“Omelette! Do you think you could get me one?”
“Certainly, sir.”
“Together with half a bot. of something?”
“Undoubtedly, sir.”
“Do so, Jeeves, and with all speed.”
I climbed into bed and sank back against the pillows. I must say that
my generous wrath had ebbed a bit. I was aching the whole length of my
body, particularly toward the middle, but against this you had to set
the fact that I was no longer engaged to Madeline Bassett. In a good
cause one is prepared to suffer. Yes, looking at the thing from every
angle, I saw that Jeeves had done well, and it was with an approving
beam that I welcomed him as he returned with the needful.
He did not check up with this beam. A bit grave, he seemed to me to be
looking, and I probed the matter with a kindly query:
“Something on your mind, Jeeves?”
“Yes, sir. I should have mentioned it earlier, but in the evening’s
disturbance it escaped my memory, I fear I have been remiss, sir.”
“Yes, Jeeves?” I said, champing contentedly.
“In the matter of your mess-jacket, sir.”
A nameless fear shot through me, causing me to swallow a mouthful of
omelette the wrong way.
“I am sorry to say, sir, that while I was ironing it this afternoon I
was careless enough to leave the hot instrument upon it. I very much
fear that it will be impossible for you to wear it again, sir.”
One of those old pregnant silences filled the room.
“I am extremely sorry, sir.”
For a moment, I confess, that generous wrath of mine came bounding
back, hitching up its muscles and snorting a bit through the nose, but,
as we say on the Riviera, _à quoi sert-il_? There was nothing to be
gained by g.w. now.
We Woosters can bite the bullet. I nodded moodily and speared another
slab of omelette.
“Right ho, Jeeves.”
“Very good, sir.”