“Advice? After-life? What? Well, I don’t know—”
“Just some brief word of counsel, Mr. Wooster,” said Miss Tomlinson, firmly.
“Oh, well—Well, yes—Well—” It was painful to see Mr. Wooster’s brain endeavouring to work. “Well, I’ll tell you something that’s often done me a bit of good, and it’s a thing not many people know. My old Uncle Henry gave me the tip when I first came to London. ‘Never forget, my boy,’ he said, ‘that, if you stand outside Romano’s in the Strand, you can see the clock on the wall of the Law Courts down in Fleet Street. Most people who don’t know don’t believe it’s possible, because there are a couple of churches in the middle of the road, and you would think they would be in the way. But you can, and it’s worth knowing. You can win a lot of money betting on it with fellows who haven’t found it out.’ And, by Jove, he was perfectly right, and it’s a thing to remember. Many a quid have I—”
Miss Tomlinson gave a hard, dry cough, and Mr. Wooster stopped in the middle of a sentence.
“Perhaps it will be better, Mr. Wooster,” she said, in a cold, even voice, “if you were to tell my girls some little story. What you say is, no doubt, extremely interesting, but perhaps a little—”
“Oh, ah, yes,” said Mr. Wooster. “Story? Story?” He appeared completely distraught, poor young gentleman. “I wonder if you’ve heard the one about the stockbroker and the chorus-girl?”
“We will now sing the school song,” said Miss Tomlinson, rising like an iceberg.
I decided not to remain for the singing of the school song. It seemed probable to me that Mr. Wooster would shortly be requiring the car, so I made my way back to the stable-yard, to be in readiness.