“More deadly than the male, sir.”
Mr. Wooster passed a handkerchief over his brow.
“Well, we’re going to have tea in a few minutes, Jeeves. I expect I shall feel better after tea.”
“We will hope so, sir.”
But I was by no means sanguine.
I had an agreeable tea in the kitchen. The buttered toast was good and the maids nice girls, though with little conversation. The parlourmaid, who joined us towards the end of the meal, after performing her duties in the school dining-room, reported that Mr. Wooster was sticking it pluckily, but seemed feverish. I went back to the stable-yard, and I was just giving the car another look-over when the small Mainwaring child appeared.
“Oh, I say,” she said, “will you give this to Mr. Wooster when you see him?” She held out Mr. Wooster’s cigarette-case. “He must have dropped it somewhere. I say,” she proceeded, “it’s an awful lark. He’s going to give a lecture to the school.”
“Indeed, miss?”
“We love it when there are lectures. We sit and stare at the poor dears, and try to make them dry up. There was a man last term who got hiccups. Oh, do you think Mr. Wooster will get hiccups?”
“We can but hope for the best, miss.”
“It would be such a lark, wouldn’t it?”
“Highly enjoyable, miss.”
“Well, I must be getting back. I want to get a front seat.”