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I gave him one of my looks.

"Jeeves," I said, "I had scarcely expected this of you. You are aware
that I was up to an advanced hour last night. You know that I have barely
had my tea. You cannot be ignorant of the effect of that hearty voice of
Aunt Dahlia's on a man with a headache. And yet you come bringing me
Fink-Nottles. Is this a time for Fink or any other kind of Nottle?"

"But did you not give me to understand, sir, that you wished to see Mr.
Fink-Nottle to advise him on his affairs?"

This, I admit, opened up a new line of thought. In the stress of my
emotions, I had clean forgotten about having taken Gussie's interests in
hand. It altered things. One can't give the raspberry to a client. I
mean, you didn't find Sherlock Holmes refusing to see clients just
because he had been out late the night before at Doctor Watson's birthday
party. I could have wished that the man had selected some more suitable
hour for approaching me, but as he appeared to be a sort of human lark,
leaving his watery nest at daybreak, I supposed I had better give him an
audience.

"True," I said. "All right. Bung him in."

"Very good, sir."

"But before doing so, bring me one of those pick-me-ups of yours."