Right Ho, Jeeves

If I hadn’t been afraid of spilling the healing brew, I have little doubt that I should have given an impatient gesture. I know I felt like it. “Not the contents of this cup. All this. Your barging in and telling me to get up and dress, and all that rot.” “I’ve barged in, as you call it, because my telegrams seemed to produce no effect. And I told you to get up and dress because I want you to get up and dress. I’ve come to take you back with me. I like your crust, wiring that you would come next year or whenever it was. You’re coming now. I’ve got a job for you.” “But I don’t want a job.” “What you want, my lad, and what you’re going to get are two very different things. There is man’s work for you to do at Brinkley Court. Be ready to the last button in twenty minutes.” “But I can’t possibly be ready to any buttons in twenty minutes. I’m feeling awful.” She seemed to consider. “Yes,” she said. “I suppose it’s only humane to give you a day or two to recover. All right, then, I shall expect you on the thirtieth at the latest.” “But, dash it, what is all this? How do you mean, a job? Why a job? What sort of a job?” “I’ll tell you if you’ll only stop talking for a minute. It’s quite an easy, pleasant job. You will enjoy it. Have you ever heard of Market Snodsbury Grammar School?”