I can stand a good deal, but there are limits.
“Well, of all the dashed bits of nerve I ever....”
Bingo looked at me astonished.
“You aren’t annoyed?” he said.
“Annoyed! At having half London going about under the impression that I’m off my chump? Dash it all....”
“Bertie,” said Bingo, “you amaze and wound me. If I had dreamed that you would object to doing a trifling good turn to a fellow who’s been a pal of yours for fifteen years....”
“Yes, but, look here....”
“Have you forgotten,” said young Bingo, “that we were at school together?”
* * * * *
I pushed on to the old flat, seething like the dickens. One thing I was jolly certain of, and that was that this was where Jeeves and I parted company. A topping valet, of course, none better in London, but I wasn’t going to allow that to weaken me. I buzzed into the flat like an east wind ... and there was the box of cigarettes on the small table and the illustrated weekly papers on the big table and my slippers on the floor, and every dashed thing so bally right, if you know what I mean, that I started to calm down in the first two seconds. It was like one of those moments in a play where the chappie, about to steep himself in crime, suddenly hears the soft, appealing strains of the old melody he learned at his mother’s knee. Softened, I mean to say. That’s the word I want. I was softened.