It has happened so frequently in the past few years that young fellows
starting in my profession have come to me for a word of advice, that
I have found it convenient now to condense my system into a brief
formula. 'Resource and Tact'--that is my motto. Tact, of course, has
always been with me a _sine qua non_; while as for resource, I think I
may say that I have usually contrived to show a certain modicum of what
I might call _finesse_ in handling those little _contretemps_ which
inevitably arise from time to time in the daily life of a gentleman's
personal gentleman. I am reminded, by way of an instance, of the
Episode of the School for Young Ladies near Brighton--an affair which,
I think, may be said to have commenced one evening at the moment when I
brought Mr Wooster his whisky and siphon and he addressed me with such
remarkable petulance.
Not a little moody Mr Wooster had been for some days--far from his
usual bright self. This I had attributed to the natural reaction from
a slight attack of influenza from which he had been suffering; and, of
course, took no notice, merely performing my duties as usual, until on
the evening of which I speak he exhibited this remarkable petulance
when I brought him his whisky and siphon.
'Oh, dash it, Jeeves!' he said, manifestly overwrought. 'I wish at
least you'd put it on another table for a change.'
'Sir?' I said.
'Every night, dash it all,' proceeded Mr Wooster morosely, 'you come in
at exactly the same old time with the same old tray and put it on the
same old table. I'm fed up, I tell you. It's the bally monotony of it
that makes it all seem so frightfully bally.'
I confess that his words filled me with a certain apprehension. I had
heard gentlemen in whose employment I have been speak in very much the
same way before, and it had almost invariably meant that they were
contemplating matrimony. It disturbed me, therefore, I am free to
admit, when Mr Wooster addressed me in this fashion. I had no desire
to sever a connexion so pleasant in every respect as his and mine had
been, and my experience is that when the wife comes in at the front
door the valet of bachelor days goes out at the back.
'It's not your fault, of course,' went on Mr Wooster, regaining a
certain degree of composure. 'I'm not blaming you. But, by Jove, I
mean, you must acknowledge--I mean to say, I've been thinking pretty
deeply these last few days, Jeeves, and I've come to the conclusion
mine is an empty life. I'm lonely, Jeeves.'
'You have a great many friends, sir.'
'What's the good of friends?'
'Emerson,' I reminded him, 'says a friend may well be reckoned the
masterpiece of Nature, sir.'
'Well, you can tell Emerson from me next time you see him that he's an
ass.'
'Very good, sir.'
'What I want--Jeeves, have you seen that play called
I-forget-its-dashed-name?'
'No, sir.'
'It's on at the What-d'you-call-it. I went last night. The hero's
a chap who's buzzing along, you know, quite merry and bright, and
suddenly a kid turns up and says she's his daughter. Left over from act
one, you know--absolutely the first he'd heard of it. Well, of course,
there's a bit of a fuss and they say to him "What-ho?" and he says,
"Well, what about it?" and they say, "Well, _what_ about it?" and he
says, "Oh all right, then, if that's the way you feel!" and he takes
the kid and goes off with her out into the world together, you know.
Well, what I'm driving at, Jeeves, is that I envied that chappie. Most
awfully jolly little girl, you know, clinging to him trustingly and
what-not. Something to look after, if you know what I mean. Jeeves, I
wish I had a daughter. I wonder what the procedure is?'
'Marriage is, I believe, considered the preliminary step, sir.'
'No, I mean about adopting a kid. You can adopt kids, you know, Jeeves.
But what I want to know is how you start about it.'
'The process, I should imagine, would be highly complicated and
laborious, sir. It would cut into your spare time.'
'Well, I'll tell you what I could do, then. My sister will be back from
India next week with her three little girls. I'll give up this flat
and take a house and have them all to live with me. By Jove, Jeeves,
I think that's rather a scheme, what? Prattle of childish voices, eh?
Little feet pattering hither and thither, yes?'
I concealed my perturbation, but the effort to preserve my _sang-froid_
tested my powers to the utmost. The course of action outlined by Mr
Wooster meant the finish of our cosy bachelor establishment if it came
into being as a practical proposition; and no doubt some men in my
place would at this juncture have voiced their disapproval. I avoided
this blunder.
'If you will pardon my saying so, sir,' I suggested, 'I think you
are not quite yourself after your influenza. If I might express the
opinion, what you require is a few days by the sea. Brighton is very
handy, sir.'
'Are you suggesting that I'm talking through my hat?'
'By no means, sir. I merely advocate a short stay at Brighton as a
physical recuperative.'
Mr Wooster considered.
'Well, I'm not sure you're not right,' he said at length. 'I _am_
feeling more or less of an onion. You might shove a few things in a
suit-case and drive me down in the car tomorrow.'
'Very good, sir.'
'And when we get back I'll be in the pink and ready to tackle this
pattering-feet wheeze.'
'Exactly, sir.'
Well, it was a respite, and I welcomed it. But I began to see that a
crisis had arisen which would require adroit handling. Rarely had I
observed Mr Wooster more set on a thing. Indeed, I could recall no
such exhibition of determination on his part since the time when he
had insisted, against my frank disapproval, on wearing purple socks.
However, I had coped successfully with that outbreak, and I was by
no means unsanguine that I should eventually be able to bring the
present affair to a happy issue. Employers are like horses. They
require managing. Some gentlemen's personal gentlemen have the knack of
managing them, some have not. I, I am happy to say, have no cause for
complaint.
* * * * *
For myself, I found our stay at Brighton highly enjoyable, and should
have been willing to extend it, but Mr Wooster, still restless, wearied
of the place by the end of two days, and on the third afternoon he
instructed me to pack up and bring the car round to the hotel. We
started back along the London road at about five on a fine summer's
day, and had travelled perhaps two miles when I perceived in the road
before us a young lady, gesticulating with no little animation. I
applied the brake and brought the vehicle to a standstill.
'What,' inquired Mr Wooster, waking from a reverie, 'is the big thought
at the back of this, Jeeves?'
'I observed a young lady endeavouring to attract our attention with
signals a little way down the road, sir,' I explained. 'She is now
making her way towards us.'
Mr Wooster peered.
'I see her. I expect she wants a lift, Jeeves.'
'That was the interpretation which I placed upon her actions, sir.'
'A jolly-looking kid,' said Mr Wooster. 'I wonder what she's doing,
biffing about the high road.'
'She has the air to me, sir, of one who has been absenting herself
without leave from her school, sir.'
'Hallo-allo-allo!' said Mr Wooster, as the child reached us. 'Do you
want a lift?'
'Oh, I say, can you?' said the child, with marked pleasure.
'Where do you want to go?'
'There's a turning to the left about a mile farther on. If you'll put
me down there, I'll walk the rest of the way. I say, thanks awfully.
I've got a nail in my shoe.'
She climbed in at the back. A red-haired young person with a snub-nose
and an extremely large grin. Her age, I should imagine, would be
about twelve. She let down one of the spare seats, and knelt on it to
facilitate conversation.
'I'm going to get into a frightful row,' she began. 'Miss Tomlinson
will be perfectly furious.'
'No, really?' said Mr Wooster.
'It's a half-holiday, you know, and I sneaked away to Brighton, because
I wanted to go on the pier and put pennies in the slot-machines. I
thought I could get back in time so that nobody would notice I'd gone,
but I got this nail in my shoe, and now there'll be a fearful row. Oh,
well,' she said, with a philosophy which, I confess, I admired, 'it
can't be helped. What's your car? A Sunbeam, isn't it? We've got a
Wolseley at home.'
Mr Wooster was visibly perturbed. As I have indicated, he was at this
time in a highly malleable frame of mind, tender-hearted to a degree
where the young of the female sex was concerned. Her sad case touched
him deeply.
'Oh, I say, this is rather rotten,' he observed. 'Isn't there anything
to be done? I say, Jeeves, don't you think something could be done?'
'It was not my place to make the suggestion, sir,' I replied, 'but,
as you yourself have brought the matter up, I fancy the trouble is
susceptible of adjustment. I think it would be a legitimate subterfuge
were you to inform the young lady's schoolmistress that you are an old
friend of the young lady's father. In this case you could inform Miss
Tomlinson that you had been passing the school and had seen the young
lady at the gate and taken her for a drive. Miss Tomlinson's chagrin
would no doubt in these circumstances be sensibly diminished if not
altogether dispersed.'
'Well, you _are_ a sportsman!' observed the young person, with
considerable enthusiasm. And she proceeded to kiss me--in connexion
with which I have only to say that I was sorry she had just been
devouring some sticky species of sweetmeat.
'Jeeves, you've hit it!' said Mr Wooster. 'A sound, even fruity,
scheme. I say, I suppose I'd better know your name and all that, if I'm
a friend of your father's.'
'My name's Peggy Mainwaring, thanks awfully,' said the young person.
'And my father's Professor Mainwaring. He's written a lot of books.
You'll be expected to know that.'
'Author of the well-known series of philosophical treatises, sir,' I
ventured to interject. 'They have a great vogue, though, if the young
lady will pardon my saying so, many of the Professor's opinions strike
me personally as somewhat empirical. Shall I drive on to the school,
sir?'
'Yes, carry on. I say, Jeeves, it's a rummy thing. Do you know, I've
never been inside a girls' school in my life.'
'Indeed, sir?'
'Ought to be a dashed interesting experience, Jeeves, what?'
'I fancy that you may find it so, sir,' I said.
We drove on a matter of half a mile down a lane, and, directed by
the young person, I turned in at the gates of a house of imposing
dimensions, bringing the car to a halt at the front door. Mr Wooster
and the child entered, and presently a parlourmaid came out.
'You're to take the car round to the stables, please,' she said.
'Ah!' I said. 'Then everything is satisfactory, eh? Where has Mr
Wooster gone?'
'Miss Peggy has taken him off to meet her friends. And cook says she
hopes you'll step round to the kitchen later and have a cup of tea.'
'Inform her that I shall be delighted. Before I take the car to
the stables, would it be possible for me to have a word with Miss
Tomlinson?'
A moment later I was following her into the drawing-room.
Handsome but strong-minded--that was how I summed up Miss Tomlinson at
first glance. In some ways she recalled to my mind Mr Wooster's Aunt
Agatha. She had the same penetrating gaze and that indefinable air of
being reluctant to stand any nonsense.
'I fear I am possibly taking a liberty, madam,' I began, 'but I
am hoping that you will allow me to say a word with respect to my
employer. I fancy I am correct in supposing that Mr Wooster did not
tell you a great deal about himself?'
'He told me nothing about himself, except that he was a friend of
Professor Mainwaring.'
'He did not inform you, then, that he was _the_ Mr Wooster?'
'_The_ Mr Wooster?'
'Bertram Wooster, madam.'
I will say for Mr Wooster that, mentally negligible though he no doubt
is, he has a name that suggests almost infinite possibilities. He
sounds, if I may elucidate my meaning, like Someone--especially if you
have just been informed that he is an intimate friend of so eminent a
man as Professor Mainwaring. You might not, no doubt, be able to say
offhand whether he was Bertram Wooster the novelist, or Bertram Wooster
the founder of a new school of thought; but you would have an uneasy
feeling that you were exposing your ignorance if you did not give the
impression of familiarity with the name. Miss Tomlinson, as I had
rather foreseen, nodded brightly.
'Oh, _Bertram_ Wooster!' she said.
'He is an extremely retiring gentleman, madam, and would be the last to
suggest it himself, but, knowing him as I do, I am sure that he would
take it as a graceful compliment if you were to ask him to address the
young ladies. He is an excellent extempore speaker.'
'A very good idea,' said Miss Tomlinson decidedly. 'I am very much
obliged to you for suggesting it. I will certainly ask him to talk to
the girls.'
'And should he make a pretence--through modesty--of not wishing--'
'I shall insist.'
'Thank you, madam. I am obliged. You will not mention my share in the
matter? Mr Wooster might think that I had exceeded my duties.'
I drove round to the stables and halted the car in the yard. As I got
out, I looked at it somewhat intently. It was a good car, and appeared
to be in excellent condition, but somehow I seemed to feel that
something was going to go wrong with it--something serious--something
that would not be able to be put right again for at least a couple of
hours.
One gets these presentiments.
* * * * *
It may have been some half-hour later that Mr Wooster came into
the stable-yard as I was leaning against the car enjoying a quiet
cigarette.
'No, don't chuck it away, Jeeves,' he said, as I withdrew the cigarette
from my mouth. 'As a matter of fact, I've come to touch you for a
smoke. Got one to spare?'
'Only gaspers, I fear, sir.'
'They'll do,' responded Mr Wooster, with no little eagerness.
I observed that his manner was a trifle fatigued and his eye
somewhat wild. 'It's a rummy thing, Jeeves, I seem to have lost my
cigarette-case. Can't find it anywhere.'
'I am sorry to hear that, sir. It is not in the car.'
'No? Must have dropped it somewhere, then.' He drew at his gasper with
relish. 'Jolly creatures, small girls, Jeeves,' he remarked, after a
pause.
'Extremely so, sir.'
'Of course, I can imagine some fellows finding them a bit exhausting
in--er--'
'_En masse_, sir?'
'That's the word. A bit exhausting _en masse_.'
'I must confess, sir, that that is how they used to strike me. In
my younger day, at the outset of my career, sir, I was at one time
page-boy in a school for young ladies.'
'No, really? I never knew that before. I say, Jeeves--er--did
the--er--dear little souls _giggle_ much in your day?'
'Practically without cessation, sir.'
'Makes a fellow feel a bit of an ass, what? I shouldn't wonder if they
usedn't to stare at you from time to time, too, eh?'
'At the school where I was employed, sir, the young ladies had a
regular game which they were accustomed to play when a male visitor
arrived. They would stare fixedly at him and giggle, and there was a
small prize for the one who made him blush first.'
'Oh, no, I say, Jeeves, not really?'
'Yes, sir. They derived great enjoyment from the pastime.'
'I'd no idea small girls were such demons.'
'More deadly than the male, sir.'
Mr Wooster passed a handkerchief over his brow.
'Well, we're going to have tea in a few minutes, Jeeves. I expect I
shall feel better after tea.'
'We will hope so, sir.'
But I was by no means sanguine.
* * * * *
I had an agreeable tea in the kitchen. The buttered toast was good and
the maids nice girls, though with little conversation. The parlourmaid,
who joined us towards the end of the meal, after performing her duties
in the school dining-room, reported that Mr Wooster was sticking it
pluckily, but seemed feverish. I went back to the stable-yard, and I
was just giving the car another look over when the young Mainwaring
child appeared.
'Oh, I say,' she said, 'will you give this to Mr Wooster when you see
him?' She held out Mr Wooster's cigarette-case. 'He must have dropped
it somewhere. I say,' she proceeded, 'it's an awful lark. He's going to
give a lecture to the school.'
'Indeed, miss?'
'We love it when there are lectures. We sit and stare at the poor
dears, and try to make them dry up. There was a man last term who got
hiccoughs. Do you think Mr Wooster will get hiccoughs?'
'We can but hope for the best, miss.'
'It would be such a lark, wouldn't it?'
'Highly enjoyable, miss.'
'Well, I must be getting back. I want to get a front seat.'
And she scampered off. An engaging child. Full of spirits.
She had hardly gone when there was an agitated noise, and round the
corner came Mr Wooster. Perturbed. Deeply so.
'Jeeves!'
'Sir?'
'Start the car!'
'Sir?'
'I'm off!'
'Sir?'
Mr Wooster danced a few steps.
'Don't stand there saying "sir?" I tell you I'm off. Bally off! There's
not a moment to waste. The situation's desperate. Dash it, Jeeves, do
you know what's happened? The Tomlinson female has just sprung it on
me that I'm expected to make a speech to the girls! Got to stand up
there in front of the whole dashed collection and talk! I can just see
myself! Get that car going, Jeeves, dash it all. A little speed, a
little speed!'
'Impossible, I fear, sir. The car is out of order.'
Mr Wooster gaped at me. Very glassily he gaped.
'Out of order!'
'Yes, sir. Something is wrong. Trivial, perhaps, but possibly a matter
of some little time to repair.' Mr Wooster, being one of those easy
going young gentlemen who will drive a car but never take the trouble
to study its mechanism, I felt justified in becoming technical. 'I
think it is the differential gear, sir. Either that or the exhaust.'
I am fond of Mr Wooster, and I admit I came very near to melting as I
looked at his face. He was staring at me in a sort of dumb despair that
would have touched anybody.
'Then I'm sunk! Or'--a slight gleam of hope flickered across his drawn
features--'do you think I could sneak out and leg it across country,
Jeeves?'
'Too late, I fear, sir.' I indicated with a slight gesture the
approaching figure of Miss Tomlinson, who was advancing with a serene
determination in his immediate rear.
'Ah, there you are, Mr Wooster.'
He smiled a sickly smile.
'Yes--er--here I am!'
'We are all waiting for you in the large schoolroom.'
'But I say, look here,' said Mr Wooster, 'I--I don't know a bit what to
talk about.'
'Why, anything, Mr Wooster. Anything that comes into your head. Be
bright,' said Miss Tomlinson. 'Bright and amusing.'
'Oh, bright and amusing?'
'Possibly tell them a few entertaining stories. But, at the same
time, do not neglect the graver note. Remember that my girls are on
the threshold of life, and will be eager to hear something brave and
helpful and stimulating--something which they can remember in after
years. But, of course, you know the sort of thing, Mr Wooster. Come.
The young people are waiting.'
* * * * *
I have spoken earlier of resource and the part it plays in the life
of a gentleman's personal gentleman. It is a quality peculiarly
necessary if one is to share in scenes not primarily designed for one's
cooperation. So much that is interesting in life goes on apart behind
closed doors that your gentleman's gentleman, if he is not to remain
hopelessly behind the march of events, should exercise his wits in
order to enable himself to be--if not a spectator--at least an auditor
when there is anything of interest toward. I deprecate as vulgar and
undignified the practice of listening at keyholes, but without lowering
myself to that, I have generally contrived to find a way.
In the present case it was simple. The large schoolroom was situated on
the ground floor, with commodious French windows, which, as the weather
was clement, remained open throughout the proceedings. By stationing
myself behind a pillar on the porch or veranda which adjoined the room,
I was enabled to see and hear all. It was an experience which I should
be sorry to have missed. Mr Wooster, I may say at once, indubitably
excelled himself.
Mr Wooster is a young gentleman with practically every desirable
quality except one. I do not mean brains, for in an employer brains are
not desirable. The quality to which I allude is hard to define, but
perhaps I might call it the gift of dealing with the Unusual Situation.
In the presence of the Unusual, Mr Wooster is too prone to smile weakly
and allow his eyes to protrude. He lacks Presence. I have often wished
that I had the power to bestow upon him some of the _savoir-faire_ of
a former employer of mine, Mr Montague-Todd, the well-known financier,
now in the second year of his sentence. I have known men call upon Mr
Todd with the express intention of horsewhipping him and go away half
an hour later laughing heartily and smoking one of his cigars. To Mr
Todd it would have been child's play to speak a few impromptu words to
a schoolroom full of young ladies; in fact, before he had finished,
he would probably have induced them to invest all their pocket-money
in one of his numerous companies; but to Mr Wooster it was plainly an
ordeal of the worst description. He gave one look at the young ladies,
who were all staring at him in an extremely unwinking manner, then
blinked and started to pick feebly at his coat-sleeve. His aspect
reminded me of that of a bashful young man who, persuaded against his
better judgement to go on the platform and assist a conjurer in his
entertainment, suddenly discovers that rabbits and hard-boiled eggs are
being taken out of the top of his head.
The proceedings opened with a short but graceful speech of introduction
from Miss Tomlinson.
'Girls,' said Miss Tomlinson, 'some of you have already met Mr
Wooster--Mr _Bertram_ Wooster, and you all, I hope, know him by
reputation.' Here, I regret to say, Mr Wooster gave a hideous, gurgling
laugh and, catching Miss Tomlinson's eye, turned a bright scarlet.
Miss Tomlinson resumed: 'He has very kindly consented to say a few
words to you before he leaves, and I am sure that you will all give him
your very earnest attention. Now, please.'
She gave a spacious gesture with her right hand as she said the last
two words, and Mr Wooster, apparently under the impression that they
were addressed to him, cleared his throat and began to speak. But it
appeared that her remark was directed to the young ladies, and was
in the nature of a cue or signal, for she had no sooner spoken to
them than the whole school rose to its feet in a body and burst into
a species of chant, of which I am glad to say I remember the words,
though the tune eludes me. The words ran as follows:
Many greetings to you!
Many greetings to you!
Many greetings, dear stranger,
Many greetings,
Many greetings,
Many greetings to you!
Many greetings to you!
To you!
Considerable latitude of choice was given to the singers in the matter
of key, and there was little of what I might call co-operative effort.
Each child went on till she had reached the end, then stopped and
waited for the stragglers to come up. It was an unusual performance,
and I, personally, found it extremely exhilarating. It seemed to smite
Mr Wooster, however, like a blow. He recoiled a couple of steps and
flung up an arm defensively. Then the uproar died away, and an air
of expectancy fell upon the room. Miss Tomlinson directed a brightly
authoritative gaze upon Mr Wooster, and he blinked, gulped once or
twice, and tottered forward.
'Well, you know--' he said.
Then it seemed to strike him that this opening lacked the proper formal
dignity.
'Ladies--'
A silvery peal of laughter from the front row stopped him again.
'Girls!' said Miss Tomlinson. She spoke in a low, soft voice, but the
effect was immediate. Perfect stillness instantly descended upon all
present. I am bound to say that, brief as my acquaintance with Miss
Tomlinson had been, I could recall few women I had admired more. She
had grip.
I fancy that Miss Tomlinson had gauged Mr Wooster's oratorical
capabilities pretty correctly by this time, and had come to the
conclusion that little in the way of a stirring address was to be
expected from him.
'Perhaps,' she said, 'as it is getting late, and he has not very much
time to spare, Mr Wooster will just give you some little word of advice
which may be helpful to you in after-life, and then we will sing the
school song and disperse to our evening lessons.'
She looked at Mr Wooster. He passed a finger round the inside of his
collar.
'Advice? After-life? What? Well, I don't know--'
'Just some brief word of counsel, Mr Wooster,' said Miss Tomlinson
firmly.
'Oh, well--Well, yes--Well--' It was painful to see Mr Wooster's brain
endeavouring to work. 'Well, I'll tell you something that's often done
_me_ a bit of good, and it's a thing not many people know. My old Uncle
Henry gave me the tip when I first came to London. "Never forget, my
boy," he said, "that, if you stand outside Romano's in the Strand, you
can see the clock on the wall of the Law Courts down in Fleet Street.
Most people who don't know don't believe it's possible, because there
are a couple of churches in the middle of the road, and you would think
they would be in the way. But you can, and it's worth knowing. You
can win a lot of money betting on it with fellows who haven't found
it out." And, by Jove, he was perfectly right, and it's a thing to
remember. Many a quid have I--'
Miss Tomlinson gave a hard, dry cough, and he stopped in the middle of
a sentence.
'Perhaps it will be better, Mr Wooster,' she said, in a cold, even
voice, 'if you were to tell my girls some little story. What you say
is, no doubt, extremely interesting, but perhaps a little--'
'Oh, ah, yes,' said Mr Wooster. 'Story? Story?' He appeared completely
distraught, poor young gentleman. 'I wonder if you've heard the one
about the stockbroker and the chorus-girl?'
'We will now sing the school song,' said Miss Tomlinson, rising like an
iceberg.
I decided not to remain for the singing of the school song. It seemed
probable to me that Mr Wooster would shortly be requiring the car, so I
made my way back to the stable-yard, to be in readiness.
I had not long to wait. In a very few moments he appeared, tottering.
Mr Wooster's is not one of those inscrutable faces which it is
impossible to read. On the contrary, it is a limpid pool in which is
mirrored each passing emotion. I could read it now like a book, and his
first words were very much on the lines I had anticipated.
'Jeeves,' he said hoarsely, 'is that damned car mended yet?'
'Just this moment, sir. I have been working on it assiduously.'
'Then, for heaven's sake, let's go!'
'But I understood that you were to address the young ladies, sir.'
'Oh, I've done that!' responded Mr Wooster, blinking twice with
extraordinary rapidity. 'Yes, I've done that.'
'It was a success, I hope, sir?'
'Oh, yes. Oh, yes. Most extraordinarily successful. Went like a breeze.
But--er--I think I may as well be going. No use outstaying one's
welcome, what?'
'Assuredly not, sir.'
I had climbed into my seat and was about to start the engine, when
voices made themselves heard; and at the first sound of them Mr Wooster
sprang with almost incredible nimbleness into the tonneau, and when I
glanced round he was on the floor covering himself with a rug. The last
I saw of him was a pleading eye.
'Have you seen Mr Wooster, my man?'
Miss Tomlinson had entered the stable-yard, accompanied by a lady of, I
should say, judging from her accent, French origin.
'No, madam.'
The French lady uttered some exclamation in her native tongue.
'Is anything wrong, madam?' I inquired.
Miss Tomlinson in normal mood was, I should be disposed to imagine,
a lady who would not readily confide her troubles to the ear of a
gentleman's gentleman, however sympathetic his aspect. That she did so
now was sufficient indication of the depth to which she was stirred.
'Yes, there is! Mademoiselle has just found several of the girls
smoking cigarettes in the shrubbery. When questioned, they stated that
Mr Wooster had given them the horrid things.' She turned. 'He must be
in the garden somewhere, or in the house. I think the man is out of his
senses. Come, mademoiselle!'
It must have been about a minute later that Mr Wooster poked his head
out of the rug like a tortoise.
'Jeeves!'
'Sir?'
'Get a move on! Start her up! Get going and _keep_ going!'