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

earlier was well worth looking at, the eyes clear, the cheeks
tanned, the chin firm, the hair ginger and the nose shapely. It
topped off, moreover, a body which also repaid inspection, being
muscular and well knit. His general aspect, as a matter of fact,
was rather like that presented by Esmond Haddock, the squire of
Deverill Hall, where Jeeves's Uncle Charlie Silversmith drew his
monthly envelope. He had the same poetic look, as if at any moment
about to rhyme June with moon, yet gave the impression, as Esmond
did, of being able, if he cared to, to fell an ox with a single
blow. I don't know if he had ever actually done this, for one so
seldom meets an ox, but in his undergraduate days he had felled
people right and left, having represented the University in the
ring as a heavyweight a matter of three years. He may have included
oxen among his victims.
'You go through hell,' he said, the map still clouded as he
recalled the past. 'I had to sit in a room where you could hardly
breathe because it was as crowded as the Black Hole of Calcutta and
listen to addresses of welcome till midnight. After that I went
about making speeches.'
'Well, why aren't you down there, making speeches, now? Have
they given you a day off?'
'I came up to get a secretary.'
'Surely you didn't go there without one?'
'No, I had one all right, but my fiancee fired her. They had
some sort of disagreement.'
I had pursed the lips a goodish bit when he had told me about
his fiancee and the cocktails, and I pursed them to an even greater
extent now. The more I heard of this girl he had got engaged to,
the less I liked the sound of her. I was thinking how well she
would get on with Florence Craye if they happened to meet. Twin
souls, I mean to say, each what a housemaid I used to know would
have called an overbearing dishpot.
I didn't say so, of course. There is a time to call someone an
overbearing dishpot, and a time not to. Criticism of the girl he
loved might be taken in ill part, as the expression is, and you
don't want an ex-Oxford boxing Blue taking things in ill part with
you.
'Have you anyone in mind?' I asked. 'Or are you just going to a
secretary bin, accepting what they have in stock?'
'I'm hoping to get hold of an American girl I saw something of
before I left London. I was sharing a flat with Boko Fittleworth
when he was writing a novel, and she came every day and worked with
him. Boko dictates his stuff, and he said she was tops as a
shorthand typist. I have her address, but I don't know if she's
still there. I'm going round there after lunch. Her name's Magnolia
Glendennon.'
'It can't be.'
'Why not?'
'Nobody could have a name like Magnolia.'
'They could if they came from South Carolina, as she did. In