from her seat and addressed Mr. Fink-Nottle in terms of
strong protest."

"Did Gussie seem taken aback? Did he recede from his position?"

"No, sir. He said that he could see it all now, and hinted at a guilty
liaison between Master Simmons's mother and the head master, accusing the
latter of having cooked the marks, as his expression was, in order to
gain favour with the former."

"You don't mean that?"

"Yes, sir."

"Egad, Jeeves! And then----"

"They sang the national anthem, sir."

"Surely not?"

"Yes, sir."

"At a moment like that?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, you were there and you know, of course, but I should have thought
the last thing Gussie and this woman would have done in the circs. would
have been to start singing duets."

"You misunderstand me, sir. It was the entire company who sang. The head
master turned to the organist and said something to him in a low tone.
Upon which the latter began to play the national anthem, and the
proceedings terminated."

"I see. About time, too."

"Yes, sir. Mrs. Simmons's attitude had become unquestionably menacing."

I pondered. What I had heard was, of course, of a nature to excite pity
and terror, not to mention alarm and despondency, and it would be
paltering with the truth to say that I was pleased about it. On the other
hand, it was all over now, and it seemed to me that the thing to do was
not to mourn over the past but to fix the mind on the bright future. I
mean to say, Gussie might have lowered the existing Worcestershire record
for goofiness and definitely forfeited all chance of becoming Market
Snodsbury's favourite son, but you couldn't get away from the fact that
he had proposed to Madeline Bassett, and you had to admit that she had
accepted him.

I put this to Jeeves.

"A frightful exhibition," I said, "and one which will very possibly ring
down history's pages. But we must not forget, Jeeves, that Gussie, though
now doubtless looked upon in the neighbourhood as the world's worst
freak, is all right otherwise."

"No, sir."

I did not get quite this.

"When you say 'No, sir,' do you mean 'Yes, sir'?"

"No, sir. I mean 'No, sir.'"

"He is not all right otherwise?"

"No, sir."

"But he's betrothed."

"No longer, sir. Miss Bassett has severed the engagement."

"You don't mean that?"

"Yes, sir."

I wonder if you have noticed a rather peculiar thing about this
chronicle. I allude to the fact that at one time or another practical