“Jeeves,” I said, looking in on him one afternoon on my return from the club, “I don’t want to interrupt you.”
“No, sir?”
“But I would like a word with you.”
“Yes, sir?”
He had been packing a few of the Wooster necessaries in the old kit-bag against our approaching visit to the seaside, and he now rose and stood bursting with courteous zeal.
“Jeeves,” I said, “a somewhat disturbing situation has arisen with regard to a pal of mine.”
“Indeed, sir?”
“You know Mr. Bullivant?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, I slid into the Drones this morning for a bite of lunch, and found him in a dark corner of the smoking-room looking like the last rose of summer. Naturally I was surprised. You know what a bright lad he is as a rule. The life and soul of every gathering he attends.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Quite the little lump of fun, in fact.”
“Precisely, sir.”