Fixing It for Freddie

“Jeeves,” I said, looking in on him one afternoon on my return from the club, “I don’t want to interrupt you.”

“No, sir?”

“But I would like a word with you.”

“Yes, sir?”

He had been packing a few of the Wooster necessaries in the old kit-bag against our approaching visit to the seaside, and he now rose and stood bursting with courteous zeal.

“Jeeves,” I said, “a somewhat disturbing situation has arisen with regard to a pal of mine.”

“Indeed, sir?”

“You know Mr. Bullivant?”

“Yes, sir.”

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