Jeeves and Wooster (1990–1993): Season 1, Episode 4 - How Does Gussie Woo Madeline? (or, Hunger Strike) - full transcript

Oi! Change!

Oh, thank you so very much.

Thank you.

Thank you!

Good morning, Mr Wooster.

- What? What's the time?
- Ten past nine, sir.

Ten past nine!

ls the building on fire?

Not that l've been informed, sir, no.

Mr Fink-Nottle is here to see you, sir.

Jeeves...



l'm not awake. l've not had my tea,
and yet you bring me Fink-Nottles.

ls this a time for any kind of Nottle?

The gentleman did say it was urgent, sir.

Yes, well, he lives in the country. He gets
overstimulated when he's in London.

Tell him l'll see him
at the Drones at 12:00.

Very good, sir.

Taxi! Ta...

- l'm terribly sorry. Are you all right?
- No, it's all right, happens all the time.

Drones Club, Dover Street, please.

- (Door opens)
- Mrs Travers to see you, sir.

Tell Mrs Travers l'm out,
and l'll deal with her in the morning.

Bertie! You old ass!
Wake up! lt's time you were dressed.

l've got a job for you.

Does your master
always lie about like this, Jeeves?



Mr Wooster was detained
at a business meeting

until late last evening.

Business meeting?

How do you mean a job?
Why a job? What sort of job?

You'll enjoy it. You've heard of
Market Snodsbury Grammar School?

- Never.
- A grammar school. Market Snodsbury.

The prize-giving takes place
next Wednesday.

Thank you, Jeeves.

You are going to give away the prizes.

Me?

What, do you mean me give prizes?

l mean you give prizes.

The vicar was going to do it,

but he's strained a fetlock
and he's had to scratch.

No, Aunt Dahlia. No, no, no, no.

What, me give prizes,
make a speech? Ha! Ha-ha-ha!

Don't start gargling now. This is serious.

l was laughing, derisively.

- Well, don't!
- Well, no, l will not do it.

That's final. l simply will not do it.

You will do it, young Bertie.

Or you'll never darken my doors again,
and you know what that means.

No more of Anatole's dinners for you.

Oh, now, look here!

No, not another bite
of Anatole's cooking do you get

if you refuse this simple,
easy, pleasant job.

But you have to be a frightful nib
to give away prizes.

When l was at school it was
some Prime Minister or other.

Well, that was Eton! At Market Snodsbury

anyone in spats impresses us.

Why don't you get Uncle Tom?
He's got spats.

Because, Bertie, quite soon now
l've got to sidle up to Uncle Tom

and break the news that
l need a cheque for ?500 off him.

For Milady's Boudoir.

By August 3rd at the latest.

The Boudoir on the rocks again, is it?

Until you have run
a weekly woman's magazine,

you don't know what rocks are.

You remember me losing
all that money at baccarat in Cannes?

Don't l just!
The casino wanted to put up a plaque.

That wasn't Uncle Tom's money, surely?

No, but it was money he'd given me
to pay Milady's Boudoir's bills.

Oh, lor!

So if you think that l'm going to ask him

to put on the top hat and the lavender
gloves and distribute prizes

at the Market Snodsbury
Grammar School...

Yes, l see what you mean.

l shall give you today

to set your affairs in order, and expect
you at Brinkley Court tomorrow.

You'll enjoy it! Ha-ha-ha!

l can't understand Gussie Fink-Nottle
being in London, Jeeves.

Until now he's remained glued to
the country, surrounded by newts.

- Morning, Jarvis.
- Good morning, sir.

Newts, Jeeves. Those lizardy things
that charge about in ponds.

Yes, sir. The aquatic members
of the family salamandridae,

- that constitute the genus molga.
- Yes, they're the chaps.

Anyway, he used to keep them at school.

Young gentlemen frequently do, sir.

He retired to the depths of the country

and gave up his life
to these dumb chums.

l suppose he thought he could
take them or leave them alone,

- and then he found he couldn't.
- lt's often the way, sir.

- Morning, Molly.
- Morning, sir.

He didn't say what he wanted, did he?

He confided in me to the extent that
he's enamoured of a young lady,

but that she makes him nervous, sir.

Well, are we surprised?
You look at the life he's lead.

l don't suppose he's even spoken
to a girl in five years.

What a lesson this is to us, Jeeves.

ln life you can shut yourself up in
a country house and stare at a newt tank,

or you can be a dasher with the sex.
But you can't do both!

lt's a sad reflection, sir.

Did Gussie mention this girl's name?

She's a Miss Bassett, sir.
Miss Madeline Bassett.

Well, l'm dashed.
l'm positively dashed, Jeeves.

lndeed, sir?
ls she an acquaintance of yours?

Absolutely. Her father is the beak
who fined me five pounds.

l must confess, Jeeves,
until you told me this,

l had definite doubts about Gussie's
chances. But now hope begins to dawn.

He's the sort of chap
Madeline might scoop up with a spoon.

This is indeed good news, sir.

l wouldn't go so far as to say
she actually writes poetry,

but when a girl suddenly asks you
out of a clear blue sky

if you don't think that
the stars are God's daisy chain,

well, you do begin to wonder, Jeeves.

lndeed, sir.

- Yeuw!
- Howzat!

Not out, l'm afraid.

ln by a mile.

Ahem! What ho, Gussie.

Oh, hello, Bertie.

So, what's all this about you
and Madeline Bassett?

- l didn't know you knew her.
- l didn't. Not until l met her.

She was staying near my place
in Lincolnshire the week before last.

Her dog had got a thorn in its foot
and l got it out for her.

So, love at first sight, eh?

Yes. Oh, Bertie!

Life would be so much simpler
if we were newts!

Yes, well, l've said the same thing myself
a hundred times.

Do you know
how the male newt proposes, Bertie?

He stands before the female newt,

vibrating his tail and bending his body
in a semi-circle.

- No!
- Yes. Like this...

Well, it's a change
from champagne and flowers.

- Now, Gussie...
- l say! l say!

lt's time someone came up
with something better than the foxtrot!

Ha-ha-ha-ha! This'll turn a few heads
at Quag's tonight!

Madeline has gone to stay in
the country. l don't know what to do!

Well, follow her, of course.

l can't plonk myself
on a lot of perfect strangers.

- Ah, so you don't know these people?
- Their name is Travers.

At Brinkley Court, in Worcestershire.

Gussie, your troubles are at an end.

This very afternoon you will travel down
to Brinkley Court as an honoured guest.

You don't mean you know
these Traverses?

''They'' are my Aunt Dahlia.

But what do l do when l get there?

lf you knew Brinkley Court,
you wouldn't ask that.

The place is soggy with atmosphere.
l've got engaged three times at Brinkley.

- Really?
- No business resulted, of course, but...

- the fact remains...
- Thank you so much, Bertie.

''On consulting engagement book,
deeply regret am unable to come down,

''so am sending
my friend Augustus Fink...''

- Nottle.
- ''Nottle, to enjoy your hospitality.

''He's well-known in Lincolnshire
as distributor of school prizes,

''so there isn't any need
for me now, is there?

''Toodle-oo, your loving nephew, Bertie.''

- Excellent!
- Heave-ho, Gussie!

# 47 ginger-headed sailors

# You can bet you're going to hear them
when they hail us #

l stake everything on propinquity,
Jeeves.

At the moment, Gussie is
a mere jelly when in the presence,

but ask yourself how he'll feel in a week,

after he and she have been taking
sausages out of the same dish

day after day at the breakfast sideboard.

- Golly, Jeeves!
- Sir.

An instance of
how you have to think of everything.

- You heard me mention sausages?
- Sausages. Yes, sir.

Take down a telegram, Jeeves.

l must warn Gussie without delay.

He has to create the impression to this
girl that he's pining away for love of her.

This cannot be done
by wolfing down sausages.

- Ready?
- lndeed, sir.

''Fink-Nottle, Brinkley Court,
Market Snodsbury.

''Lay off the sausages. Bertie.''

Very good, sir.

No, no, wait a sec.
''PS. Also avoid the ham.''

Yes, that should do it.

Ahem.

l say, Jeeves, as a matter of interest,
what are you doing?

l merely ask.

l'm sorting through these clothes, sir.

These are for repair,
and these for discarding.

Wait a second...

This white mess jacket is brand new!

l assume it had got
into your wardrobe by mistake, sir.

Or else that it had been placed there
by your enemies.

l will have you know, Jeeves,
that l bought this in Cannes.

- And wore it, sir?
- Every night. At the casino.

Beautiful women used to
try and to catch my eye.

Presumably they thought
you were a waiter, sir.

Now, look here, Jeeves...

(Door bell)
- Excuse me, sir.

Telegram for Mr Wooster.

- Telegram for you, sir.
- Well, read it, Jeeves, read it.

''Deeply regret, my foot! Consider
your conduct the frozen limit.

''What do you mean by planting
your loathsome friends on me like this?

''Who is this Spink-Bottle?

''Deeply regret Brinkley Court
a hundred miles from London,

''as unable to hit you with brick.

''Come this instant.
Angela broken off engagement

''with your other friend, Glossop.
Love, Travers.''

- l say, Jeeves.
- Sir.

My cousin Angela has broken off
her engagement with Tuppy Glossop.

So l gather, sir.

Well, we shall have to go down there
at once. Aunt Dahlia is all of a twitter

- and my place is at her side.
- Very good, sir.

This comes as a great shock, Jeeves.

Tuppy and Angela. Why, it always
seemed like the paper on the wall.

Life is full of sadness, Jeeves.

Yes, sir.

Still, there it is.

What is it about uncles and aunts,
Jeeves?

- l really couldn't say, sir.
- l mean, with one's parents,

after a few preliminary skirmishes
over sago pudding and stewed rhubarb,

one settles down to a sort of amicable,
if humdrum relationship.

- But aunts, Jeeves...
- Very true, sir.

They don't even know
the word 'humdrum'.

Amongst the grim regimen of my aunts,
Aunt Dahlia stands alone

as a real sportsman.
l mean, look at my Aunt Agatha.

lndeed, sir, yes.

- And Aunt Julia!
- Quite, sir.

And Aunt Charlotte! Oh!

She sent me that rather bitter postcard
of Little Chilbury War Memorial

when l refused to take her awful child
to lunch on the way back to school.

Aunts are noted for
their strong opinions, sir.

lt's a distinguishing mark of the breed.

But it's the things they say, Jeeves.

Aunt calling to aunt like mastodons
bellowing across primeval swamps.

But swamP ur nu swamP, Jeeves,
we must hie us tu Brinkley Cuurt.

We have a duty tu Cuusin Angela.

A cuusin in need is a cuusin indeed.

Very true, sir.

(Horn hoots)

Hello, Bertie.

Oh, Angela, old thing.

- Mummy's in the library.
- Right.

Hello, Aunt Dahlia.

Ah, Bertie. Anatole and l were just going
over his wonderful menu for dinner.

For you, Mr Wooster, l add a dish.

Your favourite -
my timbale de riz de veau toulousaine.

Will it on, Anatole, old friend, will it on!

Oh, l will it, Monsieur Wooster,
have no fright!

Right-ho. Mm.

- Bertie...
- Dearest A.

Oh, Bertie, decent of you to rally round.

l don't know whether
l'm on my head or my heels.

lt's a bad show,
my dear old flesh and blood.

When Tom finds out that that blasted
Glossop is making Angela unhappy,

he'll very likely blow a gasket.

The trouble is, Tom's just had a demand
from the income tax people

for an additional ?58 1 s 3d.

He says he's ruined,
and what will become of us all,

under the iron heel of the red menace?

lf it weren't for Anatole's cooking,
l doubt if he'd bother to carry on.

- What did Angela and Tuppy row about?
- Sharks.

Or, rather, one particular shark.

You remember that brute
that went for the poor child

- when she was aquaplaning in Cannes?
- Oh, that shark. l remember talk of it.

Well, Angela was telling
the story last night,

her eyes shining, her little hands clasped
in girlish excitement.

And what do you think
that blasted Glossop did?

He sat there, listening,
like a lump of dough,

and when she finished he said,
''Probably a flatfish. Quite harmless.

''No doubt he was just trying to play.''

- Oh, l say...
- Exactly. l mean, Angela has pride.

She's sensitive.

She told him he was a fool, an idiot, and
didn't know what he was talking about.

Strong words.
Yes, l can see why you needed me.

Yes. Or, rather, not you...

- but Jeeves.
- Jeeves?

That wonderful brain of his.

No, no, no, no.
Aunt Dahlia, l'm sorry, no.

But Jeeves is not the only one with
a brain. On this occasion, l am your man.

What ho, Tuppy.

Oh, hello, Bertie.

You've heard of this business,
l suppose, me and Angela?

Yes, some little friction, l gather,
in re Angela's shark.

Angela had been most offensive,
the little squirt.

l merely seized the opportunity
to get a bit of my own back.

- Offensive?
- Most offensive!

Just because l let fall a casual remark

that l wondered
what Anatole was giving us for dinner,

she said l ought not to be
always thinking about food.

But you still love her, don't you?

l'm not saying l don't love her,
little blighter.

l mean, l love her passionately, but...

That doesn't alter my opinion that what
she needs most is a kick in the pants.

- Tuppy, old man!
- lt's no good saying, ''Tuppy, old man!''

Well, l do say, ''Tuppy, old man!''

One is shocked.
One raises the eyebrows.

Where is the fine old chivalrous spirit
of the Glossops?

Well, where is the sweet, gentle,
womanly spirit of the Angelas?

Telling a chap he's getting a double chin!

Be fair, Tuppy.

Remember the time you said her new hat
made her look like a Pekinese?

Yes, well...
lt did make her look like a Pekinese.

But that wasn't vulgar abuse,

just sound, constructive criticism.

Well, the only way to work the thing
might be to tip her off in an indirect way

that l'm prepared to open negotiations.

Tuppy, l've got it!

There is one infallible method
of indicating to a girl that you love her.

- Don't eat any dinner tonight.
- What?

lt would be impressive.
She knows how devoted you are to food.

- l am not devoted to food!
- No, no, no, no, of course not.

All l meant was that if she sees you
push your dinner away untasted,

she will realise your heart is aching,
and she'll suggest blowing the all-clear.

Look, l have a healthy appetite, that's all!

Food, qua food, means nothing to me.

No, no, no, no, of course not, no.

- Push away a dinner cooked by Anatole?
- That's right.

- lt's pretty extreme, that.
- The extremer the better.

- lt will be agony.
- Well, not for long.

You can always slip down tonight when
everyone's in bed and raid the larder.

Oh, yes. Yes...

- l see. l could, couldn't l?
- Yes.

l expect there's something cold there.

There is something cold there.
Steak-and-kidney pie.

We had it for lunch today.

One of Anatole's ripest. Ohh...

lt was a masterly pie, Bertie,
you should have seen it.

Not too much kidney,
just enough to give it that touch of bite.

And lashings of steak. Good steak, too...

- Tuppy!
- What?

Oh, right. Yes, right.

Pushed away it shall be.

Terrific idea, Bertie.

# Bom-pa-bom, da-dee-dum

# Da-dee-da-da

# La-ta-tee, da-da-dee-dum

# Bom-pa-bom, ya-dee-da #

Thank you, Jeeves.

Psst!

Psst!

Psssst!

What ho, Gussie!

l like your nerve! Bounding about
the place, saying, ''What ho, Gussie!''

lt was a dastardly act to crawl out of the
prize-giving act and shove it off on me.

My dear old Gussie, just think
of what it's going to do for you.

You'll be up on the platform,
an impressive figure,

the what-you-may-call-it of all eyes.

Madeline will see you
in a totally new light.

- Oh, will she?
- Course she will.

Fink-Nottle, the newt's friend, she
knows.

Fink-Nottle, the dog's chiropodist,
she also knows.

But Fink-Nottle the orator, the man
of affairs, it'll knock her sideways.

- Do you think so?
- Sure of it.

l suppose it might be all right.

But she seems so aloof, Bertie,
so remote.

Especially when l see her sideways.

Have you ever seen her sideways,
Bertie?

That cold, pure profile?
lt just takes all the heart out of one.

Yes, well,
she needs to be softened up, sweetened.

l've been thinking.
You'll be pleased to hear l have a plan.

# Mm-mm mm-mm-mm

# Mm-mm hm-mm-mm

# Ba-bee-da-dee dum-bugh

# Ba dee-da-dum #

Be so good, Jeeves,

as to shove that black thing
back in the wardrobe

and bring me my white mess jacket
with the brass buttons.

Oh, good heavens, sir.
lt was most remiss of me, but l fear

- l omitted to pack the garment.
- l know you did, Jeeves.

But l didn't.

You'll find it in the other wardrobe.

Very good, sir.

The rift between Tuppy and my cousin
Angela appears to be serious, Jeeves.

lndeed, sir.

Well, l've had
rather a stunning idea, Jeeves.

l've been in conference with Mr Glossop,
and everything is taped out.

lndeed, sir.

Jeeves, l'm sure
nothing is further from your mind,

but you have
a way of saying, ''lndeed, sir,''

which indicates that
only a feudal sense of what is fitting

prevents you from substituting,
''Says you!''

- l'm distressed to hear this, sir.
- So you should be.

- Corrected.
- Very good, sir.

You'll be glad to hear l have taken steps
re Tuppy and Angela.

- lndeed, sir.
- Jeeves...

Sorry, sir. Please continue.

Right, this is the plan. l recommended to
Tuppy that at dinner he lay off the food.

- Sir?
- Tut, Jeeves!

Have you forgotten
the telegram to Fink-Nottle,

steering him away from
the sausages and ham?

This is more of the same thing.

Pushing away the scoff
is a recognised sign of love.

- Nothing elaborate, you see.
- No, sir.

Nothing strange or bizarre or far-fetched,
just nature's remedy.

lt cannot fail to bring home the gravy,
surely you must see that.

- Well, sir...
- You don't think my scheme will work?

l fear Miss Angela may merely attribute
Mr Glossop's abstinence to indigestion.

l say, Jeeves.
l've just had another thought.

- Oh, l am relieved, sir.
- Help me on with the jacket, Jeeves.

Erm, which way up does it go, sir?

Tom!

You're not starting on about money
for your magazine again, are you?

What are you doing with that gun?

What? Oh, l heard someone
creeping around outside last night.

Tonight l'll be ready for them.

l forbid you to play around with that gun.

- Blast it, Dahlia...
- Not another word, Tom.

l forbid it!

You know you always shoot
the wrong people.

What do you think you're made up as?

What, the jacket, you mean?

You look like one of the chorus
in Act two of a touring musical comedy.

- Tut!
- What did you say?

- l said ''tut''!
- Say it again and l'll biff you.

l have enough to endure
without being tutted at.

Well, quite.

Any tutting that's required, l'll do myself.

My dear old aunt, your troubles are over.

The Wooster brain has shifted
into top gear once more.

Oh, no! What have l done
to deserve this?

There is only one course
for you to pursue.

You must go on the Wooster Diet.

The Wooster Diet? What is all this drivel?

No, no, this is the real Tabasco.

All you have to do is
to refuse your oats at dinner tonight.

Just sit there looking blistered,

and wave away each course
with a weary gesture of resignation.

Why? Why should l?

Because l'm prepared to bet, aged A,
that at the conclusion of dinner,

Uncle Tom will come up to you
and he will say, ''Dahlia, darling...''

l take it he calls you Dahlia?

''Dahlia, darling, l noticed that at dinner
you were off your feed.

ls anything wrong, darling?''

These Travers's sound a pretty soppy
couple of blighters to me.

''ls there anything
that l can do, Dahlia darling?''

To which you will reply,
''Yes, there jolly well is.''

''Vis, reach for the chequebook
and start writing.''

Bertie, that's positively bright.

When did Jeeves think it up?

l'll have you know, Aunt Dahlia,

that this scheme is
100%"" Wooster brain material.

- lt's bound to work.
- Do you know, l think it might.

l'll do it.

l'm dreading sitting
opposite Glossop, Madeline.

Oh, poor Angela,
are you still upset about Tuppy?

- Love is such a heartbreak, isn't it?
- Heartbreak? l'm boiling mad!

The man is a blithering oaf!

Oh! lt's magnifique!

Tonight will be
the top of Anatole's career.

(Tom) Can't keep a penny nowadays.
Tax on this,

tax on that, income tax.
No doubt we'll all be paupers!

l said to Dahlia, only the other day,

they begrudge you
the very food you put in your mouth.

Then there was that clown Harold,
messing about at Hastings

when he should have been
at Westminster cutting taxes.

You and l paid for the king to be taught.

Oh, yes!

We shouldn't have had
those damned Saxons

walking in as if they owned the place,
for a start!

They'll have us begging in the streets.

l swear to God,
they'll have us begging in the streets!

l remember, l was in Jeramba,

whole families there in the streets.

Begging!

This is what
this damn government wants!

They do not like my consomme aux
pommes d'amour? lt is not possible!

Non, non, non.

They will love
my timbale de riz de veau toulousaine.

Voil?!

Then look at that Benjamin Disraeli.

Him and his damned book-writing,
ruination of the Conservative Party.

They're all Reds now.

Ha!

l saw it coming.
Now we want more. Now, l mean...

That unpleasantness at Runnymede,
that was only the beginning.

lt's been downhill from that moment on,
in my humble opinion. Good enough.

Five minutes, not more,
and along comes that Oliver Cromwell.

Terrible man with a face
full of carbuncles!

Even when they buried him,
they dug him up again

put his head on a pike
outside Westminster!

Ha! What good that did.
l blame the Romans.

lf Magnus Magnusson had hung on here,

instead of pulling out his troops
the moment things got a bit tricky,

the picture today would be
a very different one.

Where did l turn wrong?

What bad articles did l do
when l was small?

Oh, l am finished!

Non! No, l say!

l'm not fire-resistant!

They wait for Anatole,
they say the nice word,

they flag me,
then, making me jealous, they do this!

They leap.
Well, Anatole can leap too, eh?

ln the words of their so-called poet,
Shakespeare... (Spits)

''lf you wrong us, shall we not revenge?''

Anatole shall have his revengement.

(Bertie) Right, now, l shall take
Madeline to the garden.

And talk to her of hearts that yearn,

intimating that
there is one such on the premises.

Then after about a quarter of an hour
or so, you'll turn up and take over.

By the time her emotions
will be so churned up

it'll be like leaping on a moving bus.

The last time l leapt on a moving bus,
Bertie, l hurt myself rather badly.

That was more sort of
in front of a bus, wasn't it?

But what shall l say?

There are hundreds of things
you can say. You can say...

how you've often thought that
the stars are God's daisy chain.

- God's daisy chain?
- Mm.

- Do you mind if l take some notes?
- Note away.

God's daisy chain...

And then you can go on to say that
twilight always makes you feel sad.

- Why?
- That's precisely what she'll ask you.

Then you'll have her. Your reply will be...

that it's because yours
is such a lonely life.

Give her a description of a typical
evening at home in Lincolnshire,

intimating how you pace the meadows
with a heavy tread.

l generally sit and listen to the wireless.

No, you don't, Gussie. You pace
the meadows with a heavy tread,

wishing someone was there to love you.

After that, grab her by the hands, tell her
you've got something to say, and say it.

- Better have a couple of quick ones first.
- Drinks, you mean? But l don't drink.

- You don't drink?
- No.

l didn't know that.

Pity. Generally, a moderate skinful
on these occasions is of the essence.

l suppose l could have
some orange juice.

Well, yes, if you think it would help.
lt might be a good idea

- to heave a bit of a sigh at this point.
- Heave...sigh...

Then grab her by the hand
and give her the works.

Grab hand, give...

- ..works.
- That's all there is to it.

Thank you, Bertie.

Ahem.

Well, would you erm...?

Uh, would you like some coffee...Angela?

No, thank you, Mr Glossop.

Hello, Angela. Hello, Tuppy.

Yes...

Ah, Jeeves, haven't seen Miss Bassett
around anywhere, have you?

She is, l believe, sir, in the sewing room.

- Sewing room...
- lf you'll allow me, sir.

l trust your dinner plan
was a success, sir.

Howling, Jeeves, as you'll no doubt
be surprised to hear.

Tuppy and Miss Travers are reunited
in the drawing room.

This is indeed good news, sir.

lll-informed servants' hall gossip had it
that the cook, Anatole,

had given his notice, sir.

Yes, well, l'm not in a position
to comment on chitchat, Jeeves,

but l suppose it's always
a possibility. Anatole is foreign, Jeeves.

- Really, sir?
- And, therefore, excitable.

l shall bear it in mind, sir.

- The sewing room, sir.
- Thank you, Jeeves.

Ah, Madeline, old thing, care for a stroll?
Jolly good.

That dinner tonight...

l couldn't eat any of it, of course.

l felt far too upset.

l don't suppose you noticed,

but l actually pushed away
a whole plate of roast lamb.

For God's sake!

Oh, Bertie, what a beautiful night.

- Rather!
- All the flowers have closed their eyes.

- Really?
- And all the little stars have woken up.

Oh, look, the little bunnies...

How still they are.

Yes, yes,
they are marvellously still, aren't they?

Do you know, Madeline,
it's a funny old world.

As a matter of fact...

- Where are you going?
- l thought we were going for a walk.

Oh, l... l thought we had.

Oh, Bertie!

Psst! Psst!

Are you there, Gussie? Psssst!

Psst! Gussie!

What are you doing, Bertie?

Er... l thought there was a snake or...
No, maybe not.

l think old Mr Moon
is ever so shy, Bertie.

He keeps hiding behind the clouds.

Yes, he does, doesn't he?

Now, Madeline, talking of being shy,

you know, there's an aching heart
here at Brinkley Court.

Ah, yes... Life is very sad, isn't it?

lt is for some people, yes.
Take this aching heart, for instance.

This heart that l'm talking about
is aching like billyo.

- You mean...for love?
- Problem is...

can't quite bring itself
to tell you the posish.

Just as it's about to give you the SP,

it catches sight of you sideways
and words fail it.

Silly, of course, but there it is.

Don't say any more, Bertie.

No. Right.

l wasn't going to, actually.
That's about it.

l suspected this at Cannes,

when you used to stand and stare
at me without saying a word,

but with whole volumes in your eyes.

- No!
- Yes!

A girl always knows.

Then you followed me down here,

and there was that same, dumb,

yearning look in your eyes.

Now you stammer out
these halting words.

No, it doesn't come as a surprise.

But l'm sorry, Bertie,
but l'm afraid it's impossible.

Oh, really?

Oh, well, can't be helped. Oh, dear.

Life is such a muddle, isn't it?

Yes. Well, yes, l always say that.
Life is such a muddle, l say.

Wait a minute,
do you mean there's someone else?

But he doesn't care for me.
Well, at least, he hasn't said anything.

You see, l was staying
with some friends in the country,

and l'd gone for a walk with my dog,

and the poor wee mite got
a nasty thorn in its little foot.

And l didn't know what to do.

And suddenly
this handsome man came along...

Wow!

- l beg your pardon?
- Nothing, nothing.

l've just remembered, there's a letter
l must write tonight without fail.

Good heavens,
there's Gussie Fink-Nottle!

- Where?
- Over...there.

Ah, yes, there he is.

Yes, well, l think l'd better be going in.
Gussie will take care of you.

Ah, Tuppy, l wanted to see you.

- Oh, yes? Well, l'm here.
- Has Angela come clustering round?

No, she has not.

Oh. That's very odd.

She must have noticed
your lack of appetite.

Lack of appetite!
l'm as hollow as the Grand Canyon.

Be brave, Tuppy. Fix your thoughts on
that steak-and-kidney pie in the larder.

You would bring that up, just as
l've managed to stop thinking about it.

Why don't you just buzz off, Wooster!

Right.

Hello, Aunt Dahlia.

How dare you show your face in here!

Er, Aunt Dahlia, if l might say so,
you seem somewhat pipped.

- Pipped!
- Stand fast, because pretty soon,

Uncle Tom will be along
full of sympathy and anxious enquiry.

- Do you know where my husband is?
- He was here at dinner.

l know he was here at dinner,
you nincompoop!

He is now in his study,
his face buried in his hands,

groaning about civilisation.

Any chance l had of getting
the money off him has now gone.

- Eh? Why?
- Because Anatole has given notice.

- What?
- Anatole has given notice!

As a result of
one of your drivelling schemes.

Good heavens...

lt's no good saying ''good heavens''.

Well, yes, you're upset,
and that's understandable, certainly.

Certainly, this is a nasty jar
for one and all.

The only nasty jar there is is the one
l'm going to put your remains in!

Now, Aunt Dahlia, don't do anything
hasty, because l can fix everything.

Don't you dare try
one of your lunatic schemes!

Huh!

(Yells)

- Something amiss, Jeeves?
- Mr Fink-Nottle is feeling unwell, sir.

Everybody's been very kind.

No complaints to make.

No complaints at all.

l wish the world was a newt!

But how could anything go wrong?
All he had to do was...propose.

So one would be disposed
to imagine, sir.

However, upon finding himself alone
with the young lady, he lost his nerve.

ln such circumstances, gentlemen
frequently talk at random, sir,

saying the first thing
that enters their head.

This, in Mr Fink-Nottle's case,
would seem to have been the newt,

its treatment in sickness and in health.

- Bad, Jeeves.
- Yes, sir.

How long did he go on
talking about newts?

According to Mr Fink-Nottle, he supplied
very full and complete information, sir.

Very bad, Jeeves.

lndeed, sir.

He was observing that newts differ from
salamanders in the shape of the tail,

and a marked sexual dimorphism
prevails in most species,

when the young lady rose and said she
thought she would go back to the house.

- And then?
- She went, sir.

- Oh... Difficult, Jeeves.
- Yes, sir.

l shall have to burnish the brain
to see if l can't find a way out of this.

l'm sure Mr Fink-Nottle
will be most grateful, sir.

- Will that be all, sir?
- Yes, thank you, Jeeves, yes.

One moment my fine chap, Mrs Travers.

l can take a few smooths
with the rough, is true,

but you do not play larks against me
on my food!

l do not remain no longer in this house.
No, no, l buzz off

and do not stay planted.

l make matter of principle.

(Groans)

(Stomach rumbles)

(Floorboard creaks)

(Creaking)

(Stomach rumbles)

Oh, ze English!
Animals for ze food, huh?

Curse of my lives, ze English.
l will tell them.

Non, non, non!
l do not remember my knives!

(Floorboard creaks)

(Snores)

- Aaargh!
- Aaargh!

(Screaming)

He's gone mad!

He's gone mad! Anatole has gone mad!

Mr Glossop, what are you doing?

l should have told you, Mama,
Mr Glossop likes to have a few meals

during the night.
lt keeps him going till breakfast!

(Grunts)

l no crazy, Mrs Travers. You be
nice-nice to Anatole, Anatole be...

You just drop those knives, Anatole.

And what are you doing with that gun,
Tom Travers?

Nothing, my dear.

(Screaming)

Zis is ze end.

Anatole, he is definitely dead!

This is all your fault, Wooster.

Me?

What... What have l done?

Jeeves...

Pack Mr Wooster's bags.