You Rang, Sir?

You Rang, Sir?

PLUM PIE by P. G. Wodehouse. 252 pages. Simon & Schuster. $4.95.

Bertie: I say, Jeeves, that blighter is at it again.

Jeeves: Sir?

B: That bloke Wodehouse. Dash it, Jeeves, one would think that at the age of 86 a chap who'd written 70 books about Bertram Wooster & Co. would do the decent thing and sheathe the sword at long last.

J: Perhaps, sir. But if I may venture an opinion, Mr. Wodehouse is writing with as much ingenuity and resource as ever.

B: Exactly. Somehow, I am informed, he's latched on to the story of our rummy encounter with Waterbury, the blackmailing theatrical agent, and his niece Trixie. Ah, Trixie. My first sight of her was like a blow from a blunt instrument. You remember how buxom she was in every direction?

J: Would brobdingnagian be closer to the word for which you are groping?

B: Precisely.

J: I recall the incident vividly. Mr. Wodehouse interviewed me at length for his new book and, if I may say so, sir, it should prove thoroughly susceptible of being enjoyed.

B: Interviewed you at length? You spilled all? Jeeves, this time you've gone too far. I'll never hear the end of it at the Drones Club. It pains me, Jeeves, but you're sacked.

J: Very good, sir. Will there be anything else?

B: No, just buzz off.

J: One thing, sir. May I mention that Plum Pie, thanks to the information I provided, also contains rather cutting portrayals of a number of your--er, associates, notably Bingo Little, Cyril Grooly, Freddie Threepwood and Stanley Featherstonehaugh Ukridge. One feels that you emerge as the ablest of the lot.

B: I should have known. Jeeves, you stand alone. About that extra five quid a week you've been mentioning--consider it done. No wonder the highest in the land always come to you with their problems.

J: I endeavor to give uniform satisfaction, sir.

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