“You won’t do it, you mean?”
“Precisely, sir.”
I was stunned. I began to understand how a general must feel when he has ordered a regiment to charge and has been told that it isn’t in the mood.
“Jeeves,” I said, “I had not expected this of you.”
“No, sir?”
“No, indeed. Naturally, I realize that lacing Gussie’s orange juice is not one of those regular duties for which you receive the monthly stipend, and if you care to stand on the strict letter of the contract, I suppose there is nothing to be done about it. But you will permit me to observe that this is scarcely the feudal spirit.”
“I am sorry, sir.”
“It is quite all right, Jeeves, quite all right. I am not angry, only a little hurt.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Right ho, Jeeves.”