deeper than that.
Be that as it may, however, the results of swallowing one are amazing.

For perhaps the split part of a second nothing happens. It is as though
all Nature waited breathless. Then, suddenly, it is as if the Last Trump
had sounded and Judgment Day set in with unusual severity.

Bonfires burst out all in parts of the frame. The abdomen becomes heavily
charged with molten lava. A great wind seems to blow through the world,
and the subject is aware of something resembling a steam hammer striking
the back of the head. During this phase, the ears ring loudly, the
eyeballs rotate and there is a tingling about the brow.

And then, just as you are feeling that you ought to ring up your lawyer
and see that your affairs are in order before it is too late, the whole
situation seems to clarify. The wind drops. The ears cease to ring. Birds
twitter. Brass bands start playing. The sun comes up over the horizon
with a jerk.

And a moment later all you are conscious of is a great peace.

As I drained the glass now, new life seemed to burgeon within me. I
remember Jeeves, who, however much he may go off the rails at times in
the matter of dress clothes and in his advice to those in love, has
always had a neat turn of phrase, once speaking of someone rising on
stepping-stones of his dead self to higher things. It was that way with
me now. I felt that the Bertram Wooster who lay propped up against the
pillows had become a better, stronger, finer Bertram.

"Thank you, Jeeves," I said.

"Not at all, sir."

"That touched the exact spot. I am now able to cope with life's
problems."

"I am gratified to hear it, sir."

"What madness not to have had one of those before tackling Aunt Dahlia!
However, too late to worry about that now. Tell me of Gussie. How did he
make out at the fancy-dress ball?"

"He did not arrive at the fancy-dress ball, sir."

I looked at him a bit austerely.

"Jeeves," I said, "I admit that after that pick-me-up of yours I feel
better, but don't try me too high. Don't stand by my sick bed talking
absolute rot. We shot Gussie into a cab and he started forth, headed for
wherever this fancy-dress ball was. He must have arrived."

"No, sir. As I gather from Mr. Fink-Nottle, he entered the cab convinced
in his mind that the entertainment to which he had been invited was to be
held at No. 17, Suffolk Square, whereas the actual rendezvous was No. 71,
Norfolk Terrace. These aberrations of memory ar