Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. It doesn’t matter whether you understand or not. You just come at once, as I tell you, and for heaven’s sake stop this back-chat. Do you think I am made of money that I can afford to send you telegrams every ten minutes. Stop being a fathead and come immediately. Love. Travers.

It was at this point that I felt the need of getting a second opinion. I pressed the bell.

“Jeeves,” I said, “a V-shaped rumminess has manifested itself from the direction of Worcestershire. Read these,” I said, handing him the papers in the case.

He scanned them.

“What do you make of it, Jeeves?”

“I think Mrs. Travers wishes you to come at once, sir.”

“You gather that too, do you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I put the same construction on the thing. But why, Jeeves? Dash it all, she’s just had nearly two months of me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And many people consider the medium dose for an adult two days.”

“Yes, sir. I appreciate the point you raise. Nevertheless, Mrs. Travers appears very insistent. I think it would be well to acquiesce in her wishes.”

“Pop down, you mean?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, I certainly can’t go at once. I’ve an important conference on at the Drones tonight. Pongo Twistleton’s birthday party, you remember.”

“Yes, sir.”

There was a slight pause. We were both recalling the little unpleasantness that had arisen. I felt obliged to allude to it.

“You’re all wrong about that mess jacket, Jeeves.”

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