My Man Jeeves

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General Books LLC, Aug 23, 2012 - Fiction - 50 pages
Excerpt: ...him sitting alone in a dark corner, staring glassily at nothing, and generally looking like the last rose of summer, you can understand I was quite disturbed about it. As a rule, the old rotter is the life and soul of our set. Quite the little lump of fun, and all that sort of thing. Jimmy Pinkerton was with me at the time. Jimmy's a fellow who writes plays-a deuced brainy sort of fellow-and between us we set to work to question the poor pop-eyed chappie, until finally we got at what the matter was. As we might have guessed, it was a girl. He had had a quarrel with Angela West, the girl he was engaged to, and she had broken off the engagement. What the row had been about he didn't say, but apparently she was pretty well fed up. She wouldn't let him come near her, refused to talk on the phone, and sent back his letters unopened. I was sorry for poor old Freddie. I knew what it felt like. I was once in love myself with a girl called Elizabeth Shoolbred, and the fact that she couldn't stand me at any price will be recorded in my autobiography. I knew the thing for Freddie. "Change of scene is what you want, old scout," I said. "Come with me to Marvis Bay. I've taken a cottage there. Jimmy's coming down on the twenty-fourth. We'll be a cosy party." "He's absolutely right," said Jimmy. "Change of scene's the thing. I knew a man. Girl refused him. Man went abroad. Two months later girl wired him, 'Come back. Muriel.' Man started to write out a reply; suddenly found that he couldn't remember girl's surname; so never answered at all." But Freddie wouldn't be comforted. He just went on looking as if he had swallowed his last sixpence. However, I got him to promise to come to Marvis Bay with me. He said he might as well be there as anywhere. Do you know Marvis Bay? It's in Dorsetshire. It isn't what you'd call a fiercely exciting spot, but it has its good points. You spend the day there bathing and sitting on the sands, and in the evening you stroll out on...

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About the author (2012)

P. G. Wodehouse was born in 1881. His father was a magistrate in Hong Kong and his mother was staying with a sister in Guildford when he was born. The infant Wodehouse returned with her to Hong Kong, but was shipped back to England with his older brothers two years later to be brought up by a nanny. Wodehouse went to school at Dulwich College, where he did well at cricket. At first he worked hard at his studies, but when he discovered that there would not be enough money to send him to university, his attention drifted. After leaving school, he worked briefly at the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank in London. He had begun writing at the age of seven and so began contributing to numerous papers and magazines. Wodehouse had published his first book by 1902. He made his first trip to America in 1904 and by 1909 was coming regularly. By the 1920s he was earning $100,000 a year from his books and his work in the theater. In 1929, he went to Hollywood, where he was paid $2000 a week to be a rewrite man. In 1934, partly to escape tax authorities, Wodehouse and his wife bought a villa in Le Touquet on the coast of France. In 1939, Oxford gave him an honorary degree, the same year World War II began. The Wodehouses were still there the next year, when the Germans rolled through, appropriating the villa, confiscating property, and arresting Wodehouse. Wodehouse was in various German camps for about a year; he was released in 1941 just shy of his sixtieth birthday and was allowed to go to Berlin. It was there that he recorded five radio talks to be broadcast to America and England. The talks themselves were completely innocuous, but the response back home was betrayed. No one ever forgot the radio talks, even though Wodehouse was cleared of any propoganda. After the war, Wodehouse settled permanently in America, first in New York City, then in Remsenburg, Long Island. He was awarded a knighthood in 1975, two months before he died Wodehouse is widely regarded as one of the greatest humorists of the 20th century, and and wrote nearly 100 novels and collections of short stories, as well as plays, musicals and song lyrics. He died on February 14, 1975 at 93 years of age.

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