“But I’m talking him round,” said Bingo. “I’m wrestling with him. A few more treatments ought to do the trick.”

Old Rowbotham looked at me a bit doubtfully.

“Comrade Little has great eloquence,” he admitted.

“I think he talks something wonderful,” said the girl, and young Bingo shot a glance of such succulent devotion at her that I reeled in my tracks. It seemed to depress Comrade Butt a good deal too. He scowled at the carpet and said something about dancing on volcanoes.

“Tea is served, sir,” said Jeeves.

“Tea, pa!” said Charlotte, starting at the word like the old warhorse who hears the bugle; and we got down to it.