All language subtitles for jeeves.and.wooster.s01e03.720p.bluray.x264-ingot

♪ Good night, Vienna

♪ You city of a million...
something or others

♪ La, la, la, la, la, la

♪ La la-la, la-la, la la-la, la-la

♪ Something else

♪ Good afternoon, Jeeves...

Good afternoon, sir.

No, no, no, that's the song, Jeeves.

And a dashed rum song it is too. I
don't know how they think them up.

No, sir, it is one of the great
mysteries.

I mean, fancy writing a song about
saying good night to a whole city.

I mean, you may as well say,
"Good afternoon, Manchester",

or "Fancy bumping into you,
Basingstoke."

Yes, sir.

Or "I didn't see you at the
club last night, Cleethorpes."

I take your point, sir. Perhaps if
you were to sing the rest of the lyric

it might throw some light on the
matter.

Well, there's the rub, Jeeves. I
don't know it.

I heard it at the cinema and that's
all I can remember. It goes,

♪ Good night, Vienna

♪ You city of a million...

Or it may have been a thousand.

Some fairly substantial number,
anyway.

You know, Jeeves, I wonder if old
Uncle George

- isn't going off to foreign parts.
- Sir?

'Well, it's just that he's asked to
ankle round to his club

- to discuss some urgent matter or other.
- Hm.'

- Morning.
- Good morning, sir.

- Lord Yaxley.
- Young Lord Yaxley -

in the dining room, sir.

But he won't want to be disturbed at
his luncheon, sir.

- Well, he did say it was quite urgent.
- Oh, well...off you go.

Thank you.

- What ho, Uncle George.
- Ah, Bertie. Sit down, sit down.

Don't eat much at midday, I'm
afraid. It's my stomach lining.

My man in Harley Street says it's
very sensitive.

Mm-hm.
Had your luncheon?

- Er, yes, thanks, I have, yes.
- Good.

I got a message that, er...it was
urgent.

Oh, it is. Oh, yes.

Yes, yes, yes.

What I wanted to ask you was...

Where do you get those ties you
wear?

- Ties?
- Like that.

Er, Bluchers in the Burlington
Arcade.

Good. Good.

Thank you.

I'm not so old.

So old as what?

Properly considered, I'm in my
prime.

Besides, what a young and
inexperienced girl needs

is a man of weight and years to lean on.

Great Scott, Uncle George! You're not
thinking of getting married!

Yes, confound you, I AM thinking of
getting married.

If your Agatha comes sticking her
oar in, I'll...

Well, I'll know what to do about it.

A man's as young as he feels.

No, no, no, Jeeves.

Do you know what my Uncle George is
thinking of doing, Jeeves?

Contracting a matrimonial alliance, sir.

Good Lord, how did you know that?

Oddly enough I happen to be acquainted
with the other party in the matter.

- The girl.
- Yes, sir. But it was from her aunt,

a Mrs Wilberforce, who resides with
her, that I received the information.

So who is she, this other person?

A Miss Rhoda Platt, sir.

Of Wisteria Lodge, Kitchener Road,
East Dulwich.

- Young?
- Yes, sir.

- The old fathead!
- Yes, sir.

The expression is one which I would,
of course, not employ myself,

but I confess to thinking his
Lordship ill-advised.

One must remember, however, that it
is not unusual

to find gentlemen of a certain age

yielding to a sentimental urge.

The phenomenon is particularly
noticeable, I'm given to understand,

in the USA, among the wealthier
inhabitants of the city of Pittsburgh.

It's notorious, I'm told, that
sooner or later,

unless restrained, they endeavour to
marry a chorus girl.

The high turnover rate of chorus
girls in the state of Pennsylvania

has been a matter of comment for
sometime in public.

Have you finished, Jeeves?
Thank you, sir, yes.

Yes, well, Uncle George's manner

as he referred to my Aunt Agatha's
probable reception to the news

I gather that Miss Platt is not of
the noblesse.

No, sir. She is a waitress.

Good Lord. How is Aunt Agatha going
to take to that?

She's not like me, Jeeves. I'm
broadminded.

If Uncle George wants to marry a
waitress, let him, say I.

The rank is but the penny stamp.

The guinea stamp, sir.

The poet Burns was writing at a time
when -

- Never mind the poet Burns, Jeeves.
- No, sir.

Expunge the poet Burns from your
mind.

I have already done so, sir.

What about the Aunt Agatha.
She will kick, Jeeves.

Very probably, sir.

She is a lady of strong opinion.

Yes. That'll be the curse of the
Woosters now, if I'm any judge.

Aunt Agatha! How nice to see you!

I wish to speak to you, Bertie.
Oh, right.

I am greatly upset.

I am sorry to have to tell you that
my brother has gone mad.

- Well...
- He called on me this morning

and announced his intention of
marrying

some impossible girl from South
Norwood.

East Dulwich, Jeeves informed me.

And pray, what does Jeeves know
about it?

He's met the girl.
Has he indeed?

- And who is she?
- She's a waitress.

Waitress.

First a barmaid at the Criterion,
now a waitress.

Well, the barmaid was 30 years ago,
Aunt Agatha.

She must be dealt with in the same
way.

We shall offer her money to release
your Uncle George from her thrall.

Well, just as you like, of course,

but whenever people do that in books,
the girl gets sympathy every time.

She draws herself up and looks at
them with clear eyes,

causing them to feel not a little
cheesy.

What trash you do read, Bertie.

I sometimes despair of you.

I just think you're going to find it
embarrassing, offering this girl money.

I am not proposing to do any such
thing.

You will undertake the negotiations.

- Me?!
- Certainly.

Here is a cheque for 100 pounds.
That should be ample.

But the essential point is that your
uncle must be released

from this grim entanglement.

What if she draws herself up and
looks at me with clear, steady eyes?

If it's not troubling you too much,
Bertie,

I should be greatly obliged if you
would stop drivelling.

Er, right.

You can get to East Dulwich in half
an hour.

There's a frequent service of
trains.

And you will come direct to Pond
Street upon your return.

Yes, Aunt Agatha.

Hello, Wilberforce.

- Madam...
- Thank you.

Ah, good afternoon.

- Oh, here at last, are you?
- Eh?

- Do sit down.
- Oh, right ho.

You can't see Rhoda yet.
She's asleep.

When you've got flu, you can't sleep
at night, sometimes, can you?

Ah, Miss Platt's got the flu.
That's for you to say.

But while you're here, I'd like you
to take a look at my knee.

Er, what for?
Oh, you are a one!

What do you think?

Well...terrific!

It's a sort of shooting pain. Just
comes and goes.

And I'll tell you something funny.

Oh, what's that?

Lately, I've had the
same sort of pain here.

At the end of my spine.

- I wish you'd take a look.
- Er, no, no, no, no, no.

No, er... No...um...

Knees, yes. Spines, no.

- You're a funny sort of doctor.
- Doctor?

- Aren't you the doctor?
- No.

You'll be the death of me!

And me showing you all I got, too!

Yes, yes. No, I've...

- I've actually come here to see Miss Platt.
- What about?

Well, nothing, really. My uncle heard
she was seedy.

- Your uncle?
- Yes, Lord Yaxley.

- Oh, you're his nephew.
- That's right, yes.

I expect he's always popping in and
out of here.

No, I've never set eyes on him.
Rhoda talks about him a lot.

But she's never so much as asked him
to look in for a cup of tea.

But, er...

there's no doing anything with girls
these days, is there?

Er, no, no, no. Not much, no.

Well, I'd better be tootling off,
then.

Oh. Well, I'll show you to the door.

Oh, right.

I have never heard anything so
spineless in all my life.

Well, I'm sorry.

Can a chap say more, you know? I lost
my nerve.

- Could have happened to anyone.
- Not to anyone with a spine!

You will go and see the girl again
tomorrow, Bertie,

and this time, you will do as I told
you.

Oh, but dash it, Aunt Agatha -

And kindly do not use that sort of
language in my presence.

You may go now.

Ah, Jeeves.

No, no, don't get up. Erm, now, look,
Jeeves...

I know that it's your night off and
all that,

and nominally, of course, I wouldn't
intrude.

- Is Mrs Gregson in good spirits, sir?
- No, Jeeves, she is not.

She wants me to go down to East
Dulwich again tomorrow.

Frankly, I just wish somebody would
come up with a better idea

for getting rid of Uncle George's
folly.

Have you come up with one of
your corkers, Jeeves?

Modesty forbid, sir, but it did
occur to me to wonder whether,

in your expedition to East Dulwich,

you encountered the young person's
aunt, Mrs Wilberforce.

Jeeves, I encountered nothing BUT
Mrs Wilberforce.

It is Mrs Wilberforce's intention to
continue residing with her niece

after the latter's marriage, sir.
Mm.

She's a kind-hearted woman, but
definitely "of the people".

Should he meet her, this might give
his Lordship pause.

You mean, if I were to invite Uncle George
and Mrs Wilberforce to lunch tomorrow...

- Precisely, sir.
- Jeeves, you've done it again.

Thank you, sir.

♪ Good afternoon, kitchen

♪ Di-da, di-da, di-da, pa-di...

So, Jeeves, how did you come to meet
this Mrs Wilberforce and Miss Platt?

Through a young fellow of my
acquaintance, sir.

What young fellow of your
acquaintance?

Colonel Mannering-Smith's personal
gentleman's gentleman, sir.

He and Miss Platt had an
understanding and I accompanied him

- to Wisteria Lodge to meet her.
- So they broke it off

and Uncle George got her on the
rebound.

- So what did they quarrel about?
- They did not quarrel, sir.

But when his Lordship, your uncle,
began to pay his addresses,

she was naturally flattered and
began to waiver between love and ambition.

So, if your scheme works and Uncle
George edges out,

it'll do your pal a bit of good.

Precisely, sir.

My friend Smedhurst would regard it
as a consummation devoutly to be wished.

That's rather well put, Jeeves.
Is that your own?

- No, sir. Swan of Avon, sir.
- Ah.

- Hello!
- Mrs Wilberforce, sir.

Ooh! Mrs Wilberforce!

How I'm going to keep a straight
face with you standing behind me

saying, "Can I tempt madam with a
potato?" I shall never know!

I know him, you know.

He's been to tea round at our house.

- Yes, so he told me.
- See you later. Bye.

Oh, nice place you've got here.

Though I like more pink about,
myself.

It's cheerful. What's that you've
got there? Cocktails?

- Martini with a spot of Absinthe.
- Oh, Gawd!

Don't you try and make me drink that
stuff.

What that does to the lining of your
stomach!

- Oh, I don't know.
- Well, I do, dear.

And if you'd been a barmaid as long
as I was, you'd know too.

- Oh, you were a barmaid!
- Was I? For years I was.

When I was younger.
At the Criterion.

There you are, you see. It's that
stuff.

Makes your hands wobble. Give me
a drop of port any old time.

Er, when you were at the Criterion,

did you ever run into anyone with my
name?

Foster? No, dear. Not that I know of.

No, no, WOOSTER. He's Lord Yaxley now.

- Wooster!
- Lord Yaxley.

Oh, Bertie! This is...

Maud!

- Maudy!
- Piggy!

- Oh!
- Well, I'm dashed!

Oh, Piggy, dearest!

Oh, beastly shot.

It's this cue. I'm going to speak to
the steward.

Come off it, Oofy.
You're just a rotten player.

No, that was a perfect shot.
Bridge steady, smoothly back...

Could I?!

- Mr Wooster, sir.
- Oh, dash it, Rogers!

Oh, I'm so sorry, sir, but there's
a lady asking for you.

- A Mrs Drake, sir.
- Ah, I spy aunts!

I haven't even had lunch yet. Could
you tell her I'm not here?

I've already told her that, sir.
She's most insistent.

Oh, very well.

Let me try Bertie's cue.

Ah, yes, that's better.

Oh.

- Ah, Bertie.
- Hello, Aunt Agatha.

Your uncle is not going to marry the
girl after all.

- Not?
- Apparently he has been thinking it over

and now he sees the wisdom
of what I told him.

The surprising thing is that he is
going to marry somebody else.

- He is?
- An old friend of his.

A Mrs Wilberforce. A widow of
sensible age,

he gives me to understand. I wonder
which of the Wilberforces that would be.

There are two main branches to the
family.

The Essex Wilberforces and the
Cumberland Wilberforces.

And the East Dulwich Wilberforces.

- What did you say, Bertie?
- Nothing, Aunt Agatha. Really, nothing.

I do wish you would speak more
clearly, Bertie.

I've had to tell you about it
before.

Ah, Jeeves. Well, I don't know if
you're aware of it,

but this binge has depreciated your
stock considerably.

I'm sorry to hear that, sir.

You might have ascertained that she
was Uncle George's barmaid.

- I did, sir.
- What?

The young man Smedhurst
approached me in the hope

I might be able to further
his cause with Miss Platt.

There will now be no obstacle for
their union.

Well, that's all fine and large, Jeeves,

but what about Uncle George? You've
landed him nicely in the cart.

No, sir. If I might take the liberty
of opposing your view.

I fancy Mrs Wilberforce will make an
admirable mate for his Lordship.

Oh, no, Jeeves. Think! You said
yourself only yesterday

that Maudy Wilberforce is definitely
of the people.

Sturdy lower middle-class stock, sir.

A much needed injection of fresh blood.

Now, perhaps you would like to
change before the journey, sir.

I thought you could drive down after
lunch while I take the baggage by train.

What train? What journey?

Why are we packing?

Your uncle has taken Mrs Wilberforce

to meet Mrs Gregson this afternoon, sir.

He's taken her to meet Aunt Agatha?

I think if we were to leave the
metropolis for a while,

it might be expedient, sir.
And if you recall,

Lord Wickhommersley invited us down
some time ago for the village festivities.

I thought we'd go before lunch,
don't you, Jeeves?

Just as you say, sir.

Well?

Well, I'm waiting.

Mummy, please.

I simply want an answer from your father.

I bitterly regret now that I was so
kind and forgiving

when he lost the Rolls Royce to Lord
Ickenham last year.

It was just a run of bad luck,
Priscilla.

- I had three kings and he -
- Enough.

- As for this latest outrage.
- Not in front of the guests, Mummy.

I am sorry if I am embarrassing the
guests.

But what I have to say applies
equally...to them.

There will be no more betting
of any sort...

in this house.

- Oh, I say!
- No.

- Just a few little bets, mm?
- No.

I have said all I intend to say on
the matter.

Oh...jimbles!

Bertie!

Bingo! What are you doing down here?

Staying at Twing Hall, like you.

Come over here. There's
something I want to show you.

Right ho.

Come on!

Look inside, behind the bar.

Her name's Myrtle. Isn't she
beautiful?

- She's a tender goddess, isn't she?
- She is, she is.

- You can see it, can't you?
- What happened to Daphne?

- Daphne?
- The one who came after Honoria.

Passing fancy, Bertie. The folly of
one's youth.

It was only a week and a half ago.

Myrtle was up in town to see her uncle.

We met on top of a bus.

She was... Hello, Steggles.

Come and meet my friend, Bertie
Wooster.

- How do you do?
- This is Rupert Steggles.

- What ho, Steggles.
- I'm going inside.

This fresh air's getting into my
lungs.

- He's staying at Lord Wickhommersley's too.
- Snappy dresser.

I wish he wouldn't hang around
Myrtle. She doesn't like it.

I say, Bertie...

Do you want to come in on a little
flutter?

You interest me strangely, old bird.

If there's one thing we Woosters are
dripping with, it's sporting blood.

Steggles has decided to make a book
on the sports at the village fete.

- I say!
- I think I can put you on the way

of making a pass on the mothers'
sack race.

Lead on, old scout!

The idea is an attractive one, sir.

Unfortunately, Lady Wickhommersley
has come down strongly against

any form of betting at Twing.

Partly, I understand, as a result of
his Lordship losing the east wing

in a game of shove ha'penny last
week.

This is bad news, Jeeves.

Indeed, sir. It was only the
strongest possible representations

to the other party involved

and the passage of a considerable
sum in money that saved the place.

No, no, I meant about the betting.

I'm so looking forward to the fete
on Monday.

Me too. I love all those races they
have.

My favourite's the boys and girls
mixed annual potato race.

What on earth is that?

Oh, it's wonderful. You all get into
couples

and each couple is given an animal
noise to make and a potato.

And one of you stands in a fixed
spot, holding the potato,

and making the animal noise.
Mewing like a cat

or barking like a dog. The other one
has a bag over his head.

And he has to try and find his partner.

I've forgotten what the potato's for.

Damned difficult to estimate form,
anyhow.

Hugo.

Ssh, quiet.

Argh!

- Right, got the race card?
- Yes.

Do you want to know the
most wonderful thing?

Later!

- Guess where I got it from.
- Ssh!

- I got it from Myrtle.
- Yes, yes, yes.

Right... Oh, you can still smell her
scent on it.

- See?
- No, thank you, Bingo.

Can we get on?

Right, erm...

The girls' under-12 egg and spoon race.

Any thoughts about that, Jeeves?

Last year's winner, Sarah Mills,
is the favourite, sir.

- What are her chances?
- I haven't seen the gallops, of course,

but I understand little Sarah
carries a beautiful egg. She...

Bertie!

Er...he's not here.

- Jeeves!
- It's Lady Cynthia, sir.

- We thought you were your mother.
- No, she's too busy

giving Daddy his evening lecture.

Rupert Steggles thinks you're
forming a syndicate.

- What rot!
- Can I join?

- Absolutely.
- Oh, thank you!

- We were just going through the card.
- Right.

- Carry on, Bingo.
- Mothers' sack race.

- Ah, you know something about that.
- A gift from the tobacconist's wife.

I was in a shop buying some
cigarettes

and she told me that she won three
times at fairs in Worcestershire.

She only moved here a few weeks ago
so no-one knows about her yet.

- Risk a tenner each way, Jeeves?
- I think so, sir.

Fathers' hat-trimming contest.

Hm. A very speculative event, sir.

Married couples' three-legged long
jump?

I cannot advocate any large-scale
disbursement, sir.

Ah, Mr Wooster!

Ah, what ho, Jeeves.

I'd hoped I might find you here,
sir.

You look positively animated,
Jeeves.

I'm sorry, sir.

I have information regarding the
choirboys' handicap, sir.

The probable winner of that event is
even now under the very roof of Twing Hall.

Harold, sir. The page boy.

I don't see it, Jeeves. He's
practically circular.

- The boy is a flyer, sir.
- How do you know?

I happened to be pursuing
him this morning with a

view to fetching him a clip
on the side of the head.

Great Scott, Jeeves! You?

The lad is of an outspoken
disposition, sir,

and had made an opprobrious remark
respecting my appearance.

What did he say about your
appearance?

I do not recall, sir, but it was
opprobrious.

I attempted to correct him but he
outdistanced me by yards

- and made good his escape.
- This is sensational!

We are sure, are we, Jeeves?

Hm.

Oi!

That sounds like the off now, sir.

I say, Jeeves!

Mr Wooster, Mr Little, Mr Widgeon!

What in God's name are you doing
there?

We...

The young gentlemen had expressed an
interest in horticulture, my Lady.

I was enlightening them as to the
life cycle of the earthworm.

Essential grounding, I have always
felt,

for a proper understanding of the
subject.

Oh, I see.

Very well, then. Do carry on.

Thank you, my lady.

Observe, gentlemen, the distended
saddle on this specimen.

- What a joy that was.
- What ho, Steggles.

- Hello, Wooster.
- Morning, Myrtle.

- Mr Wooster.
- Might I have a word?

Now, then...touching on the
choirboys' 100-yard handicap,

I'd like to place a small bet on
Harold Harmsworth.

- The fat boy.
- Well...

We're quoting 18-1 at the moment.

18-1. There you are.

To win. Ante post.

20 pounds to win?

Do you know something?

Know something? No, I...

No, no, no, I just...just like the
name.

Harold. Harold Harmsworth. Got a sort
of ring to it, don't you think?

- Well, I think it has, anyway. Whenever I-
- Yes, yes, never mind.

Thank you.

- Good shot, Bingo!
- Thank you, Bertie.

You're looking very doleful.

Myrtle went to the cinema with
Steggles last night.

Ah, yes, well, you know what Kipling
said.

- The F of the S is much D than the M.
- Really?

Well, Jeeves, what do you think?

If I might paraphrase the poet, sir,

I think perhaps we should be valiant
but not too adventurous.

Ah, but was the poet's ball plugged
into the bramble

200 yards from the green and
surrounded by trees?

He made no mention of it, sir.

Perhaps I can suggest that a spade
mashie or even a mashie niblick

onto the fairway would
be the intelligent shot?

Oh, I agree.

Leaving us with a simple pitch onto
the green.

Yes, but we Woosters are made of
sterner stuff.

Hand me my no.2 iron.

Very good, sir.

Thank you, Jeeves.

- Very good, sir.
- Thank you, Jeeves.

- Say that again.
- Part of the secret, I've found,

is not to close my eyes till I'm
almost at the top of the backswing.

Very interesting. That's 2.10 you
owe me.

I'll just get some change in the
bar.

Wait here for five minutes.

One, two, three.

One, two, three.

So, where did it come down, Jeeves?

I'm not altogether certain that it
did, sir.

What do you mean? It's still in the
air?

- Hefty hit, eh?
- Yes, sir.

I fancy, however, that our next
stroke

may pose us some small difficulty.

What a ridiculous place to leave a
tree.

Right...

Yes, I think... I think stroke and
distance, don't you, Jeeves?

Just shin up there and get it for me,
will you?

I say, Jeeves, isn't that Harold the
pageboy over there?

Yes, sir. I believe he comes here
caddying on his days off.

The few shillings he earns buys food
to supplement his diet.

Hm. Well, whoever owns that club he's
ruining isn't going to be too pleased.

Enjoyed the game, Steggles.

Me too.

Hey, you!

Come here!

I don't see that it affects us.
We're on at a good price.

I put us on at ante post odds
for this reason: so we'd

have nothing to lose by
Harold's form becoming known.

- It affects us if he doesn't start at all.
- What do you mean?

Jeeves said Steggles may try to
nobble him before the race begins.

No! Good Lord!

There's all sorts of ways of
nobbling favourites.

You ought to read some of those
racing novels.

In Pipped At The Post, Lord Jasper
outs Bonny Betsy

by bribing the head lad to slip a
cobra into her stalls the night before.

I can't imagine where Steggles will
get hold of a cobra.

You wouldn't like to stand guard in
Harold's room, would you?

No fear! What are the chances of a
cobra biting Harold, do you think?

Well, from the look of Harold, it's
the snake I'd be worried about.

So, as we look around the valley of
our lives,

do we, like Ezekiel, see nothing but
dry bones?

Do we, like Ezekiel,

doubt the Lord's capacity to animate
these bones?

Do we doubt the Lord's miraculous
powers?

Do we shake our heads when the Lord
asks us,

"Can these bones live?"

Or do we, with the Lord's help...

Do we, with the Lord's help...

put breath back into these bones?

It is up to us, isn't it?

In the name of the Father and the
Son and the Holy Ghost, Amen.

- Someone put a beetle down my back.
- Nonsense!

- I felt it wriggling.
- Disgraceful behaviour, these choirboys.

Very enjoyable service.

- I have warned you about this before.
- Jolly good, Vicar. Well done.

- So glad.
- Splendid, splendid.

From this moment, you cease to be
a member of my choir.

Go! Miserable boy!

I don't want to be in your rotten
choir anyway.

Those bets, old boy. I'm afraid you
lose your money.

- What do you mean?
- As I recall them,

the race rules read, "Open to all
those members of the choir

whose voices haven't broken before
the second Sunday in Epiphany."

- Members of the choir, you notice.
- Well, of all the -

It's a pity you didn't opt for the
starting price.

I always think SPs the only safe
way.

They talk about the purity of the
turf. Cuh!

A most ingenious young gentleman,
Mr Steggles, sir.

- Bally swindler, you mean.
- It now seems for this afternoon's sports

we rely entirely on Mrs Penworthy in
the mothers' sack race.

- Not entirely, Jeeves.
- Indeed, sir?

No, I have entered Bingo in the
80-yards dash for mature gentlemen.

- Mr Little, sir?
- Mm, I can't seem to buck him

over this Myrtle business. And a win
on the field does wonders

in the way of impressing the ladies.

If I may say so, sir,

I think that when the organisers use
the word "mature",

they are, in fact, using it as a
euphemism for "elderly".

Quite. So he'll obviously start as
favourite.

Now, if we put, say, 50 on Bingo to
win, well...

the syndicate can take Steggles to
the cleaners.

Yes, if I may also say, sir,
Mr Little is bound to start

at such very short odds -
Oh, tush, Jeeves.

Faint heart never won...
lots of money.

50 on Mr Little to win.

I fear, sir, that even so
substantial an investment as 50

will yield little more than pennies.

All right, then, make it...

100.

I still believe...sir...

Everything's under control, my
dear.

Not too hard with that nail.
Hildy, not too hard.

- Everything all right, dear?
- Fine.

Hildy!

Blast!

Entries close for all events in ten
minutes!

Come along, please!

There's a slight rise to the right
of the track so stay in lanes one or two

all the way, Mrs Penworthy.
What's the going like, Jeeves?

Good to firm, sir. I'm afraid it'll
suit Mrs Hodges.

She likes to feel the ground.
I'm not afraid of no Mrs Hodges.

Oh, no, no, no, no, of course not.

Rubbish, she is.

Thank you. Roll up, roll up,
three shies a penny!

- Three shies a penny!
- There's Myrtle! Don't look.

- What are you telling me for, then?
- Oh, look at her, Bertie.

- You just told me not to.
- She walks like a beauty, Bertie.

- Well, why don't you go and speak to her?
- Oh, I couldn't, could I?

I will.

All couples for the three-legged
race

report to the starter's table now.

Cynthia! Starter's orders.

Take over, Mavis.

We've backed a winner on this one.

And Mr and Mrs Puckeridge are
completely incorruptible.

On your marks...

..get set...

go!

I say, Wooster, old chap.

- Could I crave a boon.
- Anything, sir.

I hear young Steggles is making a
book on sports,

Would you place a bet for me?

- Hugo...
- Oh.

What are you doing with that money?

I was asking young Wooster here to
buy me a slice of Eccles cake.

Any Eccles cake that you require,
Hugo, I will get.

Come.

Here, I'll show you.

Vicar!

- Thank you, my dear.
- Thank you so much, Vicar. Good luck.

Ah, Wooster, my dear fellow.

I must say, I am delighted at the
way you young chaps

are throwing yourself into the
spirit of our little festivity.

- Oh, nothing I like better, Vicar.
- Even Rupert Steggles.

Between ourselves, I've never
thought Rupert Steggles

was the sort of chap who would put
himself out

to further the enjoyment of others.

And yet, twice in the last half
hour,

I have seen him escort Mrs Penworthy
to the refreshment tent.

Mr Wooster...

Excuse me. Sorry, sorry...

Sorry, sorry, 'scuse me. Sorry.

- Excuse me, this hat...
- Ooh, Mrs Penworthy's.

Mrs Penworthy's that hat, isn't it,
Doris?

Mrs Penworthy's, yes. She was here
with that Mr Steggles.

- Did you serve them any drink?
- No, it was the food, wasn't it, Daisy?

I thought it must be for a party.

Four of them pork pies, he bought
her.

And three pieces of fruitcake.

And then she had two servings of the
trifle after the ice cream.

On your marks, get set, go!

You seem very interested in the
mothers' sack race, Mr Wooster.

What? Er, no.

Well, that's to say yes. Development
of the thoroughbred, you know.

Thoroughbred?

Right, Jeeves, the hour approaches.

100 pounds Mr Little, on the nose.

100 pounds...to win.

100, Bertie?

Bingo, I want to show you another
dead cert.

Well done, Mr Donkin.

And now, Miss Watson.

Thank you, Vicar.

Only four competitors have hit the
bell so far.

Oh. Sorry.

Oh, dear! I don't know what...

I think we shall have to cancel the
event.

This is rapidly turning into a rout.
You're our last chance, Bingo.

- Suppose I lose, though.
- You can't possibly lose.

Your youngest competitor is 65

and his bunions were playing him up
this morning.

You can get a bet on for me,
Cynthia, can't you?

All right, Daddy. But for goodness'
sake, don't tell Mummy.

Don't tell Mummy what? Three shies
please, darling. Thank you.

There you are, Hugo. Do you good.

Psst! Ssh!

Your Aunt Agatha's not down here,
is she?

- Good Lord, no.
- It's all right, Maudy.

- We went to see her.
- Oh, it was awful!

Well, you're quite safe down here.

Now, tell me, Bertie.

Is the Vicar about anywhere?

Absolutely. He's over there. Why?

Want to get the banns read,
as a matter of fact.

Before she catches up with us.
Come on, Piggy!

Jeeves, you couldn't hang on to this
during the race, could you?

With great pleasure, sir.

May I introduce Beryl, sir?

Beryl, this is Mr Little.

I say!

Mr Little is the gentleman who is
going to win

the 80 yards dash for us.

Oh, I'm so looking forward to the
race, Mr Little.

Richard's the name.

I know you'll win.

Well...

Good luck...Richard.

Oh...

My friends call me Bingo.

Oh, sorry. Sorry.

Mature gentleman's race is about to
begin.

Assemble at the start, gentlemen,
please.

I say, Jeeves, have you seen Bingo?

That's Mr Little coming up to the
start now, sir.

Right, I shall be watching
this one from the tape.

Very good, sir.

On your marks...

get set...go!

Come on, Bingo!

Mr Little!

Richard!

Bingo!

If you'll just drink this, sir.

This is the end, Jeeves. Everything
we've worked and prayed for.

100, Jeeves!

The darkest hour is proverbially
just before the dawn, sir.

I say, Jeeves!

- Have you seen Beryl?
- Not since the race, sir.

I've got to find her, Jeeves.
What a wonderful girl.

Yes, sir. Would you care
for your jacket, sir?

Thank you. Thank you.

How could he lose, Jeeves?

That fellow who won, Charlie Benbow,

was old enough to give Bingo's
grandmother the glad-eye.

Mr Steggles.

Excuse me, excuse me, excuse me.

- Betting slips?
- No, I...

You make catch the train directly to
London, Mr Steggles.

Your things will be sent on.
As for your ill-gotten gains,

they will go towards the new church
roof.

It can all be arranged, Lord Yaxley.

- Thank you so much. Goodbye, Vicar.
- Goodbye.

Goodbye, Vicar!

Ah, Vicar. A little something for
the fund.

Oh, thank you. How kind.

Oh, thank you!

Well, you'll bally well pardon me for
saying so, Jeeves,

but you seem to have landed us in a
complete mess.

All right, then, was it, Mr Jeeves?

Beautifully judged, Beryl, thank
you. I'll see you later in the Five Crowns.

All right, Mr Jeeves. Bye-bye.

Yes, er...probably none of my
business, Jeeves,

but may I ask you what you were
thanking that young lady for?

- I have a confession to make, sir.
- Oh, yes?

I requested the girl Beryl to shout
at Mr Little

- at the strategic moment.
- You did what, Jeeves?

I surmised that Myrtle is a
large-hearted girl

who would more readily sympathise
with a gallant loser.

But Bingo doesn't care a fig about Myrtle.
You heard him. It's all Beryl now.

Yes, sir, I must confess that where
the fair sex is concerned,

Mr Little is quicker out of the gate
than even I had imagined.

So you ruined the syndicate just for
Bingo.

Not quite, sir. The syndicate is
well into profit, I am happy to say.

Profit, Jeeves?!

Every single thing we backed was
either scratched, axed,

nobbled or fell at the first fence.

We lost 100 pounds on Bingo alone.

What do you mean "ahem-ahem"?

Is that a "ahem-ahem" of remorse,
Jeeves? I hope so.

I'm afraid I couldn't bring myself
to place the bet on Mr Little, sir.

What? Jeeves, I distinctly told
you...

You mean we don't lose the 100?

Indeed not, sir. I took it into my
head to put what I believe is called

in racing parlance "a bundle" on
Charlie Benbow at 15-1.

15 to...!

Jeeves!

A further safeguard, of course, was
to collect our winnings

before I informed Lady Wickhommersley
of Mr Steggles' activities.

Jeeves...you're a wonder.

Thank you, sir. We do our best.

Ha!