“Baxter! My dear fellow!”
The Earl of Emsworth, having observed the secretary’s awakening from the safe observation-post of Psmith’s bedroom, and having noted that he seemed to be exhibiting no signs of violence, had decided to make his presence known. His panic had passed, and he wanted to go into first causes.
Baxter gazed wanly up at the window.
“I can explain everything, Lord Emsworth.”
“What?” said his lordship, leaning farther out.
“I can explain everything,” bellowed Baxter.
“It turns out after all,” said Psmith pleasantly, “to be very simple. He was practising for the Jerking The Geranium event at the next Olympic Games.”
Lord Emsworth adjusted his glasses.
“Your face is dirty,” he said, peering down at his dishevelled secretary. “Baxter, my dear fellow, your face is dirty.”
“I was digging,” replied Baxter sullenly.