“He told me nothing about himself, except that he was a friend of Professor Mainwaring.”
“He did not inform you, then, that he was the Mr. Wooster?”
“The Mr. Wooster?”
“Bertram Wooster, madam.”
I will say for Mr. Wooster that, mentally negligible though he no doubt is, he has a name that suggests almost infinite possibilities. He sounds, if I may elucidate my meaning, like Someone—especially if you’ve just been told he’s an intimate friend of Professor Mainwaring. You might not, no doubt, be able to say offhand whether he was Bertram Wooster the novelist, or Bertram Wooster the founder of a new school of thought, but you would have an uneasy feeling that you were exposing your ignorance if you did not give the impression of familiarity with the name. Miss Tomlinson, as I had rather foreseen, nodded brightly.
“Oh, Bertram Wooster!” she said.
“He is an extremely retiring gentleman, madam, and would be the last to suggest it himself, but, knowing him as I do, I am sure that he would take it as a graceful compliment if you were to ask him to address the young ladies. He is an excellent extempore speaker.”
“A very good idea,” said Miss Tomlinson, decidedly. “I am very much obliged to you for suggesting it. I will certainly ask him to talk to the girls.”
“And should he make a pretence—through modesty—of not wishing—”
“I shall insist!”
“Thank you, madam. I am obliged. You will not mention my share in the matter? Mr. Wooster might think that I had exceeded my duties.”
I drove round to the stables and halted the car in the yard. As I got out, I looked at it somewhat intently. It was a good car, and appeared to be in excellent condition, but somehow I seemed to feel that something was going to go wrong with it—something pretty serious—something that wouldn’t be able to be put right again for at least a couple of hours.
One gets these presentiments.
It may have been some half-hour later that Mr. Wooster came into the stable-yard as I was leaning against the car and enjoying a quiet cigarette.
“No, don’t chuck it away, Jeeves,” he said, as I withdrew the cigarette from my mouth. “As a matter of fact, I’ve come to touch you for a smoke. Got one to spare?”
“Only gaspers, I fear, sir.”
“They’ll do,” responded Mr. Wooster, with no little eagerness. I observed that his manner was a trifle fatigued and his eye somewhat wild. “It’s a rummy thing, Jeeves, I seem to have lost my cigarette-case. Can’t find it anywhere.”
“I am sorry to hear that, sir. It is not in the car.”
“No? Must have dropped it somewhere, then.” He drew at his gasper with relish. “Jolly creatures, small girls, Jeeves,” he remarked, after a pause.
“Extremely so, sir.”
“Of course, I can imagine some fellows finding them a bit exhausting in—er—”
“En masse, sir?”
“That’s the word. A bit exhausting en masse.”
“I must confess, sir, that that is how they used to strike me. In my younger days, at the outset of my career, sir, I was at one time pageboy in a school for young ladies.”
“No, really? I never knew that before. I say, Jeeves—er—did the—er—dear little souls giggle much in your day?”
“Practically without cessation, sir.”
“Makes a fellow feel a bit of an ass, what? I shouldn’t wonder if they usedn’t to stare at you from time to time, too, eh?”
“At the school where I was employed, sir, the young ladies had a regular game which they were accustomed to play when a male visitor arrived. They would stare fixedly at him and giggle, and there was a small prize for the one who made him blush first.”
“Oh, no, I say, Jeeves, not really?”
“Yes, sir. They derived great enjoyment from the pastime.”
“I’d no idea small girls were such demons.”
“More deadly than the male, sir.”
Mr. Wooster passed a handkerchief over his brow.
“Well, we’re going to have tea in a few minutes, Jeeves. I expect I shall feel better after tea.”
“We will hope so, sir.”
But I was by no means sanguine.
I had an agreeable tea in the kitchen. The buttered toast was good and the maids nice girls, though with little conversation. The parlourmaid, who joined us towards the end of the meal, after performing her duties in the school dining-room, reported that Mr. Wooster was sticking it pluckily, but seemed feverish. I went back to the stable-yard, and I was just giving the car another look-over when the small Mainwaring child appeared.
“Oh, I say,” she said, “will you give this to Mr. Wooster when you see him?” She held out Mr. Wooster’s cigarette-case. “He must have dropped it somewhere. I say,” she proceeded, “it’s an awful lark. He’s going to give a lecture to the school.”
“Indeed, miss?”
“We love it when there are lectures. We sit and stare at the poor dears, and try to make them dry up. There was a man last term who got hiccups. Oh, do you think Mr. Wooster will get hiccups?”
“We can but hope for the best, miss.”
“It would be such a lark, wouldn’t it?”
“Highly enjoyable, miss.”
“Well, I must be getting back. I want to get a front seat.”
And she scampered off. An engaging child. Full of spirits.
She had hardly gone when there was an agitated noise, and round the corner came Mr. Wooster. Perturbed. Deeply so.
“Jeeves!”
“Sir?”
“Start the car!”
“Sir?”
“I’m off!”
“Sir?”
Mr. Wooster danced a few steps.
“Don’t stand there saying ‘sir?’ I tell you I’m off. Bally off! There’s not a moment to waste. The situation’s desperate. Dash it, Jeeves, do you know what’s happened? The Tomlinson female has just sprung it on me that I’m expected to make a speech to the girls! Got to stand up there in front of the whole dashed collection and talk! I can just see myself! Get that car going, Jeeves, dash it all. A little speed, a little speed!”
“Impossible, I fear, sir. The car is out of order.”
Mr. Wooster gaped at me. Very glassily he gaped.
“Out of order!”
“Yes, sir. Something is wrong. Trivial, perhaps, but
