The Little Warrior

by P. G. Wodehouse

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

§ 1.

 Freddie Rooke gazed coldly at the breakfast-table. Through a gleaming eye-glass he inspected the revolting object which Parker, his faithful man, had placed on a plate before him. 

 “Parker!” His voice had a ring of pain. 

 “Sir?” 

 “What’s this?” 

 “Poached egg, sir.” 

 Freddie averted his eyes with a silent shudder. 

 “It looks just like an old aunt of mine,” he said. “Remove it!” 

 He got up, and, wrapping his dressing-gown about his long legs, took up a stand in front of the fireplace. From this position he surveyed the room, his shoulders against the mantelpiece, his calves pressing the club-fender. It was a cheerful oasis in a chill and foggy world, a typical London bachelor’s breakfast-room. The walls were a restful gray, and the table, set for two, a comfortable arrangement in white and silver. 

 “Eggs, Parker,” said Freddie solemnly, “are the acid test!” 

 “Yes, sir?” 

 “If, on the morning after, you can tackle a poached egg, you are all right. If not, not. And don’t let anybody tell you otherwise.” 

 “No, sir.” 

 Freddie pressed the palm of his hand to his brow, and sighed. 

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