so I suppose he enjoyed himself, too, in a way. Anyhow, things seemed to be buzzing along quite satisfactorily, and Bingo said he had got an idea which, he thought, was going to clinch the thing. He wouldn’t tell me what it was, but he said it was a pippin.
“We make progress, Jeeves,” I said.
“That is very satisfactory, sir.”
“ Mr. Little tells me that when he came to the big scene in Only a Factory Girl , his uncle gulped like a stricken bull-pup.”
“Indeed, sir?”
“Where Lord Claude takes the girl in his arms, you know, and says—”
“I am familiar with the passage, sir. It is distinctly moving. It was a great favourite of my aunt’s.”
“I think we’re on the right track.”
“It would seem so, sir.”
“In fact, this looks like being another of your successes. I’ve always said, and I always shall say, that for sheer brain, Jeeves, you stand alone. All the other great thinkers of the age are simply in the crowd, watching you go by.”
“Thank you very much, sir. I endeavour to give satisfaction.”
About a week after this, Bingo blew in with the news that his uncle’s gout had ceased to trouble him, and that on the morrow he would be back at the old stand working away with knife and fork as before.
“And, by the way,” said Bingo, “he wants you to lunch with