“It would perhaps be safest to drive carefully until we are out of the school grounds, sir,” I said. “I might run over one of the young ladies, sir.”

“Well, what’s the objection to that?” demanded Mr. Wooster, with extraordinary bitterness.

“Or even Miss Tomlinson, sir.”

“Don’t!” said Mr. Wooster, wistfully. “You make my mouth water!”

“Jeeves,” said Mr. Wooster, when I brought him his whisky and siphon one night about a week later, “this is dashed jolly.”

“Sir?”