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34 CARRY ON, JEEVES

Well—I mean to say—what? And Nietzsche, from all accounts, a lot worse than that! “Jeeves,” I said, when he came in with my morning tea, “ I ’ve been thinking it over. You’re engaged again.”

“ Thank you, sir.” I sucked down a cheerful mouthful. A great respect for this bloke’s judgment began to soak through me. “ Oh, Jeeves,” I said ; “ about th at check s u it” “ Yes, sir ? ” “ Is it really a frost ? ” “ A trifle too bizarre, sir, in my opinion.” “ But lots of fellows have asked me who my tailor is.” “ Doubtless in order to avoid him, sir.” “ He’s supposed to be one of the best men in Londpn.” “ I am saying nothing against his moral character, sir.” I hesitated a bit. I had a feeling that I was passing into this chappie’s clutches, and that if I gave in now, I should become just like poor old Aubrey Fothergill, unable to call my soul my own. On the other hand, this was obviously a cove of rare intelligence, and it would be a comfort in a lot of ways to have him doing the thinking for me. I made up my mind.

“All right, Jeeves,” I said. “You know I Give the bally thing away to somebody l” He looked down at me like a father gazing tenderly at the wayward child. “Thank you, sir. I gave it to the under-gardener last night. A little more tea, sir? ”