“Well, you might call it that. He’s in love. For about the fifty-third time. I ask you, Jeeves, as man to man, did you ever see such a chap?”
“ Mr. Little is certainly warmhearted, sir.”
“Warmhearted! I should think he has to wear asbestos vests. Well, stand by, Jeeves.”
“Very good, sir.”
And sure enough, it wasn’t ten days before in rolled the old ass, bleating for volunteers to step one pace forward and come to the aid of the party.
“Bertie,” he said, “if you are a pal of mine, now is the time to show it.”
“Proceed, old gargoyle,” I replied. “You have our ear.”
“You remember giving me lunch at the Senior Liberal some days ago. We were waited on by a—”
“I remember. Tall, lissom female.”
He shuddered somewhat.
“I wish you wouldn’t talk of her like that, dash it all. She’s an angel.”
“All right. Carry on.”
“I love her.”
“Right-o! Push along.”
“For goodness sake don’t bustle me. Let me tell the story in my own way. I love her, as I was saying, and I want you, Bertie, old boy, to pop round to my uncle and do a bit of diplomatic work. That allowance of mine must be restored, and dashed quick, too. What’s more, it must be increased.”