Right Ho, Jeeves

Well, dashed difficult, of course, to know what to say when someone is giving you the old oil on a scale like that. I muttered an “Oh, yes?” or something on those lines, and rubbed the billowy portions in some embarrassment. And there was another silence, broken only by a sharp howl as I rubbed a bit too hard. “Bertie.” “Hullo?” I heard her give a sort of gulp. “Bertie, will you be chivalrous now?” “Rather. Only too pleased. How do you mean?” “I am going to try you to the utmost. I am going to test you as few men have ever been tested. I am going----” I didn’t like the sound of this. “Well,” I said doubtfully, “always glad to oblige, you know, but I’ve just had the dickens of a bicycle ride, and I’m a bit stiff and sore, especially in the--as I say, a bit stiff and sore. If it’s anything to be fetched from upstairs----” “No, no, you don’t understand.” “I don’t, quite, no.” “Oh, it’s so difficult.... How can I say it?... Can’t you guess?” “No. I’m dashed if I can.” “Bertie--let me go!” “But I haven’t got hold of you.” “Release me!” “Re----” And then I suddenly got it. I suppose it was fatigue that had made me so slow to apprehend the nub. “What?” I staggered, and the left pedal came up and caught me on the shin. But such was the ecstasy in the soul that I didn’t utter a cry.