JEEVES AND THE HARD-BOILED EGG
Sometimes of a morning, as I’ve sat in the early cup of tea and my man Jeeves about the room and out the for the day, I’ve what the I should do if the took it into his to me. It’s not so now I’m in New York, but in London the was frightful. There used to be all of on the part of low to him away from me. Young Reggie Foljambe to my knowledge offered him what I was him, and Alistair Bingham-Reeves, who’s got a who had been to press his sideways, used to look at him, when he came to see me, with a of which me deucedly. Bally pirates!
The thing, you see, is that Jeeves is so competent. You can spot it in the way he into a shirt.
I on him in every crisis, and he lets me down. And, what’s more, he can always be on to himself on of any of mine who to be to all knee-deep in the bouillon. Take the case, for instance, of dear old Bicky and his uncle, the hard-boiled egg.
It after I had been in America for a months. I got to the one night, and when Jeeves me the final drink he said:
“Mr. Bickersteth called to see you this evening, sir, while you were out.”
“Oh?” I said.
“Twice, sir. He appeared a agitated.”
“What, pipped?”
“He gave that impression, sir.”
I the whisky. I was sorry if Bicky was in trouble, but, as a of fact, I was to have something I discuss with Jeeves just then, had been a us for some time, and it had been difficult to on anything to talk about that wasn’t to take a personal turn. You see, I had decided—rightly or wrongly—to a and this had cut Jeeves to the quick. He couldn’t the thing at any price, and I had been since in an of till I was well up with it. What I is, while there’s no that in of dress Jeeves’s is and should be followed, it to me that it was a too thick if he was going to my as well as my costume. No one can call me an chappie, and many’s the time I’ve in like a when Jeeves has voted against one of my or ties; but when it comes to a valet’s out a on your upper lip you’ve got to have a of the good old and the blighter.
“He said that he would call again later, sir.”
“Something must be up, Jeeves.”
“Yes, sir.”
I gave the a twirl. It to Jeeves a good deal, so I it.
“I see by the paper, sir, that Mr. Bickersteth’s uncle is on the Carmantic.”
“Yes?”
“His Grace the Duke of Chiswick, sir.”
This was news to me, that Bicky’s uncle was a duke. Rum, how little one about one’s pals! I had met Bicky for the time at a of or in Washington Square, not long after my in New York. I I was a at the time, and I took to Bicky when I that he was an Englishman and had, in fact, been up at Oxford with me. Besides, he was a chump, so we naturally together; and while we were taking a in a that wasn’t all up with and and what-not, he himself to me by a most of a bull-terrier a cat up a tree. But, though we had pally, all I about him was that he was hard up, and had an uncle who the a from time to time by sending him monthly remittances.
“If the Duke of Chiswick is his uncle,” I said, “why hasn’t he a title? Why isn’t he Lord What-Not?”
“Mr. Bickersteth is the son of his grace’s late sister, sir, who married Captain Rollo Bickersteth of the Coldstream Guards.”
Jeeves everything.
“Is Mr. Bickersteth’s father dead, too?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Leave any money?”
“No, sir.”
I to why old Bicky was always more or less on the rocks. To the and observer, if you know what I mean, it may a good having a for an uncle, but the trouble about old Chiswick was that, though an old buster, owning London and about five up north, he was the most in England. He was what American would call a hard-boiled egg. If Bicky’s people hadn’t left him anything and he on what he out of the old duke, he was in a way. Not that that why he was me like this, he was a who money. He said he wanted to keep his pals, so any one’s ear on principle.
At this the door rang. Jeeves out to answer it.
“Yes, sir. Mr. Wooster has just returned,” I him say. And Bicky came in, looking sorry for himself.
“Halloa, Bicky!” I said. “Jeeves told me you had been trying to me. Jeeves, another glass, and let the commence. What’s the trouble, Bicky?”
“I’m in a hole, Bertie. I want your advice.”
“Say on, old lad!”
“My uncle’s up to-morrow, Bertie.”
“So Jeeves told me.”
“The Duke of Chiswick, you know.”
“So Jeeves told me.”
Bicky a surprised.
“Jeeves to know everything.”
“Rather rummily, that’s what I was just now myself.”
“Well, I wish,” said Bicky gloomily, “that he a way to me out of the I’m in.”
Jeeves in with the glass, and it on the table.
“Mr. Bickersteth is in a of a hole, Jeeves,” I said, “and wants you to round.”
“Very good, sir.”
Bicky looked a doubtful.
“Well, of course, you know, Bertie, this thing is by way of being a private and all that.”
“I shouldn’t worry about that, old top. I Jeeves all about it already. Don’t you, Jeeves?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Eh!” said Bicky, rattled.
“I am open to correction, sir, but is not your to the that you are at a to to his why you are in New York of in Colorado?”
Bicky like a jelly in a high wind.
“How the do you know anything about it?”
“I to meet his grace’s we left England. He me that he to his speaking to you on the matter, sir, as he passed the library door.”
Bicky gave a of laugh.
“Well, as to know all about it, there’s no need to try to keep it dark. The old boy me out, Bertie, he said I was a nincompoop. The idea was that he would give me a on condition that I out to some of the name of Colorado and learned or ranching, or they call it, at some or farm or it’s called. I didn’t the idea a bit. I should have had to and cows, and so forth. I horses. They bite at you. I was all against the scheme. At the same time, don’t you know, I had to have that remittance.”
“I you absolutely, dear boy.”
“Well, when I got to New York it looked a of place to me, so I it would be a to stop here. So I to my uncle telling him that I had into a good in the city and wanted to the idea. He that it was all right, and here I’ve been since. He thinks I’m doing well at something or other over here. I dreamed, don’t you know, that he would come out here. What on earth am I to do?”
“Jeeves,” I said, “what on earth is Mr. Bickersteth to do?”
“You see,” said Bicky, “I had a from him to say that he was to with me—to save hotel bills, I suppose. I’ve always him the that I was in good style. I can’t have him to at my boarding-house.”
“Thought of anything, Jeeves?” I said.
“To what extent, sir, if the question is not a one, are you prepared to Mr. Bickersteth?”
“I’ll do anything I can for you, of course, Bicky, old man.”
“Then, if I might make the suggestion, sir, you might Mr. Bickersteth——”
“No, by Jove!” said Bicky firmly. “I have touched you, Bertie, and I’m not going to start now. I may be a chump, but it’s my that I don’t a to a single soul—not tradesmen, of course.”
“I was about to suggest, sir, that you might Mr. Bickersteth this flat. Mr. Bickersteth give his the that he was the owner of it. With your permission I the that I was in Mr. Bickersteth’s employment, and not in yours. You would be here as Mr. Bickersteth’s guest. His would the second bedroom. I that you would this answer satisfactorily, sir.”
Bicky had stopped himself and was at Jeeves in an of way.
“I would the of a message to his on the vessel, him of the of address. Mr. Bickersteth meet his at the and directly here. Will that meet the situation, sir?”
“Absolutely.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Bicky him with his till the door closed.
“How he do it, Bertie?” he said. “I’ll tell you what I think it is. I it’s something to do with the shape of his head. Have you noticed his head, Bertie, old man? It of out at the back!”
I out of early next morning, so as to be among those present when the old boy should arrive. I from that these up at the at a hour. It wasn’t much after nine by the time I’d and had my tea and was out of the window, the for Bicky and his uncle. It was one of those jolly, peaceful that make a wish he’d got a or something, and I was just on life in when I aware of the of a in progress below. A taxi had up, and an old boy in a top had got out and was kicking up a about the fare. As as I make out, he was trying to the to from New York to London prices, and the had of London before, and didn’t to think a of it now. The old boy said that in London the would have set him eightpence; and the said he should worry. I called to Jeeves.
“The has arrived, Jeeves.”
“Yes, sir?”
“That’ll be him at the door now.”
Jeeves a long arm and opened the door, and the old boy in, looking to a splinter.
“How do you do, sir?” I said, up and being the of sunshine. “Your nephew to the to meet you, but you must have missed him. My name’s Wooster, don’t you know. Great of Bicky’s, and all that of thing. I’m with him, you know. Would you like a cup of tea? Jeeves, a cup of tea.”
Old Chiswick had into an arm-chair and was looking about the room.
“Does this to my nephew Francis?”
“Absolutely.”
“It must be expensive.”
“Pretty well, of course. Everything a over here, you know.”
He moaned. Jeeves in with the tea. Old Chiswick took a at it to his tissues, and nodded.
“A terrible country, Mr. Wooster! A terrible country! Nearly eight for a cab-drive! Iniquitous!” He took another look the room. It to him. “Have you any idea how much my nephew pays for this flat, Mr. Wooster?”
“About two hundred a month, I believe.”
“What! Forty a month!”
I to see that, unless I the thing a more plausible, the might turn out a frost. I what the old boy was thinking. He was trying to square all this with what he of old Bicky. And one had to admit that it took a of squaring, for dear old Bicky, though a and as an of bull-terriers and cats, was in many one of the most that on a of gent’s underwear.
“I it to you,” I said, “but the is New York often up and makes them a of speed that you wouldn’t have them of. It of them. Something in the air, don’t you know. I that Bicky in the past, when you him, may have been something of a chump, but it’s different now. Devilish of chappie, and looked on in circles as the nib!”
“I am amazed! What is the nature of my nephew’s business, Mr. Wooster?”
“Oh, just business, don’t you know. The same of thing Carnegie and Rockefeller and all these do, you know.” I for the door. “Awfully sorry to you, but I’ve got to meet some of the elsewhere.”
Coming out of the I met Bicky in from the street.
“Halloa, Bertie! I missed him. Has he up?”
“He’s now, having some tea.”
“What he think of it all?”
“He’s rattled.”
“Ripping! I’ll be up, then. Toodle-oo, Bertie, old man. See you later.”
“Pip-pip, Bicky, dear boy.”
He off, full of and good cheer, and I off to the to in the window and watch the traffic up one way and going the other.
It was in the when I looked in at the to dress for dinner.
“Where’s everybody, Jeeves?” I said, no little about the place. “Gone out?”
“His to see some of the of the city, sir. Mr. Bickersteth is acting as his escort. I their was Grant’s Tomb.”
“I Mr. Bickersteth is a at the way are going—what?”
“Sir?”
“I say, I take it that Mr. Bickersteth is full of beans.”
“Not altogether, sir.”
“What’s his trouble now?”
“The which I took the of to Mr. Bickersteth and has, unfortunately, not answered satisfactorily, sir.”
“Surely the that Mr. Bickersteth is doing well in business, and all that of thing?”
“Exactly, sir. With the result that he has to Mr. Bickersteth’s monthly allowance, on the ground that, as Mr. Bickersteth is doing so well on his own account, he no longer assistance.”
“Great Scot, Jeeves! This is awful.”
“Somewhat disturbing, sir.”
“I anything like this!”
“I I the myself, sir.”
“I it the over absolutely?”
“Mr. Bickersteth appeared taken aback, sir.”
My for Bicky.
“We must do something, Jeeves.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Can you think of anything?”
“Not at the moment, sir.”
“There must be something we can do.”
“It was a of one of my employers, sir—as I I mentioned to you once before—the present Lord Bridgnorth, that there is always a way. I his using the on the occasion—he was then a and had not yet his title—when a hair-restorer which he to be promoting failed to the public. He put it on the market under another name as a depilatory, and a fortune. I have his lordship’s on foundations. No we shall be able to some of Mr. Bickersteth’s difficulty, sir.”
“Well, have a at it, Jeeves!”
“I will no pains, sir.”
I and sadly. It will you well how I was when I tell you that I near as a put on a white tie with a dinner-jacket. I out for a of food more to pass the time than I wanted it. It to be into the bill of with old Bicky for the breadline.
When I got old Chiswick had gone to bed, but Bicky was there, up in an arm-chair, tensely, with a cigarette out of the of his mouth and a more or less in his eyes. He had the of one who had been with what the newspaper call “some instrument.”
“This is a thick, old thing—what!” I said.
He up his and it feverishly, the that it hadn’t anything in it.
“I’m done, Bertie!” he said.
He had another go at the glass. It didn’t to do him any good.
“If only this had a week later, Bertie! My next month’s money was to roll in on Saturday. I have a I’ve been reading about in the magazine advertisements. It that you can make a amount of money if you can only a and start a chicken-farm. Jolly scheme, Bertie! Say you a hen—call it one hen for the of argument. It an egg every day of the week. You sell the eggs seven for twenty-five cents. Keep of hen nothing. Profit twenty-five on every seven eggs. Or look at it another way: Suppose you have a dozen hens. Each of the has a dozen chickens. The up and have more chickens. Why, in no time you’d have the place knee-deep in hens, all eggs, at twenty-five for every seven. You’d make a fortune. Jolly life, too, hens!” He had to up at the of it, but he in his chair at this with a good of gloom. “But, of course, it’s no good,” he said, “because I haven’t the cash.”
“You’ve only to say the word, you know, Bicky, old top.”
“Thanks awfully, Bertie, but I’m not going to on you.”
That’s always the way in this world. The you’d like to money to won’t let you, the you don’t want to it to will do actually you on your and the out of your pockets. As a who has always rolled free in the right stuff, I’ve had of of the second class. Many’s the time, in London, I’ve along Piccadilly and the of the on the of my and his sharp, as he closed in on me. I’ve my life to I didn’t a for; yet here was I now, and pieces of eight and to hand them over, and Bicky, fish, on his uppers, not taking any at any price.
“Well, there’s only one hope, then.”
“What’s that?”
“Jeeves.”
“Sir?”
There was Jeeves, me, full of zeal. In this of into rooms the is to a degree. You’re in the old arm-chair, of this and that, and then you look up, and there he is. He moves from point to point with as little as a jelly fish. The thing old Bicky considerably. He rose from his seat like a pheasant. I’m used to Jeeves now, but often in the days when he came to me I’ve my on him in my midst.
“Did you call, sir?”
“Oh, there you are, Jeeves!”
“Precisely, sir.”
“Jeeves, Mr. Bickersteth is still up the pole. Any ideas?”
“Why, yes, sir. Since we had our I I have what may prove a solution. I do not wish to appear to be taking a liberty, sir, but I think that we have his grace’s as a of revenue.”
Bicky laughed, what I have sometimes as a hollow, laugh, a of from the of the throat, like a gargle.
“I do not allude, sir,” Jeeves, “to the possibility of his to part with money. I am taking the of his in the light of an at present—if I may say so—useless property, which is of being developed.”
Bicky looked at me in a of way. I’m to say I didn’t it myself.
“Couldn’t you make it a easier, Jeeves!”
“In a nutshell, sir, what I is this: His is, in a sense, a personage. The of this country, as no you are aware, sir, are to hands with personages. It to me that Mr. Bickersteth or might know of who would be to pay a small fee—let us say two or three—for the of an introduction, handshake, to his grace.”
Bicky didn’t to think much of it.
“Do you to say that anyone would be to part with solid cash just to shake hands with my uncle?”
“I have an aunt, sir, who paid five to a for a moving-picture actor to tea at her house one Sunday. It gave her social among the neighbours.”
Bicky wavered.
“If you think it be done——”
“I of it, sir.”
“What do you think, Bertie?”
“I’m for it, old boy, absolutely. A very wheeze.”
“Thank you, sir. Will there be anything further? Good night, sir.”
And he out, us to discuss details.
Until we started this of old Chiswick as a money-making I had what a perfectly time those Stock Exchange must have when the public isn’t freely. Nowadays I read that they put in the financial reports about “The market opened quietly” with a eye, for, by Jove, it opened for us! You’d how difficult it was to the public and make them take a on the old boy. By the end of the week the only name we had on our list was a delicatessen-store in Bicky’s part of the town, and as he wanted us to take it out in of cash that didn’t help much. There was a of light when the of Bicky’s offered ten dollars, money down, for an to old Chiswick, but the through, to its out that the was an and to the old boy of hands with him. At that, it took me the of a time to Bicky not to the cash and let take their course. He to the pawnbroker’s as a sportsman and of his than otherwise.
The whole thing, I’m to think, would have been off if it hadn’t been for Jeeves. There is no that Jeeves is in a class of his own. In the of brain and I don’t think I have met a so like mother made. He into my room one with a good old cup of tea, and that there was something doing.
“Might I speak to you with to that of his grace, sir?”
“It’s all off. We’ve to it.”
“Sir?”
“It won’t work. We can’t to come.”
“I I can that of the matter, sir.”
“Do you to say you’ve managed to anybody?”
“Yes, sir. Eighty-seven from Birdsburg, sir.”
I sat up in and the tea.
“Birdsburg?”
“Birdsburg, Missouri, sir.”
“How did you them?”
“I last night, sir, as you had that you would be from home, to a performance, and entered into the with the of the seat. I had that he was a in his buttonhole, sir—a large with the ‘Boost for Birdsburg’ upon it in red letters, a to a gentleman’s costume. To my I noticed that the was full of decorated. I to the explanation, and was that these gentlemen, a party of eighty-seven, are a from a town of the name if Birdsburg, in the State of Missouri. Their visit, I gathered, was purely of a social and nature, and my spoke at some length of the for their in the city. It was when he related with a amount of and pride, that a of their number had been to and had hands with a well-known prizefighter, that it to me to the of his grace. To make a long short, sir, I have arranged, to your approval, that the entire shall be presented to his to-morrow afternoon.”
I was amazed. This was a Napoleon.
“Eighty-seven, Jeeves. At how much a head?”
“I was to agree to a for quantity, sir. The terms at were one hundred and fifty for the party.”
I a bit.
“Payable in advance?”
“No, sir. I to obtain payment in advance, but was not successful.”
“Well, any way, when we it I’ll make it up to five hundred. Bicky’ll know. Do you Mr. Bickersteth would anything, Jeeves, if I it up to five hundred?”
“I not, sir. Mr. Bickersteth is an gentleman, but not bright.”
“All right, then. After to the bank and me some money.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You know, you’re a of a marvel, Jeeves.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Right-o!”
“Very good, sir.”
When I took dear old Bicky in the of the and told him what had he nearly down. He into the sitting-room and old Chiswick, who was reading the of the paper with a of resolution.
“Uncle,” he said, “are you doing anything special to-morrow afternoon? I to say, I’ve asked a of my in to meet you, don’t you know.”
The old boy a at him.
“There will be no reporters among them?”
“Reporters? Rather not! Why?”
“I to be by reporters. There were a number of men who to from me my views on America while the was the dock. I will not be to this again.”
“That’ll be all right, uncle. There won’t be a newspaper-man in the place.”
“In that case I shall be to make the of your friends.”
“You’ll shake hands with them and so forth?”
“I shall naturally order my according to the of intercourse.”
Bicky thanked him and came off to with me at the club, where he of hens, incubators, and other things.
After we had to the Birdsburg on the old boy ten at a time. Jeeves his theatre to see us, and we the whole thing with him. A very chappie, but to the and turn it in the direction of his home-town’s new water-supply system. We settled that, as an hour was about all he would be likely to stand, each should itself to seven minutes of the duke’s by Jeeves’s stop-watch, and that when their time was up Jeeves should into the room and meaningly. Then we with what I are called of goodwill, the Birdsburg a to us all to out some day and take a look at the new water-supply system, for which we thanked him.
Next day the rolled in. The shift of the we had met and nine others almost like him in every respect. They all looked and businesslike, as if from up they had been in the office and the boss’s and what-not. They hands with the old boy with a good of satisfaction—all one chappie, who to be about something—and then they off and chatty.
“What message have you for Birdsburg, Duke?” asked our pal.
The old boy a rattled.
“I have been to Birdsburg.”
The pained.
“You should pay it a visit,” he said. “The most rapidly-growing city in the country. Boost for Birdsburg!”
“Boost for Birdsburg!” said the other reverently.
The who had been gave tongue.
“Say!”
He was a of well-fed with one of those and a cold eye.
The looked at him.
“As a of business,” said the chappie—“mind you, I’m not anybody’s good faith, but, as a of business—I think this here ought to put himself on record as that he is a duke.”
“What do you mean, sir?” the old boy, purple.
“No offence, business. I’m not saying anything, mind you, but there’s one thing that of to me. This here says his name’s Mr. Bickersteth, as I it. Well, if you’re the Duke of Chiswick, why isn’t he Lord Percy Something? I’ve read English novels, and I know all about it.”
“This is monstrous!”
“Now don’t under the collar. I’m only asking. I’ve a right to know. You’re going to take our money, so it’s only that we should see that we our money’s worth.”
The water-supply in:
“You’re right, Simms. I that when making the agreement. You see, gentlemen, as men we’ve a right to of good faith. We are paying Mr. Bickersteth here a hundred and fifty for this reception, and we naturally want to know——”
Old Chiswick gave Bicky a look; then he to the water-supply chappie. He was calm.
“I can you that I know nothing of this,” he said, politely. “I should be if you would explain.”
“Well, we with Mr. Bickersteth that eighty-seven citizens of Birdsburg should have the of meeting and hands with you for a financial arranged, and what my friend Simms here means—and I’m with him—is that we have only Mr. Bickersteth’s word for it—and he is a to us—that you are the Duke of Chiswick at all.”
Old Chiswick gulped.
“Allow me to you, sir,” he said, in a of voice, “that I am the Duke of Chiswick.”
“Then that’s all right,” said the heartily. “That was all we wanted to know. Let the thing go on.”
“I am sorry to say,” said old Chiswick, “that it cannot go on. I am a little tired. I I must ask to be excused.”
“But there are seventy-seven of the boys waiting the at this moment, Duke, to be to you.”
“I I must them.”
“But in that case the would have to be off.”
“That is a for you and my nephew to discuss.”
The troubled.
“You won’t meet the of them?”
“No!”
“Well, then, I we’ll be going.”
They out, and there was a solid silence. Then old Chiswick to Bicky:
“Well?”
Bicky didn’t to have anything to say.
“Was it true what that man said?”
“Yes, uncle.”
“What do you by playing this trick?”
Bicky well out, so I put in a word.
“I think you’d the whole thing, Bicky, old top.”
Bicky’s Adam’s-apple jumped about a bit; then he started:
“You see, you had cut off my allowance, uncle, and I wanted a of money to start a chicken farm. I to say it’s an if you once a of capital. You a hen, and it an egg every day of the week, and you sell the eggs, say, seven for twenty-five cents.
“Keep of cost nothing. Profit practically——”
“What is all this nonsense about hens? You me to you were a man.”
“Old Bicky exaggerated, sir,” I said, helping the out. “The is, the old is on that of yours, and when you cut it off, don’t you know, he was in the soup, and had to think of some way of in on a of the quick. That’s why we of this scheme.”
Old Chiswick at the mouth.
“So you have to me! You have me as to your financial status!”
“Poor old Bicky didn’t want to go to that ranch,” I explained. “He doesn’t like and horses, but he thinks he would be among the hens. All he wants is a of capital. Don’t you think it would be a if you were to——”
“After what has happened? After this—this and foolery? Not a penny!”
“But——”
“Not a penny!”
There was a in the background.
“If I might make a suggestion, sir?”
Jeeves was on the horizon, looking brainy.
“Go ahead, Jeeves!” I said.
“I would suggest, sir, that if Mr. Bickersteth is in need of a little money, and is at a to obtain it elsewhere, he might secure the he by the of this for the Sunday issue of one of the more and newspapers.”
“By Jove!” I said.
“By George!” said Bicky.
“Great heavens!” said old Chiswick.
“Very good, sir,” said Jeeves.
Bicky to old Chiswick with a eye.
“Jeeves is right. I’ll do it! The Chronicle would jump at it. They eat that of stuff.”
Old Chiswick gave a of howl.
“I you, Francis, to do this thing!”
“That’s all very well,” said Bicky, braced, “but if I can’t the money any other way——”
“Wait! Er—wait, my boy! You are so impetuous! We might something.”
“I won’t go to that ranch.”
“No, no! No, no, my boy! I would not it. I would not for a moment it. I—I think——”
He to have a of a with himself. “I—I think that, on the whole, it would be best if you returned with me to England. I—I might—in fact, I think I see my way to doing—to—I might be able to your services in some position.”
“I shouldn’t mind that.”
“I should not be able to offer you a salary, but, as you know, in English political life the is a figure——”
“The only I’ll recognize,” said Bicky firmly, “is five hundred a year, paid quarterly.”
“My dear boy!”
“Absolutely!”
“But your recompense, my dear Francis, would in the opportunities you would have, as my secretary, to experience, to to the of political life, to—in fact, you would be in an position.”
“Five hundred a year!” said Bicky, it his tongue. “Why, that would be nothing to what I make if I started a chicken farm. It to reason. Suppose you have a dozen hens. Each of the has a dozen chickens. After a the up and have a dozen each themselves, and then they all start eggs! There’s a in it. You can anything you like for eggs in America. Chappies keep them on ice for years and years, and don’t sell them till they about a a whirl. You don’t think I’m going to a like this for anything under five hundred o’ a year—what?”
A look of passed over old Chiswick’s face, then he to be to it. “Very well, my boy,” he said.
“What-o!” said Bicky. “All right, then.”
“Jeeves,” I said. Bicky had taken the old boy off to dinner to celebrate, and we were alone. “Jeeves, this has been one of your best efforts.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“It me how you do it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“The only trouble is you haven’t got much out of it—what!”
“I Mr. Bickersteth intends—I judge from his remarks—to his of anything I have been to do to him, at some later date when he is in a more position to do so.”
“It isn’t enough, Jeeves!”
“Sir?”
It was a wrench, but I it was the only possible thing to be done.
“Bring my things.”
A of in the chappie’s eye, mixed with doubt.
“You mean, sir?”
“And off my moustache.”
There was a moment’s silence. I see the was moved.
“Thank you very much indeed, sir,” he said, in a low voice, and off.
