There was nothing to it. Absolutely nothing. The field never had a chance. Long before the footman reached the halfway mark, Harold was in the bushes, throwing stones. I came away from the window thrilled to the marrow; and when I met Jeeves on the stairs I was so moved that I nearly grasped his hand.

“Jeeves,” I said, “no discussion! The Wooster shirt goes on this boy!”

“Very good, sir,” said Jeeves.