“Get a move on! Start her up! Get going and keep going!”
I trod on the self-starter.
“It would perhaps be safest to drive carefully until we are out of the school grounds, sir,” I said. “I might run over one of the young ladies, sir.”
“Well, what’s the objection to that?” demanded Mr. Wooster, with extraordinary bitterness.
“Or even Miss Tomlinson, sir.”
“Don’t!” said Mr. Wooster, wistfully. “You make my mouth water!”
“Jeeves,” said Mr. Wooster, when I brought him his whisky and siphon one night about a week later, “this is dashed jolly.”
“Sir?”
“Jolly. Cosy and pleasant, you know. I mean, looking at the clock and wondering if you’re going to be late with the good old drinks, and then you coming in with