He floated noiselessly through the door. this fellow didn’t seem to Have any feet
I crawled off the sofa and opened the door. A kind of darkish sort of respectful Johnnie stood without.
“I was sent by the agency, sir,” he said. “I was given to understand that you required a valet.”
I’d have preferred an undertaker; but I told him to stagger in, and he floated noiselessly through the doorway like a healing zephyr.
That impressed me from the start. Meadows had had flat feet and used to clump. This fellow didn’t seem to have any feet at all. He just Bertie Wooster and his butler get together in Wodehouse’s 1916 story, Jeeves Takes Charge. This is the moment when a special hangover cure seals the deal
streamed in. He had a grave, sympathetic face, as if he, too, knew what it was to sup with the lads.
“Excuse me, sir,” he said gently. Then he seemed to flicker, and wasn’t there any longer.
I heard him moving about in the kitchen, and presently he came back with a glass on a tray.
“If you would drink this, sir,” he said, with a kind of bedside manner, rather like
the royal doctor shooting the bracer into the sick prince. It is a little preparation of my own invention. It is the Worcester Sauce that gives it its colour.
“The raw egg makes it nutritious. The red pepper gives it its bite. Gentlemen have told me they have found it extremely invigorating after a late evening.”
I would have clutched at anything that looked like a lifeline that morning. I swallowed the stuff.
For a moment I felt as if somebody had touched off a bomb inside the old bean and was strolling down my throat with a lighted torch, and then everything seemed suddenly to get all right.
The sun shone in through the window; birds twittered in the tree-tops; and, generally speaking, hope dawned once more.
“You’re engaged!” I said, as soon as I could say anything.
The books have sold by the million