last word in a grey check suit, and I felt I should never be happy till I had one like it. I dug the address of the tailors out of him, and had them working on the thing inside the hour. “Jeeves,” I said that evening. “I’m getting a check suit like that one of Mr. Byng’s.” “Injudicious, sir,” he said firmly. “It will not become you.” “What absolute rot! It’s the soundest thing I’ve struck for years.” “Unsuitable for you, sir.” Well, the long and the short of it was that the confounded thing came home, and I put it on, and when I caught sight of myself in the glass I nearly swooned. Jeeves was
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