Pigs Have Wings by P. G. Wodehouse

over the horizon like a jack rabbit. But you would not be putting it too strongly if you said that he took this Mrs Bunbury to his bosom. He was all over her. Watching them go off together to see the Empress, I was reminded of a couple of sailors on shore leave at Marseilles. Astounding!’
    ‘I am rather busy, Galahad.’
    ‘Eh?’
    ‘I say I am rather busy.’
    ‘You’re not in the least busy. When I came in, you were smoking a gasper with your feet on the mantelpiece.’
    ‘My feet were not on the mantelpiece.’
    ‘And in another minute you’d have been asleep, snoring your head off.’
    ‘How dare you say I snore? I never snore.’
    ‘That is not the point at issue,’ said Gally. ‘The point at issue is the way you have been behaving since I blew in. Your manner has been most peculiar. It has wounded me a good deal. If your own brother can’t come and pay you a friendly visit without having you blinding and stiffing at him like a bargee, things have reached a pretty pass in English family life.’
    The conversation was approaching a stage where it might easily have developed into one of those distressing brother-and-sister brawls, for both participants were of high spirit, but at this moment Lord Emsworth appeared, giving tongue immediately in the high, plaintive tenor which he used when he felt ill-treated.
    ‘Stamps!’ said Lord Emsworth. ‘I am writing a letter and I have no stamps. Have you been taking my stamps, Constance?’
    ‘I have not been taking your stamps,’ said Lady Constance wearily. ‘You keep letting your box get empty and forgetting to tell Beach to have it filled. You can have one of mine, if you like.’
    ‘Thank you,’ said Lord Emsworth, pacified. ‘That will be capital, capital. I am writing to the Shropshire, Herefordshire and South Wales Pig Breeders’ Association.’
    ‘Is it their birthday?’ asked Gally, interested.
    ‘Eh? No, not that I know of. But I had a letter from them yesterday, asking me to deliver an address on certain aspects of the Empress. Very flattering, I thought it. I am looking forward to … My God!’ said Lord Emsworth in sudden alarm. ‘Shall I have to wear a top hat?’
    ‘Of course you will.’
    ‘And a stiff collar?’
    ‘Well, really, Clarence, do you expect to address these people in pyjamas?’
    Lord Emsworth considered this.
    ‘No. No, I see what you mean. No, possibly not pyjamas. But a stiff collar in weather like this!’
    ‘ Noblesse oblige ,’ said Gally.
    ‘Eh?’
    ‘I presume what Galahad means is that you have a certain position to keep up.’
    ‘Exactly,’ said Gally. ‘You’ve got to impress these pig-breeding blighters. Give ’em the morning coat, the sponge-bag trousers, the stiff collar and the old top hat, and you have them saying to themselves “Golly, these Earls are hot stuff!”. Whereas, seeing you dressed as you are now, they would give you the bird and probably start a revolution. You must cow them, Clarence, overawe them, make them say “The half was not told me,” like the Queen of Sheba when she met King Solomon. This cannot be done in a ten-year-old shooting coat with holes in the elbows.’
    ‘And flannel trousers that have not been pressed for weeks,’ added Lady Constance. ‘You look like a tramp. I cannot imagine what Mrs Bunbury thought of you.’
    Lord Emsworth started. A quick look of concern came into his face.
    ‘Do you think Mrs Bunbury thought I looked like a tramp?’
    ‘Everything turns,’ said Gally, ‘on whether she thrust a penny into your hand and told you not to spend it on drink. Did she?’
    ‘No. No, I don’t remember her doing that.’
    ‘Then all may be well. Nice woman, that, Clarence.’
    ‘Delightful.’
    ‘You seemed to be getting along with her all right.’
    ‘Oh, capitally.’
    ‘Yes,’ said Gally. He wandered to the window and stood looking out. ‘I was telling Connie that you reminded me of a couple of … Hullo.’
    ‘What’s the matter?’
    ‘A