a giant refreshed. There’s no doubt that Jeeves’s pick-me-ups will produce immediate results in anything short of an Egyptian mummy. It’s something he puts in them—the Worcester sauce or something. Claude had revived like a watered flower, but he nearly had a relapse when he saw his bally brother goggling at him over the bed-rail.
“What on earth are you doing here?” he said.
“What on earth are you doing here?” said Eustace.
“Have you come back to inflict your beastly society upon Miss Wardour?”
“Is that why you’ve come back?”
They thrashed the subject out a bit further.
“Well,” said Claude at last. “I suppose it can’t be helped. If you’re here, you’re here. May the best man win!”
“Yes, but dash it all!” I