'And at breakfast this morning, when I was eating a sausage, she told me I shouldn't, as modern medical science held that a four-inch sausage contained as many germs as a dead rat. The maternal touch, you understand; fussing over my health.'
'I think we may regard that, sir, as practically conclusive.'
I sank into a chair, thoroughly pipped.
'What's to be done, Jeeves?'
'We must think, sir.'
'You think. I haven't the machinery.'
'I will most certainly devote my very best attention to the matter, sir, and will endeavour to give satisfaction.'
Well, that was something. But I was ill at ease. Yes, there is no getting away from it, Bertram was ill at ease.
Next morning we visited sixty-three more Cambridge colleges, and after lunch I said I was going to my room to lie down. After staying there for half an hour to give the coast time to clear, I shoved a book and smoking materials in my pocket, and climbing out of a window, shinned down a convenient water-pipe into the garden. My objective was the summer-house, where it seemed to me that a man might put in a quiet hour or so without interruption.