“What do you mean, ‘Well, sir’? What are you driving at?”
“Well, sir, Mr. Little is an extremely persistent young gentleman, and yours, if I may say so, sir, is a yielding and obliging nature—”
“You don’t think that young Bingo would have the immortal rind to try to get me into some other foul enterprise?
“I should say that it was more than probable, sir.”
I removed the dogs swiftly from the mantelpiece, and jumped up, all of a twitter.
“Jeeves, what would you advise?”
“Well, sir, I think a little change of scene would be judicious.”
“Do a bolt?”
“Precisely, sir. If I might suggest it, sir, why not change your mind and join Mr. George Travers at Harrogate?”
“Oh, I say, Jeeves!”
“You would be out of what I might describe as the danger zone there, sir.”
“Perhaps you’re right, Jeeves,” I said, thoughtfully. “Yes, possibly you’re right. How far is Harrogate from London?”
“Two hundred and six miles, sir.”
“Yes, I think you’re right. Is there a train this afternoon?”
“Yes, sir. You could catch it quite easily.”
“All right, then. Bung a few necessaries in a bag.”