arm-in-arm with two other fellows, the one on the outside being my cousin Claude and the one in the middle a pink-faced chappie with light hair and an apologetic sort of look.
“Bertie, old egg!” said young Eustace affably.
“Hallo!” I said, not frightfully chirpily.
“Fancy running into you, the one man in London who can support us in the style we are accustomed to! By the way, you’ve never met old Dog-Face, have you?
Dog-Face, this is my cousin Bertie. Lord Rainsby— Mr. Wooster.
We’ve just been round to your flat, Bertie. Bitterly disappointed that you were out, but were hospitably entertained by old Jeeves. That man’s a corker, Bertie. Stick to him.”
“What are you doing in London?” I asked.
“Oh, buzzing round.