a look is enough—when, passing through a crowd, we meet somebody’s eye and something seems to whisper. …”
At this point the plovers’ eggs arrived, and he suspended his remarks in order to swoop on them with some vigour.
“Jeeves,” I said that night when I got home, “stand by.”
“Sir?”
“Burnish the old brain and be alert and vigilant. I suspect that Mr. Little will be calling round shortly for sympathy and assistance.”
“Is Mr. Little in trouble, sir?”
“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