'I hope you enjoyed yourself,' I said in rather a nasty manner.
'Yes, sir, thank you. The management was presenting a super-super-film in seven reels, dealing with life in the wilder and more feverish strata of New York Society, featuring Bertha Blevitch, Orlando Murphy and Baby Bobbie. I found it most entertaining, sir.'
'That's good,' I said. 'And if you have a nice time this morning on the sands with your spade and bucket, you will come and tell me all about it, won't you? I have so little on my mind just now that it's a treat to hear all about your happy holiday.'
Satirical, if you see what I mean. Sarcastic. Almost bitter, as a matter of fact, if you come right down to it.
'The title of the film was Tiny Hands, sir. And the father and mother of the character played by Baby Bobbie had unfortunately drifted apart—'
'Too bad,' I said.
'Although at heart they loved each other still, sir.'
'Did they really? I'm glad you told me that.'
'And so matters went on, sir, till came a day when—'
'Jeeves,' I said, fixing him with a dashed unpleasant eye, 'what the dickens do you think you're talking about? Do you suppose that, with this infernal child landed on me and the peace of the home practically shattered into a million bits, I want to hear—'