“Yes, Jeeves.”
“But, sir----”
“You were saying, Jeeves?”
“It is quite unsuitable, sir.”
“I do not agree with you, Jeeves. I anticipate a great popular success
for this jacket. It is my intention to spring it on the public tomorrow
at Pongo Twistleton’s birthday party, where I confidently expect it
to be one long scream from start to finish. No argument, Jeeves. No
discussion. Whatever fantastic objection you may have taken to it, I
wear this jacket.”
“Very good, sir.”
He went on with his unpacking. I said no more on the subject. I had
won the victory, and we Woosters do not triumph over a beaten foe.
Presently, having completed my toilet, I bade the man a cheery farewell
and in generous mood suggested that, as I was dining out, why didn’t
he take the evening off and go to some improving picture or something.
Sort of olive branch, if you see what I mean.
He didn’t seem to think much of it.
“Thank you, sir, I will remain in.”