If there were a gentleman's gentleman in my employ, he would right now be packing my case.

Vacation beckons, and there is packing to be done. Books first, of course, and then some clothes, for padding. So I'll simply share a couple of short passages from P. G. Wodehouse's Aunts Aren't Gentlemen (1974). First, a pleasant surprise, which comes when Bertie is confronted by the angry father of a girl who's just eloped:

"Pfui," I said. It is an expression I don't often use, but Nero Wolfe is always saying it with excellent results, and it seemed to fit in rather well here.

It's obvious to any reader of Rex Stout's novels that he was a fan of Wodehouse, but I hadn't known that the admiration was reciprocated.

Then there's this exchange, which occurs on the last page of the novel--the last novel Wodehouse would complete:

"Jeeves," I said, my philosophical mood now buzzing along on all twelve cylinders. "Do you ever brood on life?"

"Occasionally, sir, when at leisure."

"What do you make of it? Pretty odd in spots, don't you think?"

"It might be so described, sir."

"This business of such-and-such seeming to be so-and-so, when it really isn't so-and-so at all. You follow me?"

"Not entirely, sir."

But eventually Bertie makes him understand. Jeeves always understands.

Spotty posting ahead, but things should be roughly back to normal by mid-August. Thanks for reading.