation, like marbles!
However, Lord Emsworth felt very nervous, later that evening. He didn't know why, but when he smoked his after-dinner cigar, he got the feeling that this molehill would be a lot of trouble!
So, just to be sure, later that night, just before he went to bed, he took an oil lamp and lit it, before proceeding down to the garden shed, wearing nothing but a white night-gown. He unlocked it, and took out a huge shovel, the hugest he could find. He then strolled out over the flower gardens, towards the front lawn and directly towards the molehill. He stopped just in front of it. Then, without any word of warning, he wielded his shovel and obliterated the molehill, so nothing was left, but a pile of dirt. Unfortunately, Lord Emsworth had hit the molehill so hard, that the shovel bounced out of his hands, and landed with a soft thud on the grassy verge. Now, this thump wasn't enough to wake anyone up at night, but it was enough to attract the attention of Freddie, who was helping himself to a piece of cake from the larder. He had woken up that night, feeling rather hungry and so decided to have a piece of cake, as a midnight feast. However, he had just put it on the table, when he heard a soft thump coming from the garden, and decided to open the window to take a look outside. He was horrified to see a ghostly white figure on the front lawn. Could it be the ghost of Parched, the blood-thirsty butler, who had been executed for murdering the ten masters he had worked for? Scared out of his wits, and not caring that things can travel through ghosts, Freddie burst open the window and threw everything at the 'ghost' that he came into contact with.
Out on the lawn, Lord Emsworth had just picked up the shovel, and started to make his way back to the garden shed. Job done, he thought happily, now to take care of the flowers, tomorrow. It was at this point that he was surprised to find a carrot sailing out of the kitchen window, and landing in his mouth, followed by a frying pan, which missed him narrowly, by inches. Then came a mad procession of kitchen things and food. Lord Emsworth ducked and weaved as much as he could, all the while, trying to make his way back to the garden shed, but not without an egg hitting him square on the nose, a tomato knocking off his sleeping-cap, and some milk splashing onto his night-gown!
Lord Emsworth was in a state of utter rage when he got back inside the castle. "Just wait", he bellowed, waking up half the castle, "just wait, until I catch the blighter who made me look like an omelette!" But he was too late, for poor Freddie had been so frightened that he had gone upstairs, got dressed, hastily written a note and gone to Shrewsbury, to hire a room at the nearby hotel. Lord Emsworth found the note the next morning, on the staircase-rail. This note went something like this:
Awfully sorry to do a runner and all that tosh, but I've just had a sudden urge to start looking for a new head gardener. I do hope you don't mind taking care of the hotel bills, I've gone off to Shakespeare Towers, where I know they'll suit me very nicely, the sort of binge any reputable hotel does.
It was an utterly enraged Lord Emsworth who then sat down to breakfast that morning. All through the meal, he ranted on about his own son chucking food at his father, leaving without so much as a bye-or-leave, and once again, leaving him with all the bills to clean up! He was in such a temper that no one dared tell him that it wasn't really Freddie's fault: he was scared out of his wits, and perhaps Lord Emsworth should've waited until the next morning to destroy the molehill. This was something half the staff may have been more than happy to point out; they weren't too pleased to be woken up in the middle of the night! To make matters worse, the molehill was still on the lawn. This infuriated Lord Emsworth, who was pretty sure he had obliterated it the night before.
That afternoon, he decided he would get his rifle, point it down the molehill and shoot the mole. "Yes," he said to Percy and Freddie's wife, Aggie, "If I can't destroy the molehill, I have to find a way to bring down the cause of it!" "Crikey!" exclaimed Percy. "Using firearms in the presence of a small boy?" enquired Aggie. "Father-in-law, I really don't think that's wise!" "Who cares?" scoffed Lord Emsworth and strolled off. "But moles have very good…" Percy tried to protest, but Aggie simply said "It's no good, Percy." Percy then turned to face Aggie. "We have to do something." They both wanted to teach Lord Emsworth a lesson, having overheard Lord Emsworth discuss what he'd do to the molehill with Beech, but they didn't know how. It seemed that after luncheon, Lord Emsworth was intending to shoot the molehill, but Aggie and Percy decided to pretend they hadn't heard a word in the conversation. Fortunately for them both, Lord Emsworth was about to make a big mistake. He went into the dining room to have luncheon, and left his rifle outside the door. Suddenly, an idea flashed into the eyes of both Percy and Aggie. They whispered, discussing their plan with each other. Then, before anything else, Aggie marched straight to the gun, and emptied it, taking out the bullets, and hiding them in her handbag. She knew a train departed from the nearby station, full of rubbish, once a week on Tuesdays, and today was that day, so she went straight down to the station, in a cart, and threw them in the bin, outside the station. She knew Lord Emsworth may be furious if he couldn't destroy the molehill, and decided to see if she could stay with her husband, even if it did mean extra expenses for Freddie, who knew how to deal with them.
Meanwhile, Percy snuck down into the kitchen, and came across a small bag of flour. He decided this was the right sort of thing to put in the gun, and went back as fast as he could, carrying the bag all the way, and thinking what a terrific wheeze this would turn out to be. When he got back to the gun, he poured in as much flour as he could, and had just enough time to disappear from the scene before the door opened, and Lord Emsworth burst out, grabbing the gun and marching straight to the molehill on the lawn. He was about to take aim when he saw something powdery fall out of the gun. He then drew the gun up to his face and looked down the gun-barrel. There seemed nothing wrong with the gun: It looked in good working order. But then, he pointed it up to the sky, and fired it.
The sound of a loud gunshot, followed closely by a yell of anger, and then the splash of water echoed all around the castle. Anyone who had witnessed the scene would tell you that a small, white explosion erupted from the gun, covering the top half of Lord Emsworth in a ghostly white, and that, blinded by the flour, he walked not back to the castle, where he intended to go, but instead to the stream, at the back of the lawn, where he slipped and fell in! What is more, flour and water combined form dough, so when Lord Emsworth fell in, he went from looking like a ghost to a human-loaf-of-bread!
A most peculiar and indeed entertaining sight then met those who happened to be passing the windows that looked onto the lawn. There was Lord Emsworth, storming up the lawn, the top half of him covered in what looked like a yellowish-white. He shoved open the doors, and stormed upstairs to the bathroom, leaving behind him a disgusting trail of white oozing down the stairs. The servants tried hard not to laugh at the sight of him, but Lord Emsworth looked so funny that when he was out of earshot, some of them burst out laughing, while others exploded into lapses of silent mirth, like a pack of laughing hyenas!
Things got worse and worse for Lord Emsworth, as time went on. Whatever plan he could think of for disposing on the molehill always ended up with either the molehill turning up again the next day, or him having to take a long bath. On Wednesday, Lord Emsworth tried rolling the garden roller over it, but he slipped over on a Croquet ball that was left on the ground, because at the same time, the cook had been trying to teach Percy how to play Croquet. Percy had hit the ball too hard, and both he and his mother tried to yell out a warning to Lord Emsworth, but he was so intent on ridding himself of this molehill, that he didn't listen. He ended up trodding on it and, as a result, the roller lumbered right into the flower garden, bringing down two entire stalks of tomatoes as it went! That afternoon, Lord Emsworth tried rolling himself over the molehill, and jumping on top of the remains, but dinnertime proved to be an occasion when one discovers that when one has set out to do one thing before having attempted to do two things, one the intended action, the other somewhat accidental, one discovers, much to one's horror, that one has only succeeded in doing the accidental half of the objective. This was such an occasion. Lord Emsworth had set out to destroy the molehill, proceeded to obliterate it, and discovered that the only thing he had succeeded in was dirtying his clothes!
Thursday came, and with it, Lord Emsworth knew, the last chance of destroying the molehill, once and for all! He spent the whole of breakfast pondering over what to do about the matter. Then he had a brainwave. He marched straight to the telephone, with Beech at his side. "Beech!" he barked, "Call the local building company, and tell them to send round the hugest steam-roller they have." Beech walked up to the telephone, and dialled the number for the Shrewsbury Building Company. "Shrewsbury Building Company" came a voice from the other end. Beech replied to this with "Good morning, sir. I have a task of some urgency, which requires the use of your largest steam-roller." "Which road is it? How bad does it look?" replied the Building Company, clearly thinking they would be mending a road. "I regret, sir, that there are no roads that need mending; instead, your steamroller is required to flatten a molehill!" Beech responded, before pulling the receiver away from his ear, so a loud echo of laughter coming from the phone erupted and echoed around the room. "Tell him that I'm willing to pay the company ten pounds!" commanded Lord Emsworth covering his ears to block out the noise! Beech obediently did so, and the laughter stopped so immediately, for recently the Building Company was having trouble keeping in business, and was willing to take any job offered, so long as they got paid for it! "When would you like me to send one over?" asked the Building Company, now serious. "When would you like the steamroller to arrive, sir?" asked Beech. "I would like them to arrive as soon as possible!" Lord Emsworth replied. "Could you arrive as soon as possible?" Beech repeated. "Right away!" replied the Building Company. "Thank you" said Beech, and hung up.
At twelve o'clock, that morning, the sound of a steam roller chuffing along the road could be heard coming from the town of Market Blandings, which surprised a very distinguished-looking valet, with a black top hat, and sleek black hair, with the same patient expression as Beech, and who was also making his way up to Blandings Castle. This was Jeeves, Bertie Wooster's long-suffering valet. Jeeves was particularly keen to get to Blandings Castle, in order to see his sister, Gertrude Jeeves, the cook, and his nephew, Percy! Jeeves had been asked by Bertie Wooster to go ahead to make sure of this, to which Jeeves was unsurprisingly keen to do so. Having caught the ten o'clock train, Jeeves decided against taking a taxi. He felt it would be more advisory to get some exercise. Besides, he had seen a confectionery store, and decided to get Percy a shilling's worth of bulls-eyes. Once he had done so, he proceeded to walk towards Blandings Castle. However, he soon became uncertain if this way was the correct route or not, and so decided to ask the driver of the steamroller for directions. "Excuse me!" he called, waving his arms at the steam-roller's driver, who then proceeded to slow the steam-roller, so it came rumbling to a halt. "Excuse me", he repeated, "is this the way to Blandings Castle?" "Oh, yus, it is, Guv'nor", replied the driver, who spoke in the way this type of driver does, the type that is dressed in overalls, covered in oil and soot, on a steam-roller, "Jus' down the road. It's the ferst big building ye come across, an' it's just off the ferst exit. Ye can't miss it. Would ye like me to give ye a lift?" "No, thank you," Jeeves called, "I'm quite happy to walk my way over." He politely tipped his hat at the driver, who did the same action back, and both of them proceeded on their way, with the steam-roller overtaking Jeeves, who was in no great hurry to get there.
Lord Emsworth stood waiting impatiently on the lawn. Suddenly, he could hear a chuffing noise, and, looking round him, he saw a column of smoke arise from the distance. "Ah, good!" he thought. Then, with a more malicious expression, he thought "Goodbye, molehill!" The steam-roller lumbered straight onto the lawn, and stopped right in front of Lord Emsworth, who surveyed the steam-roller with great impression. This steam-roller was of a brand new design. A design fresh from the factory… "Well, 'ere's the steam-roller, Guv'nor," said the driver, clearly delighted to find a man so interested in steam-rollers, "Now, if ye can jerst show me which area wants…OI!" The driver's expression quickly changed from joy to fury. This man was the worst type of criminal in the driver's vocabulary.
He was a steam-roller hijacker!
Lord Emsworth was so impressed by this new design of steam-roller, and was so fond of new toys, that he couldn't contain himself any longer. He had thrust the ten pounds note into the driver's hand, and was climbing up onto the cabin amidst cries of "Hoi, that's my steam-roller, not yer's!" and foot-grabbing, which he managed to shake off violently. Lord Emsworth was soon up where the controls for the steam-roller where. "How do I get this blasted thing started up?" he thought, as he lifted up two levers. This started the steam-roller, and Lord Emsworth then discovered he had just made the biggest mistake he had made that week! He had just taken control of a steam-roller, without a clue on how to drive it "Where's the brakes?" he thought, panicking. He then saw a huge wheel. "Ah, these must be the brakes", he thought with relief. He turned the wheel…and saw that instead of stopping, the steam-roller was heading straight for the castle! He turned what he now discovered was the steering wheel again, and this time, it jammed! Lord Emsworth was now heading straight for the gardens! He tried desperately to pull at a long cable hanging from the ceiling, which was the whistle, but it broke off in his hands!
Meanwhile, in his cabin, McAllister, a red-headed man with a beard, lay upright in bed reading The Signalman, a story he'd heard of by an author called Charles Dickens. He was clearly on the mend, and felt that, if he had enough strength later on, he might take a walk around the gardens. Or at least he would've, if Lord Emsworth hadn't come crashing past the cabin, destroying half of it, as he went. McAllister wasn't hurt (he was in the undamaged half of his cabin!) but he wasn't a man who liked people to enter his hut without permission, to enter in on a steam-roller, and then destroy the entire kitchen, half of the bathroom, and half of his bedroom. He jumped out of bed, clearly hopping mad! " 'Aye, you, he called after the steam-roller, "Jus' you come back here and paye fer yer damage, ya blithering idiot!"(He didn't know Lord Emsworth was driving the steam-roller!)
Back aboard the steam-roller, Lord Emsworth was in a state of panic worthy of a hedgehog on a road. Desperately, he tried pulling this and that, but nothing seemed to make the steam-roller come to a halt, and, hot on his heels and making their way through the trail of wreckage, came a peculiar crowd consisting of bed-ridden head gardener, steam-roller driver, butler and valet, for Jeeves, having just arrived, had witnessed the steam-roller crush half of a cabin, and saw a mad chase had already started, so he decided to see if he could be of any help in catching the runaway vehicle. The steam roller chuffed towards a steep embankment. This led down into a muddy stream. Lord Emsworth saw this, and desperately turned the steering wheel, and at last, it worked, but instead of turning away from the embankment, Lord Emsworth had accidentally directed the steam-roller down into the stream. The great machine crashed through the garden fence, slithered down the slope, and landed in the stream and hit the tree opposite with such force that Lord Emsworth was thrown off the foot-plate and into the stream.
The peculiar-looking crowd were soon to catch up with a mud-splattered Lord Emsworth. First came Angus McAllister and an irate driver. They both complained to him at the same time, with things like 'Noo, see here, yer Lorrudship, I appreciate ya wanting me back on mah feet quickleh, but y'ave gotta understand it is rude te go aboot crushing other peeple's homes!' and 'Now, jerst y' look at the damage y'ave done to my steam-roller, Guv'nor. I'm not paying fer a dented funnel, nor am I paying t'get the blasted thing out!' This conversation would've gone on for much longer, and Lord Emsworth would've gone into a nervous breakdown, had Jeeves not interrupted the conversation. 'Beg pardon, gentlemen', he said politely, but with the air of one who does not wish to be interrupted, 'I think I should take it upon myself to make the apologies.' 'What 'ave yeh got te do wit' this matter?' McAllister asked irritably. 'I am a film presenter. Reginald Jeeves is my name. I was thinking of making a documentary for the BBC about the history of road-power, and I asked Lord Emsworth to drive the steam-roller, little knowing that he hadn't the faintest idea on how to do it. I forgot to ask if he was any good at driving steam-rollers. What is more, gentlemen, I have just heard that the rest of the film crew have been held up by a broken down engine at the railway station, and was just coming up to the castle to tell Lord Emsworth, having quite forgot that I had asked for the steam roller to come in the morning.'
'But wot about that molehill I was instructed t'bring down?'
'I can only assume, gentlemen, that, when Lord Emsworth's butler made the telephone call, he must've managed to get the instructions mixed up with demands for one of the gardeners to bring down a molehill on the lawn, and anyway, the mole would've probably moved away from this lawn. Moles have excellent hearing, so hopefully the noise from the steam-roller would've been audible enough to persuade the mole to evacuate the lawn.'
'Oh, well, if it's all the same t'ye, Guv'nor,' said the driver to Lord Emsworth, in a more polite term, 'I was on the promise that I would get payed for me troubles.' 'Yes, yes, yes!' Lord Emsworth snapped, thrusting ten pounds into the driver's outstretched hand, and taking charge of the situation. 'Beech,' he barked to his butler, now standing by the wreckage, 'arrange for the breakdown service to haul the steam-roller out of the stream, and for some builders to come and put up the fence and to rebuild McAllister's cabin.' 'Very good, sir', Beech replied, obediently. 'And get all the gardeners to tidy up the garden.' Lord Emsworth called after them.
That afternoon saw the gardens of Blandings as the busiest of gardens you'd ever see. Two men from the building company were putting up a new fence around the lawn and the gardens. A mobile crane, aided by two passing Traction Engines, was pulling the steam-roller out of the stream, and took it away to be mended, and all the gardeners that could be found in the castle, except for Angus McAllister, who was instructing some more men on how to rebuild his cabin, were pulling up plant-stalks, disposing of any destroyed plants and broken wood, and covering over the steam-roller tracks with dirt and fresh gravel, and right in the middle of it all was Lord Emsworth, dictating orders on what to do and where to go, while at his side was Jeeves, silently observing everything with a watchful eye. When they had finished, Lord Emsworth paid the builders for repairing the cabin and the fence, and the men who had delivered the gravel. No one needed to have told him that he had paid a shilling more than he owed them, which was fifteen pounds in total, for he was so desperate to make a good impression on Bertie Wooster, that he was in a state in which money was no object.
The next morning, a wiry figure with brown hair, and a suit that matched his hair colour was striding up to Blandings Castle. When introduced to Lord Emsworth by Beech as Bertram Wooster, the newcomer received a warm welcome, and proceeded to dine with Lord Emsworth, Jeeves and Percy (who, as Lord Emsworth was so keen to make a good impression on Wooster, was allowed in on sole proviso that he remained well behaved!), in the grand dining room, before heading off on a walk around the gardens, which was fortunately now mole-hill-free, for what Jeeves had said about the hearing of the moles. 'I couldn't help but notice, Emsworth', said Wooster as they were walking along the gardens, 'that when I asked a man on a steam-roller where Blandings Castle was, he gave me the directions, while his face was filled with one of dread, as though he were saying something illegal, and I also saw what looked like the wreckage of a steam-roller in the town garage'. 'I can't think why, Wooster.' Lord Emsworth lied, for he could guess why the man's face was filled with dread only too well. Just then, Jeeves walked over to them, with something of a look that was crossed between seriousness and triumph. 'Please, Lord Emsworth, there is a telephone call from the BBC, and the building company, about your accident with a steam-roller, yesterday. I recommend you respond at once, sir, they are rather furious and would prefer if you attend to them at once, sir.' 'Oh!' Lord Emsworth's face fell in dismay. He walked off, thinking how he would ever get out of this, seemingly never-ending nightmare that all started with that blasted mole-hill. Wooster watched the retreating figure of Lord Emsworth with some interest head back into the house. Then he turned round to face Jeeves. 'I say, Jeeves,' he started, before looking once more at the house, then turning back and asking, 'what-what happened yesterday?'
In the hallway, Lord Emsworth calmly put the telephone down. He had had trouble with the BBC, and the building company. The BBC were sure that they had not asked for a documentary on the history of road-vehicles, and the building company threatened to sue him if he didn't pay for the damage for the steam-roller. Both of them demanded him to pay them fifty pounds each! Lord Emsworth had to agree to their payments and informed them that he would make cheques out to them as soon as possible. He walked slowly away from the phone, saying nothing, but had a blank, distant expression on him, the type of one that you get when you are at a loss for words.
It was unfortunate that Freddie should then pass by, having returned unsuccessful from his important excursion. 'Ah, hullo, Guv'nor', he started sheepishly, 'I'm afraid that I'm having a bit of bother with my hotel bill, and I've bet a bit of the green stuff on the Shrewsbury Smashers cricket team winning their tournament today, with a rather large sum, and they unfortunately lost, so I was wondering if…' He got no further. While he was explaining his current predicament, the words bill and bit of bother had circulated around Lord Emsworth's head, proving enough to bring him back to earth with a very nasty bump! This was all too much for him. He knew only too well what Freddie was meaning.
'So, that's why the driver gave me a look of disgust!' exclaimed Wooster once Jeeves had finished his story. 'Yes, sir,' Jeeves replied. 'I fear that Lord Emsworth is having a bit of a financial difficulty, with the BBC and the building company. I had to pretend I was a director of a documentary to save him from getting in a scrap.' 'Well, Jeeves', exclaimed Wooster proudly, 'it seems you have once again used one of your brilliant corkers to save the day. I wouldn't have any other valet for the world.' 'Thank you, sir', Jeeves grinned, but his attention was soon turned to a smashing sound coming from the house. The two men turned and saw, to their astonishment, Freddie Threepwood running away from the house, while Lord Emsworth was chasing after him, hell-bent on revenge, and shouting about things like blots in the family and first attacking people at night then landing them with bills for hotels and gambling, and at the same time, throwing pots, pans and food at him, as they raced towards the fence, over the stream and out of sight.