Tricked...

So when you, as a bloke on the street, hear me say, 'Rupert', what do you picture?

The dude with the big glasses. Geek. Secretary (and bane of existence) of poor old Lord Emsworth. Crony of Lady Constance in being the said bane of said Lord. Owner of fluorescent pajamas. Thrower of flower pots. Rider of motor-cycles across the English countryside. Efficient target of air-gun. In short, everything designed to make you despise him. Rupert Baxter.

It was around midnight on Saturday. My eyes were closing of their own accord. I was persisting nevertheless, with Mike and Psmith (read the Preface), in whose pages lies a mention of a Rupert. Its a horrible prank to play, Mr. Wodehouse (Sir). Our very own, exquisite, immaculate, verbose, Smith (I mean Psmith), with the first name Rupert? Is this true or a mere trick played by my senses at that late hour? Shudder....