“If twenty quid would be any use to you, Jeeves——”
“I am much obliged, sir.”
There was a pause. And then—well, it was a wrench, but I did it. I unstripped the cummerbund and handed it over.
“Do you wish me to press this, sir?”
I gave the thing one last, longing look. It had been very dear to me.
“No,” I said, “take it away; give it to the deserving poor—I shall never wear it again.”
“Thank you very much, sir,” said Jeeves.
CHAPTER V THE PRIDE OF THE WOOSTERS IS WOUNDED
If there’s one thing I like, it’s a quiet life. I’m not one of those fellows who get all restless and depressed if things aren’t happening to them all the time. You can’t make it too placid for me. Give me regular meals, a good show with decent music every now and then, and one or two pals to totter round with, and I ask no more.