Right Ho, Jeeves

“Exactly. A very neat way of putting it. And now here is a minor point. On second thoughts, I think the best plan will be for you, not me, to lace the juice.” “Sir?” “Jeeves!” “I beg your pardon, sir.” “And I’ll tell you why that will be the best plan. Because you are in a position to obtain ready access to the stuff. It is served to Gussie daily, I have noticed, in an individual jug. This jug will presumably be lying about the kitchen or somewhere before lunch tomorrow. It will be the simplest of tasks for you to slip a few fingers of gin in it.” “No doubt, sir, but----” “Don’t say ‘but,’ Jeeves.” “I fear, sir----” “‘I fear, sir’ is just as bad.” “What I am endeavouring to say, sir, is that I am sorry, but I am afraid I must enter an unequivocal nolle prosequi.” “Do what?” “The expression is a legal one, sir, signifying the resolve not to proceed with a matter. In other words, eager though I am to carry out your instructions, sir, as a general rule, on this occasion I must respectfully decline to co-operate.” “You won’t do it, you mean?” “Precisely, sir.” I was stunned. I began to understand how a general must feel when he has ordered a regiment to charge and has been told that it isn’t in the mood. “Jeeves,” I said, “I had not expected this of you.” “No, sir?” “No, indeed. Naturally, I realize that lacing Gussie’s orange juice is not one of those regular duties for which you receive the monthly stipend, and if you care to stand on the strict letter of the contract, I suppose there is nothing to be done about it. But you will permit me to observe that this is scarcely the feudal spirit.”