It has happened so frequently in the past few years that young fellows starting in my profession have come to me for a word of advice, that I’ve found it convenient now to condense my system into a brief formula.
“Resource and Tact”—that is my motto. Tact, of course, has always been with me a sine qua non, while as for resource, I think I may say that I have usually contrived to show a certain modicum of what I might call finesse in handling those little contretemps which inevitably arise from time to time in the daily life of a gentleman’s personal gentleman.
I am reminded, just by way of an instance, of the Episode of the School for Young Ladies down Brighton—an affair which I think it may be said to have commenced one evening at the moment when I brought Mr. Wooster his whisky and siphon and he burst out at me with such remarkable petulance.
Not a little moody Mr. Wooster had been for some days—far from his usual bright self. This I had attributed to the natural reaction from a slight attack of influenza from which he had been suffering; and, of course, took no notice, merely performing my duties as usual, until on the evening of which I speak he exhibited this remarkable petulance when I brought him his whisky and siphon.
“Oh, dash it, Jeeves!” he said, manifestly overwrought. “I wish at least you’d put it on another table for a change.”
“Sir?” I said.
“Every night, dash