titusnowl: (house classy)
My Lord:

I write (Mr. Bunter had been carefully educated and knew that nothing is more vulgar than a careful avoidance of beginning a letter with the first person singular), as your lordship directed, to inform you of the result of my investigations.

I experienced no difficulty in becoming acquainted with Sir Julian Freke's man-servant.  He belongs to the same club as the Hon. Frederick Arbuthnot's man, who is a friend of mine, and was very willing to introduce me.  He took me to the club yesterday (Sunday) evening, and we dined with the man, whose name is John Cummings, and afterwards I invited Cummings to drinks and a cigar in the flat.  Your lordship will excuse me doing this, knowing that it is not my habit, but it has always been my experience that the best way to gain a man's confidence is to let him suppose that the best way to gain a man's confidence is to let him suppose that one takes advantage of one's employer.

("I always suspected Bunter of being a student of human nature," commented Lord Peter.)

I gave him the best old port ("The deuce you did," said Lord Peter), having heard you and Mr. Arbuthnot talk over it.  ("Hum!" said Lord Peter.)

Its effects were quite equal to my expectations as regards the principal matter in hand, but I very much regret to state that the man had so little understanding of what was offered to him that he smoked a cigar with it (one of your lordship's Villar Villars).  You will understand that I made no comment on this at the time, but your lordship will sympathize with my feelings.  May I take this opportunity of expressing my grateful appreciation of your lordship's excellent taste in food, drink and dress?  It is, if I may so so, more than a pleasure - it is an education, to valet and buttle your lordship.


Lord Peter bowed his head gravely.

"What on earth are you doing, Peter, sittin' there noddin' an' grinnin' like a what-you-may-call-it?" demanded the Duke, coming suddenly out of a snooze.  "Someone writin' pretty things to you, what?"

"Charming things," said Lord Peter.

The Duke eyed him doubtfully.

"Hope to goodness you don't go and marry a chorus beauty," he muttered inwardly, and returned to the Times.


[Very long conversation between Cummings and Bunter excised, save for this choice bit:]

"I'm sure I wish it was always gentlemen that come here at night," I said.  (Your lordship will excuse me, I am sure, making such a suggestion.)

("Good God," said Lord Peter, "I wish Bunter was less thorough in his methods.")

[More conversation omitted.]

I should wish to add, as a tribute to the great merits of your lordship's cellar, that, although I was obliged to drink a somewhat large quantity both of the Cockbum '68 and the 1800 Napoleon I feel no headache or other ill effects this morning.

Trusting that your lordship is deriving real benefit from the country air, and that the little information I have been able to obtain will prove satisfactory, I remain,

With respectful duty to all the family,

Obediently yours,
Mervyn Bunter.


"Y'know," said Lord Peter thoughtfully to himself, "I sometimes think Mervyn Bunter's pullin' my leg."
titusnowl: (Great War)
[livejournal.com profile] 3weasel : Wimsey vs. Wooster cage match!

Which wouldn't really be fair, unless Jeeves cheated (which he would), so Wimsey vs. Psmith would also be acceptable. Doesn't have the alliteration, though.


oh, what IS that trope
"old age and experience vs. youth and [something]"
although of course in a wimsey/psmith match it's age & experience vs. youth & just kind of hoping he can cry off because they go to the same club or something and why are we in this cage in the first place comrade this is all rather pointless don't you think
and wimsey vs wooster jeeves would get in on it somehow and bunter would find out and then jeeves & bunter would be fighting and then lord peter has a flashback and ends up curled up in a ball crying about the jerries
bertie in his irrepressible naiveté says something perfectly innocent that comes off as being About The War and that combined with the stress of the situation just makes poor lord peter drop his gentleman-scout's vademecum and wail about shells

CRACK

Apr. 21st, 2007 06:45 pm
titusnowl: (WOT)
The idea is to create a crossover 'verse for all the 1920s/1930s literature I can possibly squeeze in there.

Going by the latest publication date for Psmith and the earliest for the Saint, the two characters are the same age.  If you allow for a few years to go by, and assume that Wodehouse knew of what he spoke when he said Psmith ended up being a Perry Mason sort of defense attorney, the type who get their clients declared not guilty by convincing the jury that somebody else who isn't even on trial was the one who really dunnit, and moreover consider that he's not likely to care whether or not his client or the alternate target actually WAS the one who dunnit so long as he wins the argument, circumstances that would lead to Simon Templar and R. Psmith (The P Is Silent As In Pterodactyl and Psychic) making each others' acquaintance readily present themselves to the active and imaginative mind.

Also in the mix are Lord Peter Wimsey, whose detectivey instincts may also lead his path to intersect the Saint's, and Bertie Wooster, who wouldn't get mixed up in anything with anyone except that he's of the right social class and a member of at least one club in common with Psmith (who's never struck me as a good candidate for the Drones, really, but it's canon).

A throwaway remark by Roger Conway in "Saint Overboard" about having spent a dreary weekend holed up at a house party in Shropshire gives us an in - Psmith is from Shropshire, and the population of that county is small enough that it wouldn't be a big stretch to say he was at the party as well.

Cameos may occur from characters in Georgette Heyer's "Blunt Instrument," since I have a copy of it to use and it's also in the same milieu.

If I'm missing anything, suggest!

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