An admission: I just don't find Wodehouse very funny.
I liked Leave it to Psmith mostly because of Psmith, who is a twenties version of Dirk Gently. Carry On, Jeeves, a book of short stories about Wodehouse's most famous double act, Jeeves and Wooster, does not feature Psmith, and while it was a perfectly pleasant read (mainly for its period atmosphere - I find the twenties utterly fascinating for reasons I can't really articulate) I don't think I'll be rushing back for more anytime soon.
I think part of this is actually due to the book's repetitiveness. Obviously this is not really Wodehouse's fault, since the stories weren't really written to be collected like this, but there are only so many times you can read about fearsome maiden aunts threatening to cut off their layabout nephews' allowances without being able to see where the story is going.
Plus, casual sexism. "Here is an amusing ruse to make this woman fall in love with me! Because, obviously, she has no agency of her own!" Needless to say, none of these stories star women in anything other than supporting roles, most of which are played for laughs.
(It's possible that I'm missing the point here: Wooster, Our Narrator, is obviously a weak-minded fool, but I don't have the conceptual energy at the moment to think through the gender implications of this, if there are any.)
Something of a miss, then, for me.