through my hat?”
“By no means, sir. I merely advocate a short stay at Brighton as a physical recuperative.”
Mr. Wooster considered.
“Well, I’m not sure you’re not right,” he said at length. “I am feeling more or less of an onion. You might shove a few things in a suitcase and drive me down in the car tomorrow.”
“Very good, sir.”
“And when we get back I’ll be in the pink and ready to tackle this pattering-feet wheeze.”
“Exactly, sir.”
Well, it was a respite, and I welcomed it. But I began to see that a crisis had arisen which would require adroit handling. Rarely had I observed Mr. Wooster more set on a thing. Indeed, I could recall no such exhibition of determination on his