“No, but, really, it’s rather interesting. I mean to say, our old pal down there is probably a perfect ray of sunshine in normal circumstances. Quite the domestic pet, don’t you know. But purely and simply because the little woman happens to be nesting—”
I paused. You will scarcely believe me, but until this moment, what with all the recent bustle and activity, I had clean forgotten that, while we were treed up on the roof like this, there lurked all the time in the background one whose giant brain, if notified of the emergency and requested to flock round, would probably be able to think up half-a-dozen schemes for solving our little difficulties in a couple of minutes.
“Jeeves!” I shouted.
“Sir?” came a faint respectful voice from the great open spaces.
“My man,” I explained to the Right Hon. “A fellow of infinite resource and sagacity. He’ll have us out of this in a minute. Jeeves!”
“Sir?”
“I’m sitting on the roof.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Don’t say ‘Very good.’ Come and help us. Mr. Filmer and I are treed, Jeeves.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Don’t keep saying ‘Very good.’ It’s nothing of the kind. The place is alive with swans.”
“I will attend to the matter immediately, sir.”
I turned to the Right Hon. I even went so far as to pat him on the back. It was like slapping a wet sponge.