A recently discovered manuscript containing an unpublished P.G. Wodehouse story has led some scholars to the theory that the "Bertie Wooster" stories were in fact based on the career of Bertrand Russell, and that the Drones club was none other than Trinity College, Cambridge. Here is the story so that readers can decide for themselves.
"Professor Whitehead to see you, sir," said Jeeves, as he shimmered in with my morning coffee.
Pieface Whitehead is one of my oldest friends and we had been out on the town together only the previous night, celebrating the Boat-race. Indeed two pals of ours, Stinker Hardy and Bingo Littlewood, had been caught throwing a porter's bowler hat into the fountain and it was only thanks to Jeeves' persuading the Senior Tutor that they were washing it for a friend that the Dean had let them off the hook.
"What-ho, Pieface!" I said brightly.
"What-ho, Bertie!" my friend replied. "Dashed off any more of the jolly old Principia lately?"
At this time Pieface and I were collaborating on a little venture which we had given the snappy title of "Principia Mathematica" not realising that it had been used before. My aunt Dahlia (the nice one, not to be confused with Aunt Agatha who is the one who eats broken bottles) had said that she had long known that her nephew Bertrand Rooster had the mind of a shrimp, but that hitherto they had managed to keep it in the family.
"No, I'm still having a spot of bother with the jolly old plot," I confessed. "I'm trying to sort out the proof that 2 plus 2 is 4, but the bally sum doesn't seem to be coming out."
"Well stick at it, old man," said Pieface. "By the way, ever heard of an old boy named Frege? He's sent me this book about set theory. Can't make out what the old buzzard's getting at."
"Foreign johnny, isn't he?" I replied. "One of Jumbo Hilbert's cronies? Man with a strange glint in his eye? Met him once or twice."
At that moment Jeeves shimmered in with a telegram and stood respectfully waiting while I read it.
"What do you make of this, Jeeves?" I asked. "NEED YOUR ADVICE, ROOSTER. AM HAVING TROUBLE GETTING A SHAVE. THE LOCAL BARBER ONLY SHAVES THOSE WHO DON'T SHAVE THEMSELVES. GOTTLIEB FREGE."
"I fancy that Professor Frege is in a logical dilemma, sir." replied Jeeves after some thought. "It might help if he were to go to a lady barber, on logical if not sartorial grounds. Naturally one would not expect him to grow a beard. As the poet Wordsworth puts it..."
"This is no time for the poet Wordsworth, Jeeves." I snapped. "Matters of philosophy are at stake."
"Very good, sir. If I may make a suggestion, sir..."
"Oh, fire away, Jeeves. Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of the party."
"Well, sir, it occurred to me that Professor Frege's logical dilemmas merely constituted a new form of the Epiminedes paradox. Possibly if you were to devise a theory of "types" for him, then he would be able to prove the existence of his shave."
"Er, really, Jeeves?" I asked, somewhat impressed.
"Yes, sir. Indeed it might well lead you to a new proof that 2 and 2 make 4, if I may venture the observation."
The rest is history.