"I wouldn't go."

"I must go. I keep telling you she's off to the country tomorrow."

I gave it up.

"So be it," I said. "Have it your own way.... Yes, Jeeves?"

"Mr. Fink-Nottle's cab, sir."

"Ah? The cab, eh?... Your cab, Gussie."

"Oh, the cab? Oh, right. Of course, yes, rather.... Thanks, Jeeves ...
Well, so long, Bertie."

And giving me the sort of weak smile Roman gladiators used to give the
Emperor before entering the arena, Gussie trickled off. And I turned to
Jeeves. The moment had arrived for putting him in his place, and I was
all for it.

It was a little difficult to know how to begin, of course. I mean to say,
while firmly resolved to tick him off, I didn't want to gash his feelings
too deeply. Even when displaying the iron hand, we Woosters like to keep
the thing fairly matey.

However, on consideration, I saw that there was nothing to be gained by
trying to lead up to it gently. It is never any use beating about the b.

"Jeeves," I said, "may I speak frankly?"