‘Can’t see what all the dashed fuss is about.’
‘Sir?’
‘Running, Jeeves. Bounding hither and yon. Everyone’s at it. Thought I should join the merry throng. Give the Wooster legs a bit of an outing. Uphold the family reputation.’
‘You’ll forgive my lapse in memory, Sir.’
‘Oh yes, the old flesh and blood were known for taking after that handbag fellow.’
‘Sir is referring to Hermès?’
‘Fine satchels. Anyhow, many a historic battlefield witnessed a fleet foot with a Wooster attached, heading for safety. And you should see Aunt Dahlia dash when the dinner gong goes and Anatole is in residence wielding the spatulas. Would have won the 3 o’clock at Haydock last week.’
‘Quite, Sir. But the fuss, Sir, is not to your liking?’
‘Not at all, Jeeves. Not in the slightest. A brief acquaintance as I crossed the street to The Drones was more than enough.’
‘Perhaps if one were to persevere a little? Might I suggest that the first sip of malt wasn’t entirely to your liking, but nonetheless you valiantly stuck at it.’
‘Dash it all Jeeves, I was only seven. Pass me my cigarette case.’
‘Very good, Sir.’
