My Man Jeeves

herself together and made the trip. She seems to think she's had some miraculous kind of faith cure. I tell you I can't stand it, Bertie! It's got to end!"
    "Can't Jeeves think of anything?"
    "No. He just hangs round saying: 'Most disturbing, sir!' A fat lot of help that is!"
    "Well, old lad," I said, "after all, it's far worse for me than it is for you. You've got a comfortable home and Jeeves. And you're saving a lot of money."
    "Saving money? What do you mean—saving money?"
    "Why, the allowance your aunt was giving you. I suppose she's paying all the expenses now, isn't she?"
    "Certainly she is; but she's stopped the allowance. She wrote the lawyers to–night. She says that, now she's in New York, there is no necessity for it to go on, as we shall always be together, and it's simpler for her to look after that end of it. I tell you, Bertie, I've examined the darned cloud with a microscope, and if it's got a silver lining it's some little dissembler!"
    "But, Rocky, old top, it's too bally awful! You've no notion of what I'm going through in this beastly hotel, without Jeeves. I must get back to the flat."
    "Don't come near the flat."
    "But it's my own flat."
    "I can't help that. Aunt Isabel doesn't like you. She asked me what you did for a living. And when I told her you didn't do anything she said she thought as much, and that you were a typical specimen of a useless and decaying aristocracy. So if you think you have made a hit, forget it. Now I must be going back, or she'll be coming out here after me. Good–bye."
    * * * * *
    Next morning Jeeves came round. It was all so home–like when he floated noiselessly into the room that I nearly broke down.
    "Good morning, sir," he said. "I have brought a few more of your personal belongings."
    He began to unstrap the suit–case he was carrying.
    "Did you have any trouble sneaking them away?"
    "It was not easy, sir. I had to watch my chance. Miss Rockmetteller is a remarkably alert lady."
    "You know, Jeeves, say what you like—this is a bit thick, isn't it?"
    "The situation is certainly one that has never before come under my notice, sir. I have brought the heather–mixture suit, as the climatic conditions are congenial. To–morrow, if not prevented, I will endeavour to add the brown lounge with the faint green twill."
    "It can't go on—this sort of thing—Jeeves."
    "We must hope for the best, sir."
    "Can't you think of anything to do?"
    "I have been giving the matter considerable thought, sir, but so far without success. I am placing three silk shirts—the dove–coloured, the light blue, and the mauve—in the first long drawer, sir."
    "You don't mean to say you can't think of anything, Jeeves?"
    "For the moment, sir, no. You will find a dozen handkerchiefs and the tan socks in the upper drawer on the left." He strapped the suit–case and put it on a chair. "A curious lady, Miss Rockmetteller, sir."
    "You understate it, Jeeves."
    He gazed meditatively out of the window.
    "In many ways, sir, Miss Rockmetteller reminds me of an aunt of mine who resides in the south–east portion of London. Their temperaments are much alike. My aunt has the same taste for the pleasures of the great city. It is a passion with her to ride in hansom cabs, sir. Whenever the family take their eyes off her she escapes from the house and spends the day riding about in cabs. On several occasions she has broken into the children's savings bank to secure the means to enable her to gratify this desire."
    "I love to have these little chats with you about your female relatives, Jeeves," I said coldly, for I felt that the man had let me down, and I was fed up with him. "But I don't see what all this has got to do with my trouble."
    "I beg your pardon, sir. I am leaving a small assortment of neckties on the mantelpiece, sir, for you to select according to your preference. I should recommend the blue with the red domino pattern, sir."
    Then he streamed imperceptibly toward the door and flowed silently out.
    * * * * *
    I've often heard that chappies, after some great shock or loss, have a habit, after they've been on the floor for a while wondering what hit them, of picking themselves up and piecing themselves together, and sort of taking a whirl at beginning a new life. Time, the great healer, and Nature, adjusting itself, and so on and so forth. There's a lot in it. I know, because in my own case, after a day or two of what you might call prostration, I began to recover. The frightful loss