unhooked the receiver.
“Yes? Yes, madam. Very good, madam. Here is Mr. Wooster.”
He handed me the instrument.
“ Mrs. Spenser Gregson, sir.”
You know, every now and then I can’t help feeling that Jeeves is losing his grip. In his prime it would have been with him the work of a moment to have told my Aunt Agatha that I was not at home. I gave him one of those reproachful glances, and took the machine.
“Hullo?” I said. “Yes? Yes? Yes? Bertie speaking. Hullo? Hullo? Hullo?”
“Don’t keep on saying ‘Hullo?’ ” yipped the old relative in her customary curt manner. “You’re not a parrot. Sometimes I wish you were, because then you might have a little sense.”