Bertie knew as much about Schiller as he did about Spinoza, which is to say, nothing at all. The space in his head labelled "Teutonic literature" held nothing but a vast and empty cavern.

"I don't know a dashed thing about philosophy myself, beyond a speck of Plato here and there." And that speck was, more often then not, a bit muddled. "So put forth your suggestions and Wooster will listen."