"Yes, sir?" The aforementioned valet raised an eyebrow as he helped Bertie into his dressing gown one morning.
"It has come to my attention that there has been a bit of a…" Trailing off in midsentence, Bertie straightened his robe and then went on. "There has been a bit of a whatsit in the household as of late, like when a chap says toodle pip a few times to see off his friends when he usually says what ho."
"An inconsistency, sir?"
"That's it; thank you, Jeeves. There has been, on your part, an inconsistency concerning what the Wooster whimsy fancies wearing."
"I am puzzled as to what you mean by that, sir," Jeeves replied with a deferential bafflement proper for the feudal spirit.
The young master gestured to his current dress. "Do you see what I'm wearing, Jeeves? Heliotrope pajamas, very colorful for sleeping in. Usually, old thing, with my best interest at heart, I'm sure, you turn up your nose at any of my clothing that's colorful in the least. So, why do you let the young master wear them?"
"Sleepwear is generally supposed to be comfortable sir, regardless of color. These garments are made of flannel and suit the climate well. Your pairs made of silk perform the same function in the summer as well. If they are uncomfortable, sir, I will dispose of them and order new nightwear. Are you not satisfied with them, sir?"
"Oh, no, no, no, Jeeves!" Bertie hastily waved that thought off like an engagement and snuggled deeper into his bathrobe, flopping back down on the bed. "I am very satisfied with them, no need to worry. There is another reason, though, isn't there, Jeeves?"
"Indeed, sir. Your pajamas have never sought or been in close contact with the other items in your wardrobe that have fought their way out of or evolved from the rag basket." The valet cleared his throat genteelly. "Shall I run your bath, sir?"
"What?" A Bertie who had taken this revelation as well as Napoleon did Waterloo snapped to. "Oh. Yes, Jeeves."
"Very good, sir," he responded and left, hearing a dismayed "I say," in his wake.