It never rains but it pours, as Jeeves neatly put it one day, and another vehicle came along, this time what Jeeves told me is called a pickup truck. It stopped, too, and out hopped the kind of chappie that the rugby coaches would say is just what the doctor ordered.
"Hi, what's up?"
The Luthor bean introduced him as Clark Kent and I explained that the old mode of t. had gone on strike but that the U.S. Marines are on their way, thanks to the Luthor bean.
"Wow, Lex, a car that could actually rival yours."
"Mine happens to run," he said repressively, if that's the word I'm looking for. I wondered if I could set up a little match with him against Aunt Agatha when she's explaining in some detail that life is real and life is earnest and other such concepts that otherwise interfere with the digestion.
"Well, it doesn't look like you need any help, and I've got to get this produce in. See you later, Lex, nice to meet you, Mr. Wooster, Mr. Jeeves, I hope it's not anything serious with the car." He got into his truck again and waved as he drove off.
The ministering mechanic drove up and after poking respectfully at the car said that it had a drip in the old something-or-other and he'd have to order a new one. I nodded as though I knew what he meant and he towed the car away. The Luthor chappie offered us a ride into the bustling heart of the city and when I mentioned that the Wooster expedition would search for the source of tea, said that a place called the Talon should provide what's needed.
Jeeves and I found a bed and breakfast where mine host greeted us as long-lost brothers. I told Jeeves that it was probably the blue jeans and he raised the eyebrow skeptical but couldn't argue the point.
Two girls were sitting at the counter of the Talon, talking and laughing. One was the spiritual-looking type, if you know what I mean, the kind who might write poetry about dewdrops and rainbows and other things of that n. and the other was the bright and lively type who would have made a perfect flapper. The spiritualish one asks if she can help us and we communicate that tea is what is called for.
"I love your accent, are you from England?" the flappery one asked and since we Woosters always fly the flag of honest dealings, I say as much and add the Wooster and Jeeves names to her storehouse of information.
"I'm Chloe. How did you get here all the way from England?"
"Duty called and when the voice of duty calls, Woosters don't roll over and ask for another fifteen minutes, please. I'm writing about my travels in America for my aunt's 'zine, if you know what that is."
"Oh, you're a journalist. So'm I. Listen, let me interview you for The Torch."
I demured a bit at that but as a matter of form, don't you know, and she had her computer out.
"So have you seen anything weird in Smallville?"
I must have looked a bit taken-aback since she said that she thinks Smallville is the World Capital of Weird.
"I've only been here a few hours, but it looks as normal as a cat on a vicar's lap."
The spiritually girl, who brought the liquid r., laughed and said that here, Chloe would probably say that it's a mutant cat. Chloe explained that everybody laughed at her but she had documentation on her Wall of Weird. Since the team of Wooster and Jeeves has faced down angry swans, ravening aunts, and romance novelists, I was able to raise the unfazed eyebrow and hoist the calm demeanor.
When I asked what kinds of revels the town presents for an active young man and escort, the spiritual one, adding that her name is Lana, says that there's a poetry reading at the Talon that night. I wouldn't say that the Wooster cheek paled but it was a near thing, and we made what Jeeves said would be considered a streategic retreat.
He suggested an exploration of the town and not having anything better to do and thinking of building up an appetite for d., I fell in with his suggestion, adding that the jeans made for perfect walking attire and I might even get some gym shoes while here, a remark he pretended not to have heard.
Our stroll took us to the outskirts of the town where we saw a sign labeled Kent Farms. I speculated that that was the source of the rugby-looking chappie and Jeeves agreed that it was a strong possibility. The team of Jeeves and Wooster was proven right as the chappie zipped past us. Zipped is just the right word, since he was moving faster than the cocktails at a Drone's Club party.
"They must feed these farm boys," I noted to Jeeves, who was pondering the situation as well.
"It seems quite likely." He seemed a bit subdued and I knew the signs of the clouds of thought gathering and retreated respectfully. Jeeves' brain is a thing of wonder, don't you know?
"Hi, what's up?"
The Luthor bean introduced him as Clark Kent and I explained that the old mode of t. had gone on strike but that the U.S. Marines are on their way, thanks to the Luthor bean.
"Wow, Lex, a car that could actually rival yours."
"Mine happens to run," he said repressively, if that's the word I'm looking for. I wondered if I could set up a little match with him against Aunt Agatha when she's explaining in some detail that life is real and life is earnest and other such concepts that otherwise interfere with the digestion.
"Well, it doesn't look like you need any help, and I've got to get this produce in. See you later, Lex, nice to meet you, Mr. Wooster, Mr. Jeeves, I hope it's not anything serious with the car." He got into his truck again and waved as he drove off.
The ministering mechanic drove up and after poking respectfully at the car said that it had a drip in the old something-or-other and he'd have to order a new one. I nodded as though I knew what he meant and he towed the car away. The Luthor chappie offered us a ride into the bustling heart of the city and when I mentioned that the Wooster expedition would search for the source of tea, said that a place called the Talon should provide what's needed.
Jeeves and I found a bed and breakfast where mine host greeted us as long-lost brothers. I told Jeeves that it was probably the blue jeans and he raised the eyebrow skeptical but couldn't argue the point.
Two girls were sitting at the counter of the Talon, talking and laughing. One was the spiritual-looking type, if you know what I mean, the kind who might write poetry about dewdrops and rainbows and other things of that n. and the other was the bright and lively type who would have made a perfect flapper. The spiritualish one asks if she can help us and we communicate that tea is what is called for.
"I love your accent, are you from England?" the flappery one asked and since we Woosters always fly the flag of honest dealings, I say as much and add the Wooster and Jeeves names to her storehouse of information.
"I'm Chloe. How did you get here all the way from England?"
"Duty called and when the voice of duty calls, Woosters don't roll over and ask for another fifteen minutes, please. I'm writing about my travels in America for my aunt's 'zine, if you know what that is."
"Oh, you're a journalist. So'm I. Listen, let me interview you for The Torch."
I demured a bit at that but as a matter of form, don't you know, and she had her computer out.
"So have you seen anything weird in Smallville?"
I must have looked a bit taken-aback since she said that she thinks Smallville is the World Capital of Weird.
"I've only been here a few hours, but it looks as normal as a cat on a vicar's lap."
The spiritually girl, who brought the liquid r., laughed and said that here, Chloe would probably say that it's a mutant cat. Chloe explained that everybody laughed at her but she had documentation on her Wall of Weird. Since the team of Wooster and Jeeves has faced down angry swans, ravening aunts, and romance novelists, I was able to raise the unfazed eyebrow and hoist the calm demeanor.
When I asked what kinds of revels the town presents for an active young man and escort, the spiritual one, adding that her name is Lana, says that there's a poetry reading at the Talon that night. I wouldn't say that the Wooster cheek paled but it was a near thing, and we made what Jeeves said would be considered a streategic retreat.
He suggested an exploration of the town and not having anything better to do and thinking of building up an appetite for d., I fell in with his suggestion, adding that the jeans made for perfect walking attire and I might even get some gym shoes while here, a remark he pretended not to have heard.
Our stroll took us to the outskirts of the town where we saw a sign labeled Kent Farms. I speculated that that was the source of the rugby-looking chappie and Jeeves agreed that it was a strong possibility. The team of Jeeves and Wooster was proven right as the chappie zipped past us. Zipped is just the right word, since he was moving faster than the cocktails at a Drone's Club party.
"They must feed these farm boys," I noted to Jeeves, who was pondering the situation as well.
"It seems quite likely." He seemed a bit subdued and I knew the signs of the clouds of thought gathering and retreated respectfully. Jeeves' brain is a thing of wonder, don't you know?