“Bertie,” he said, “I’ve been thinking it over.”
“What over?” I said.
“The whole thing. This business of staying in London when I ought to be in South Africa. It isn’t fair,” said Claude warmly. “It isn’t right. And the long and the short of it is, Bertie, old man, I’m leaving tomorrow.”
I reeled in my tracks.
“You are?” I gasped.
“Yes. If,” said Claude, “you won’t mind sending old Jeeves out to buy a ticket for me. I’m afraid I’ll have to stick you for the passage money, old man. You don’t mind?”
“Mind!” I said, clutching his hand fervently.
“That’s all right, then. Oh, I say, you won’t say a word to Eustace about this, will you?”
“But isn’t he going, too?”
Claude shuddered.
“No, thank heaven! The idea of being cooped up on board a ship with that blighter gives me the pip just to think of it. No, not a word to Eustace. I say, I suppose you can get me a berth all right at such short notice?”
“Rather!” I said. Sooner than let this opportunity slip, I would have bought the bally boat.
“Jeeves,” I said, breezing into the kitchen. “Go out on first speed to the Union-Castle offices and book a berth on tomorrow’s boat for Mr. Claude. He is leaving us, Jeeves.”