Sometimes of a morning, as I’ve sat in bed sucking down the early cup of tea and watched my man Jeeves flitting about the room and putting out the raiment for the day, I’ve wondered what the deuce I should do if the fellow ever took it into his head to leave me. It’s not so bad now I’m in New York, but in London the anxiety was frightful. There used to be all sorts of attempts on the part of low blighters to sneak him away from me. Young Reggie Foljambe to my certain knowledge offered him double what I was giving him, and Alistair Bingham-Reeves, who’s got a valet who had been known to press his trousers sideways, used to look at him, when he came to see me, with a kind of glittering hungry eye which disturbed me deucedly. Bally pirates!
This time I feel unusually doubtful about the effectiveness of Jeeves' aunt as an instance of a solution to the Problem of the Hard Boiled Egg. On the principle that lies of any kind work best when a minimum of persons are involved, I wonder if the Introduction to a Real Duke Scheme will not end up springing a leak midway. But let tomorrow take care of tomorrow, as someone once said. We'll know soon enough...
This time I feel unusually doubtful about the effectiveness of Jeeves' aunt as an instance of a solution to the Problem of the Hard Boiled Egg. On the principle that lies of any kind work best when a minimum of persons are involved, I wonder if the Introduction to a Real Duke Scheme will not end up springing a leak midway. But let tomorrow take care of tomorrow, as someone once said. We'll know soon enough...