“Very good, sir.”

“And, Jeeves, when you’re through, come back. I want you to cast your eye over this effort and give it the OK.”

My Aunt Dahlia, who runs a woman’s paper called Milady’s Boudoir , had recently backed me into a corner and made me promise to write her a few authoritative words for her “Husbands and Brothers” page on “What the Well-Dressed Man is Wearing.” I believe in encouraging aunts, when deserving; and, as there are many worse eggs than her knocking about the metrop. I had consented blithely. But I give you my honest word that if I had had the foggiest notion of what I was letting myself in for, not even a nephew’s devotion would have kept me from giving her the raspberry. A deuce of a job it had been, taxing the physique to the utmost. I don’t wonder now that all these author blokes have bald heads and faces like birds who have suffered.