“Well, of course, you know, Bertie, this thing is by way of being a bit private and all that.”
“I shouldn’t worry about that, old top. I bet Jeeves knows all about it already. Don’t you, Jeeves?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Eh!” said Bicky, rattled.
“I am open to correction, sir, but is not your dilemma due to the fact that you are at a loss to explain to his grace why you are in New York instead of in Colorado?”
Bicky rocked like a jelly in a high wind.
“How the deuce do you know anything about it?”
“I chanced to meet his grace’s butler before we left England. He informed me that he happened to overhear his grace speaking to you on the matter, sir, as he passed the library door.”
Bicky gave a hollow sort of laugh.
“Well, as everybody seems to know all about it, there’s no need to try to keep it dark. The old boy turfed me out, Bertie, because he said I was a brainless nincompoop. The idea was that he would give me a remittance on condition that I dashed out to some blighted locality of the name of Colorado and learned farming or ranching, or whatever they call it, at some bally ranch or farm or whatever it’s called. I didn’t fancy the idea a bit. I should have had to ride horses and pursue cows, and so forth. I hate horses. They bite at you. I was all against the scheme. At the same time, don’t you know, I had to have that remittance.”