The Inimitable Jeeves

by P.G. Wodehouse

“This club,” I said, “is the limit.” “It is the eel’s eyebrows,” agreed young Bingo. “I believe that old boy over by the window has been dead three days, but I don’t like to mention it to anyone.” “Have you lunched here yet?” “No. Why?” “They have waitresses instead of waiters.” “Good Lord! I thought that went out with the armistice.” Bingo mused a moment, straightening his tie absently. “Er—pretty girls?” he said. “No.” He seemed disappointed, but pulled round. “Well, I’ve heard that the cooking’s the best in London.” “So they say. Shall we be going in?” “All right. I expect,” said young Bingo, “that at the end of the meal—or possibly at the beginning —the waitress will say, ‘Both together, sir? ‘Reply in the affirmative. I haven’t a bean.”