"Absolutely."

"Thank you, sir."

Bicky followed him with his eye till the door closed.

"How does he do it, Bertie?" he said. "I'll tell you what I think it
is. I believe it's something to do with the shape of his head. Have you
ever noticed his head, Bertie, old man? It sort of sticks out at the
back!"

* * * * *

I hopped out of bed early next morning, so as to be among those present
when the old boy should arrive. I knew from experience that these ocean
liners fetch up at the dock at a deucedly ungodly hour. It wasn't much
after nine by the time I'd dressed and had my morning tea and was
leaning out of the window, watching the street for Bicky and his uncle.
It was one of those jolly, peaceful mornings that make a chappie wish
he'd got a soul or something, and I was just brooding on life in
general when I became aware of the dickens of a spate in progress down
below. A taxi had driven up, and an old boy in a top hat had got out
and was kicking up a frightful row about the fare. As far as I could
make out, he was trying to get the cab chappie to switch from New York
to London prices, and the cab chappie had apparently never heard of
London before, and didn't seem to think a lot of it now. The old boy
said that in London the trip would have set him back eightpence; and
the cabby said he should worry. I called to Jeeves.