There was an hour of breathless suspense, and then the joyful tidings
arrived:

_Well, all right. Something in what you say, I suppose. Consider you
treacherous worm and contemptible, spineless cowardly custard, but have
booked Spink-Bottle. Stay where you are, then, and I hope you get run
over by an omnibus. Love. Travers._

The relief, as you may well imagine, was stupendous. A great weight
seemed to have rolled off my mind. It was as if somebody had been pouring
Jeeves's pick-me-ups into me through a funnel. I sang as I dressed for
dinner that night. At the Drones I was so gay and cheery that there were
several complaints. And when I got home and turned into the old bed, I
fell asleep like a little child within five minutes of inserting the
person between the sheets. It seemed to me that the whole distressing
affair might now be considered definitely closed.

Conceive my astonishment, therefore, when waking on the morrow and
sitting up to dig into the morning tea-cup, I beheld on the tray another
telegram.

My heart sank. Could Aunt Dahlia have slept on it and changed her mind?
Could Gussie, unable to face the ordeal confronting him, have legged it
during the night down a water-pipe? With these speculations racing
through the bean, I tore open the envelope And as I noted contents I
uttered a startled yip.

"Sir?" said Jeeves, pausing at the door.

I read the thing again. Yes, I had got the gist all right. No, I had not