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Updated: May 22, 2025
"Often of a spring morning," it said at the top of page twenty-one, "as you wander through the fields, you will hear the sweet-toned, carelessly flowing warble of the purple finch linnet. When you are older you must read all about him in Mr. Alexander Worple's wonderful book American Birds." You see. A boost for the uncle right away.
A limited edition could be published at your expense, sir, and a great deal of the book would, of course, be given over to eulogistic remarks concerning Mr. Worple's own larger treatise on the same subject. I should recommend the dispatching of a presentation copy to Mr.
But I was still under the influence of the girl's melting gaze, and I saw that this was where I started in as a knight-errant. "You can count on me for all that sort of thing, Corky," I said. "Only too glad. Carry on, Jeeves." "I would suggest, sir, that Mr. Corcoran take advantage of Mr. Worple's attachment to ornithology." "How on earth did you know that he was fond of birds?"
The uncle had written Muriel a letter so dripping with the milk of human kindness that if he hadn't known Mr. Worple's handwriting Corky would have refused to believe him the author of it. Any time it suited Miss Singer to call, said the uncle, he would be delighted to make her acquaintance. Shortly after this I had to go out of town.
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