“I say, Jeeves! Bit of a whirlwind...

“I say, Jeeves! Bit of a whirlwind escapade, what? I do hope these futuristic Colonials know how to make tea. Be a good chap, will you, and step into this Greystone Mansion and find out if they have decent scones and kippers.”

“Yes, sir.”

“But what on Earth has happened to the car? My prize Hispano-Suiza, the one Sir Brumleigh Bowles drove to victory at Soddy Grunting? The one that was positively going to make a shambles of the antique auto show today while people tour the mansion, at 901 Loma Vista Drive, from noon to 4:30 p.m., and view table settings and room displays from fine shops, hotels and restaurants. (Tickets, including refreshments, are $25. Information: (310) 475-9802.) It’s gone, or my name’s not Bertie Wooster!”

“It must have disintegrated in the time machine, sir.”

“Good Lord! Rum show, this Beverly Hills, what?”

“At least it wasn’t the Rolls, sir.”

“But you and I, Jeeves--how did we survive such a radical displacement, if the car didn’t?”

“You and I, sir, are the immortal creations of P. G. Wodehouse, and thus immune to the ravages of time and circumstance. The car, alas, was not. If I may be permitted the liberty of making an observation, sir, the very wine stain that disfigured your cummerbund in 1923 has been transmitted here, in all its hideous encrustation, 70 years later.”

“I know you never did approve of cummerbunds, Jeeves. Especially puce ones.”

“All I said, sir, was that you should never wear anything that clashes so violently with sherry.”

*

“Dash it all, Jeeves! I can’t for the life of me understand why the Beverly Hills Historical Society bothered to invite me. These Doheny oil people built quite a pile here. Fully twice the size of my Aunt Agatha’s place in Barkington-on-Twig. They have place settings from the White House, the California governor’s mansion, and some coves named Reagan and Nixon, who appear to have been Presidents at one time. Quite enough class without me, don’t you think?

“And when I tried to put five quid on the White House setting, and asked for odds on the Nixon, can you imagine? They said it wasn’t a bally contest at all, and nobody was taking any bets. You know me, Jeeves. Where’s the old joie de vivre if I can’t take a flyer on something? There’s absolutely no reason to be here.”

“You’re forgetting the forks, sir.”

“The forks?”

“Yes, sir. In America, which has no titled gentry, people of wealth are also required to be people of action and substance. Which has the unfortunate consequence that they come up a bit short on the niceties, such as which fork goes where. Just down the road in Los Angeles, the staff here inform me, people dine with submachine guns in their laps. Is it any wonder, then, that you were called upon to supervise? Only an idle sprig of the aristocracy like yourself, sir, if you’ll pardon the expression, could be relied upon to care enough.”

“Ha! You mean that, in the Wild West, only Englishmen ‘speak with forked tongue’? By Jove! That’s jolly good, what? Jeeves?”

“Yes, sir. Tea?”