My Man Jeeves

name?"
    "Pepper. But——"
    "Pepper? Any relation to Edward Pepper, the colliery owner?"
    "My uncle. But——"
    "I used to know him well. Dear old Edward Pepper! I wish I was with him now."
    "I wish you were," I said.
    He beamed down at me.
    "This is most fortunate," he said. "We were wondering what we were to do with Tootles. You see, we have the mumps here. My daughter Bootles has just developed mumps. Tootles must not be exposed to the risk of infection. We could not think what we were to do with him. It was most fortunate your finding him. He strayed from his nurse. I would hesitate to trust him to the care of a stranger, but you are different. Any nephew of Edward Pepper's has my implicit confidence. You must take Tootles to your house. It will be an ideal arrangement. I have written to my brother in London to come and fetch him. He may be here in a few days."
    "May!"
    "He is a busy man, of course; but he should certainly be here within a week. Till then Tootles can stop with you. It is an excellent plan. Very much obliged to you. Your wife will like Tootles."
    "I haven't got a wife," I yelled; but the window had closed with a bang, as if the man with the whiskers had found a germ trying to escape, don't you know, and had headed it off just in time.
    I breathed a deep breath and wiped my forehead.
    The window flew up again.
    "Hi!"
    A package weighing about a ton hit me on the head and burst like a bomb.
    "Did you catch it?" said the face, reappearing. "Dear me, you missed it! Never mind. You can get it at the grocer's. Ask for Bailey's Granulated Breakfast Chips. Tootles takes them for breakfast with a little milk. Be certain to get Bailey's."
    My spirit was broken, if you know what I mean. I accepted the situation. Taking Tootles by the hand, I walked slowly away. Napoleon's retreat from Moscow was a picnic by the side of it.
    As we turned up the road we met Freddie's Angela.
    The sight of her had a marked effect on the kid Tootles. He pointed at her and said, "Wah!"
    The girl stopped and smiled. I loosed the kid, and he ran to her.
    "Well, baby?" she said, bending down to him. "So father found you again, did he? Your little son and I made friends on the beach this morning," she said to me.
    This was the limit. Coming on top of that interview with the whiskered lunatic it so utterly unnerved me, don't you know, that she had nodded good–bye and was half–way down the road before I caught up with my breath enough to deny the charge of being the infant's father.
    I hadn't expected dear old Freddie to sing with joy when he found out what had happened, but I did think he might have shown a little more manly fortitude. He leaped up, glared at the kid, and clutched his head. He didn't speak for a long time, but, on the other hand, when he began he did not leave off for a long time. He was quite emotional, dear old boy. It beat me where he could have picked up such expressions.
    "Well," he said, when he had finished, "say something! Heavens! man, why don't you say something?"
    "You don't give me a chance, old top," I said soothingly.
    "What are you going to do about it?"
    "What can we do about it?"
    "We can't spend our time acting as nurses to this—this exhibit."
    He got up.
    "I'm going back to London," he said.
    "Freddie!" I cried. "Freddie, old man!" My voice shook. "Would you desert a pal at a time like this?"
    "I would. This is your business, and you've got to manage it."
    "Freddie," I said, "you've got to stand by me. You must. Do you realize that this child has to be undressed, and bathed, and dressed again? You wouldn't leave me to do all that single–handed? Freddie, old scout, we were at school together. Your mother likes me. You owe me a tenner."
    He sat down again.
    "Oh, well," he said resignedly.
    "Besides, old top," I said, "I did it all for your sake, don't you know?"
    He looked at me in a curious way.
    "Reggie," he said, in a strained voice, "one moment. I'll stand a good deal, but I won't stand for being expected to be grateful."
    Looking back at it, I see that what saved me from Colney Hatch in that crisis was my bright idea of buying up most of the contents of the local sweet–shop. By serving out sweets to the kid practically incessantly we managed to get through the rest of that day pretty satisfactorily. At eight o'clock he fell asleep in a chair, and, having undressed him by unbuttoning every button in sight and, where there were no buttons, pulling till something gave, we carried him up