"Пэлем Грэнвил Вудхауз. Much obliged, Jeeves (Премного обязан, Дживс; англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

Things had become difficult. Angry passions were rising and
dudgeon bubbling up a bit. It was fortunate that at this juncture
the telephone should have tootled, causing a diversion.
'Mrs Travers, sir,' said Jeeves, having gone to the instrument.

2

I had already divined who was at the other end of the wire, my
good and deserving Aunt Dahlia having a habit of talking on the
telephone with the breezy vehemence of a hog-caller in the western
states of America calling his hogs to come and get it. She got this
way through hunting a lot in her youth with the Quorn and the
Pytchley. What with people riding over hounds and hounds taking
time off to chase rabbits, a girl who hunts soon learns to make
herself audible. I believe that she, when in good voice, could be
heard in several adjoining counties.

I stepped to the telephone, well pleased. There are few males
or females whose society I enjoy more than that of this genial
sister of my late father, and it was quite a time since we had
foregathered. She lives near the town of Market Snodsbury in
Worcestershire and sticks pretty closely to the rural seat, while
I, as Jeeves had just recorded in the club book, had had my time
rather full elsewhere of late. I was smiling sunnily as I took up
the receiver. Not much good, of course, as she couldn't see me, but
it's the spirit that counts.
'Hullo, aged relative.'
'Hullo to you, you young blot. Are you sober?'
I felt a natural resentment at being considered capable of
falling under the influence of the sauce at ten in the morning, but
I reminded myself that aunts will be aunts. Show me an aunt, I've
often said, and I will show you someone who doesn't give a hoot how
much her obiter dicta may wound a nephew's sensibilities. With a
touch of hauteur I reassured her on the point she had raised and
asked her in what way I could serve her.
'How about lunch?'
'I'm not in London. I'm at home. And you can serve me, as you
call it, by coming here. Today, if possible.'
'Your words are music to my ears, old ancestor. Nothing could
tickle me pinker,' I said, for I am always glad to accept her
hospitality and to renew my acquaintance with the unbeatable
eatables dished up by her superb French chef Anatole, God's gift to
the gastric juices. I have often regretted that I have but one
stomach to put at his disposal. 'Staying how long?'
'As long as you like, my beamish boy. I'll let you know when
the time comes to throw you out. The great thing is to get you
here.'
I was touched, as who would not have been, by the eagerness she
showed for my company. Too many of my circle are apt when inviting
me to their homes to stress the fact that they are only expecting