bing about the temples told me that this discussion had
reached saturation point.

"Well, anyway," I said, "coming down to hard facts and cutting out all
this visionary stuff about vibrating tails and what not, the salient
point that emerges is that you are booked to appear at a fancy-dress
ball. And I tell you out of my riper knowledge of fancy-dress balls,
Gussie, that you won't enjoy yourself."

"It isn't a question of enjoying yourself."

"I wouldn't go."

"I must go. I keep telling you she's off to the country tomorrow."

I gave it up.

"So be it," I said. "Have it your own way.... Yes, Jeeves?"

"Mr. Fink-Nottle's cab, sir."

"Ah? The cab, eh?... Your cab, Gussie."

"Oh, the cab? Oh, right. Of course, yes, rather.... Thanks, Jeeves ...
Well, so long, Bertie."

And giving me the sort of weak smile Roman gladiators used to give the
Emperor before entering the arena, Gussie trickled off. And I turned to
Jeeves. The moment had arrived for putting him in his place, and I was
all for it.

It was a little difficult to know how to begin, of course. I mean to say,
while firmly resolved to tick him off, I didn't want to gash his feelings
too deeply. Even when displaying the iron hand, we Woosters like to keep
the thing fairly matey.

However, on consideration, I saw that there was nothing to be gained by
trying to lead up to it gently. It is never any use beating about the b.

"Jeeves," I said, "may I speak frankly?"

"Certainly, sir."

"What I have to say may wound you."

"Not at all, sir."

"Well, then, I have been having a chat with Mr. Fink-Nottle, and he has
been telling me about this Mephistopheles scheme of yours."

"Yes, sir?"

"Now let me get it straight. If I follow your reasoning correctly, you
think that, stimulated by being upholstered throughout in scarlet tights,
Mr. Fink-Nottle, on encountering the adored object, will vibrate his tail
and generally let himself go with a whoop."

"I am of opinion that he will lose much of his normal diffidence, sir."

"I don't agree with you, Jeeves."

"No, sir?"

"No. In fact, not to put too fine a point upon it, I consider that of all
the dashed silly, drivelling ideas I ever heard in my puff this is the
most blithering and futile. It won't work. Not a chance. All you have
done is to subject Mr. Fink-Nottle to the nameless horrors of a
fancy-dress ball for nothing. And this is not the first time this sort
of thing has happened. To be quite can