Right Ho, Jeeves

The mists cleared away. “I must have been asleep.” “Yes, sir.” “Nature taking its toll of the exhausted frame.” “Yes, sir.” “And enough to make it.” “Yes, sir.” “And now it’s nearly dinner-time, you say? All right. I am in no mood for dinner, but I suppose you had better lay out the clothes.” “It will not be necessary, sir. The company will not be dressing tonight. A cold collation has been set out in the dining-room.” “Why’s that?” “It was Mrs. Travers’s wish that this should be done in order to minimize the work for the staff, who are attending a dance at Sir Percival Stretchley-Budd’s residence tonight.” “Of course, yes. I remember. My Cousin Angela told me. Tonight’s the night, what? You going, Jeeves?” “No, sir. I am not very fond of this form of entertainment in the rural districts, sir.” “I know what you mean. These country binges are all the same. A piano, one fiddle, and a floor like sandpaper. Is Anatole going? Angela hinted not.” “Miss Angela was correct, sir. Monsieur Anatole is in bed.” “Temperamental blighters, these Frenchmen.” “Yes, sir.” There was a pause. “Well, Jeeves,” I said, “it was certainly one of those afternoons, what?” “Yes, sir.” “I cannot recall one more packed with incident. And I left before the finish.” “Yes, sir. I observed your departure.” “You couldn’t blame me for withdrawing.” “No, sir. Mr. Fink-Nottle had undoubtedly become embarrassingly personal.” “Was there much more of it after I went?” “No, sir. The proceedings terminated very shortly. Mr. Fink-Nottle’s remarks with reference to Master G.G. Simmons brought about an early closure.”