[Jerome Betts]

I say, Jeeves, have I been talking a lot of bally rot, recently?

I had not noticed any perceptible difference in your quotidian discourse, sir.

But, really, you know, I sense a strangeness in the old ambience.

Ah, in that case, sir, we may perhaps blame the readers of a leading weekly.

I say, dash it, why?

They have been set the task of anticipating Mr Faulks in his editing of your memoirs, sir.

What a fearful cheek! So the air is abuzz with blighters sticking their oars in, eh?

I think I perceive your meaning, sir,

Any idea who these scribbling merchants might be, Jeeves?

I believe the chief source of your discomfort, sir, is the notorious Whitworth-Allgar-Simmers syndicate.

Good Lord, Jeeves! Anything we can do?

Well, sir, as it is my afternoon off, I will go round and have a word with my Aunt Lucy . . .