tus Fink-Nottle must be induced to
throw off the shackling inhibitions of the past and fuel up. It must be a
primed, confident Fink-Nottle who squared up to the Bassett for Round No.
2.

Only so could the _Morning Post_ make its ten bob, or whatever it is, for
printing the announcement of the forthcoming nuptials.

Having arrived at this conclusion I found the rest easy, and by the time
Jeeves brought me my tea I had evolved a plan complete in every detail.
This I was about to place before him--indeed, I had got as far as the
preliminary "I say, Jeeves"--when we were interrupted by the arrival of
Tuppy.

He came listlessly into the room, and I was pained to observe that a
night's rest had effected no improvement in the unhappy wreck's
appearance. Indeed, I should have said, if anything, that he was looking
rather more moth-eaten than when I had seen him last. If you can
visualize a bulldog which has just been kicked in the ribs and had its
dinner sneaked by the cat, you will have Hildebrand Glossop as he now
stood before me.

"Stap my vitals, Tuppy, old corpse," I said, concerned, "you're looking
pretty blue round the rims."

Jeeves slid from the presence in that tactful, eel-like way of his, and I
motioned the remains to take a seat.

"What's the matter?" I said.

He came to anchor on the bed, and for awhile sat picking at the coverlet
in silence.

"I've been through hell, Bertie."

"Through where?"

"Hell."

"Oh, hell? And what took you there?"

Once more he became silent, staring before him with sombre eyes.
Following his gaze, I saw that he was looking at an enlarged photograph
of my Uncle Tom in some sort of Masonic uniform which stood on the
mantelpiece. I've tried to reason with Aunt Dahlia about this photograph
for years, placing before her two alternative suggestions: (a) To burn
the beastly thing; or (b) if she must preserve it, to shove me in
another room when I come to stay. But she declines to accede. She says
it's good for me. A useful discipline, she maintains, teaching me that
there is a darker side to life and that we were not put into this world
for pleasure only.

"Turn it to the wall, if it hurts you, Tuppy," I said gently.

"Eh?"

"That photograph of Uncle Tom as the bandmaster."

"I didn't come here to talk about photographs. I came for sympathy."

"And you shall have it. What's the trouble? Worrying about Angela, I
suppose? Well, have no fear. I have another well-laid plan