Psmith Series. P. G. WodehouseЧитать онлайн книгу.
you want to be really useful, come and help me fetch up my box from downstairs.; It’s got an Etna and various things in it.”
CHAPTER XXXIII
STAKING OUT A CLAIM
Psmith, in the matter of decorating a study and preparing tea in it, was rather a critic than an executant.; He was full of ideas, but he preferred to allow Mike to carry them out.; It was he who suggested that the wooden bar which ran across the window was unnecessary, but it was Mike who wrenched it from its place.; Similarly, it was Mike who abstracted the key from the door of the next study, though the idea was Psmith’s.
“Privacy,” said Psmith, as he watched Mike light the Etna, “is what we chiefly need in this age of publicity.; If you leave a study door unlocked in these strenuous times, the first thing you know is, somebody comes right in, sits down, and begins to talk about himself.; I think with a little care we ought to be able to make this room quite decently comfortable.; That putrid calendar must come down, though.; Do you think you could make a long arm, and haul it off the parent tin-tack?; Thanks.; We make progress.; We make progress.”
“We shall jolly well make it out of the window,” said Mike, spooning up tea from a paper bag with a postcard, “if a sort of young Hackenschmidt turns up and claims the study.; What are you going to do about it?”
“Don’t let us worry about it.; I have a presentiment that he will be an insignificant-looking little weed.; How are you getting on with the evening meal?”
“Just ready.; What would you give to be at Eton now?; I’d give something to be at Wrykyn.”
“These school reports,” said Psmith sympathetically, “are the very dickens.; Many a bright young lad has been soured by them.; Hullo.; What’s this, I wonder.”
A heavy body had plunged against the door, evidently without a suspicion that there would be any resistance.; A rattling at the handle followed, and a voice outside said, “Dash the door!”
“Hackenschmidt!” said Mike.
“The weed,” said Psmith.; “You couldn’t make a long arm, could you, and turn the key?; We had better give this merchant audience.; Remind me later to go on with my remarks on school reports.; I had several bright things to say on the subject.”
Mike unlocked the door, and flung it open.; Framed in the entrance was a smallish, freckled boy, wearing a bowler hat and carrying a bag.; On his face was an expression of mingled wrath and astonishment.
Psmith rose courteously from his chair, and moved forward with slow stateliness to do the honours.
“What the dickens,” inquired the newcomer, “are you doing here?”
“We were having a little tea,” said Psmith, “to restore our tissues after our journey.; Come in and join us.; We keep open house, we Psmiths.; Let me introduce you to Comrade Jackson.; A stout fellow.; Homely in appearance, perhaps, but one of us.; I am Psmith.; Your own name will doubtless come up in the course of general chit-chat over the tea-cups.”
“My name’s Spiller, and this is my study.”
Psmith leaned against the mantelpiece, put up his eyeglass, and harangued Spiller in a philosophical vein.
“Of all sad words of tongue or pen,” said he, “the saddest are these:; ‘It might have been.’; Too late!; That is the bitter cry.; If you had torn yourself from the bosom of the Spiller family by an earlier train, all might have been well.; But no.; Your father held your hand and said huskily, ‘Edwin, don’t leave us!’ Your mother clung to you weeping, and said, ‘Edwin, stay!’ Your sisters——”
“I want to know what——”
“Your sisters froze on to your knees like little octopuses (or octopi), and screamed, ‘Don’t go, Edwin!’ And so,” said Psmith, deeply affected by his recital, “you stayed on till the later train; and, on arrival, you find strange faces in the familiar room, a people that know not Spiller.”; Psmith went to the table, and cheered himself with a sip of tea.; Spiller’s sad case had moved him greatly.
The victim of Fate seemed in no way consoled.
“It’s beastly cheek, that’s what I call it.; Are you new chaps?”
“The very latest thing,” said Psmith.
“Well, it’s beastly cheek.”
Mike’s outlook on life was of the solid, practical order.; He went straight to the root of the matter.
“What are you going to do about it?” he asked.
Spiller evaded the question.
“It’s beastly cheek,” he repeated.; “You can’t go about the place bagging studies.”
“But we do,” said Psmith.; “In this life, Comrade Spiller, we must be prepared for every emergency.; We must distinguish between the unusual and the impossible.; It is unusual for people to go about the place bagging studies, so you have rashly ordered your life on the assumption that it is impossible.; Error!; Ah, Spiller, Spiller, let this be a lesson to you.”
“Look here, I tell you what it——”
“I was in a motor with a man once.; I said to him:; ’What would happen if you trod on that pedal thing instead of that other pedal thing?’ He said, ’I couldn’t.; One’s the foot-brake, and the other’s the accelerator.’; ‘But suppose you did?’ I said.; ‘I wouldn’t,’ he said.; ‘Now we’ll let her rip.’; So he stamped on the accelerator.; Only it turned out to be the foot-brake after all, and we stopped dead, and skidded into a ditch.; The advice I give to every young man starting life is:; ‘Never confuse the unusual and the impossible.’; Take the present case.; If you had only realised the possibility of somebody some day collaring your study, you might have thought out dozens of sound schemes for dealing with the matter.; As it is, you are unprepared.; The thing comes on you as a surprise.; The cry goes round:; ‘Spiller has been taken unawares.; He cannot cope with the situation.’”
“Can’t I!; I’ll——”
“What are you going to do about it?” said Mike.
“All I know is, I’m going to have it.; It was Simpson’s last term, and Simpson’s left, and I’m next on the house list, so, of course, it’s my study.”
“But what steps,” said Psmith, “are you going to take?; Spiller, the man of Logic, we know.; But what of Spiller, the Man of Action?; How do you intend to set about it?; Force is useless.; I was saying to Comrade Jackson before you came in, that I didn’t mind betting you were an insignificant-looking little weed.; And you are an insignificant-looking little weed.”
“We’ll see what Outwood says about it.”
“Not an unsound scheme.; By no means a scaly project.; Comrade Jackson and myself were about to interview him upon another point.; We may as well all go together.”
The trio made their way to the Presence, Spiller pink and determined, Mike sullen, Psmith particularly debonair.; He hummed lightly as he walked, and now and then pointed out to Spiller objects of interest by the wayside.
Mr. Outwood received them with the motherly warmth which was evidently the leading characteristic of his normal manner.
“Ah, Spiller,” he said.; “And Smith, and Jackson.; I am glad to see that you have already made friends.”
“Spiller’s, sir,” said Psmith, laying a hand patronisingly on the study-claimer’s shoulder—a proceeding violently resented by Spiller—“is