________________________________________________
_
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?"
[Illustration: "WHAT THE DICKENS 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 a character one cannot help but respect. His nature
expands before one like some beautiful flower."
Mr. Outwood received this eulogy with rather a startled expression,
and gazed at the object of the tribute in a surprised way.
"Er--quite so, Smith, quite so," he said at last. "I like to see boys
in my house friendly towards one another."
"There is no vice in Spiller," pursued Psmith earnestly. "His heart is
the heart of a little child."
"Please, sir," burst out this paragon of all the virtues, "I----"
"But it was not entirely with regard to Spiller that I wished to speak
to you, sir, if you were not too busy."
"Not at all, Smith, not at all. Is there anything----"
"Please, sir--" began Spiller.
"I understand, sir," said Psmith, "that there is an Archaeological
Society in the school."
Mr. Outwood's eyes sparkled behind their pince-nez. It was a
disappointment to him that so few boys seemed to wish to belong to his
chosen band. Cricket and football, games that left him cold, appeared
to be the main interest in their lives. It was but rarely that he
could induce new boys to join. His colleague, Mr. Downing, who
presided over the School Fire Brigade, never had any difficulty in
finding support. Boys came readily at his call. Mr. Outwood pondered
wistfully on this at times, not knowing that the Fire Brigade owed its
support to the fact that it provided its light-hearted members with
perfectly unparalleled opportunities for ragging, while his own band,
though small, were in the main earnest.
"Yes, Smith." he said. "Yes. We have a small Archaeological Society.
I--er--in a measure look after it. Perhaps you would care to become a
member?"
"Please, sir--" said Spiller.
"One moment, Spiller. Do you want to join, Smith?"
"Intensely, sir. Archaeology fascinates me. A grand pursuit, sir."
"Undoubtedly, Smith. I am very pleased, very pleased indeed. I will
put down your name at once."
"And Jackson's, sir."
"Jackson, too!" Mr. Outwood beamed. "I am delighted. Most delighted.
This is capital. This enthusiasm is most capital."
"Spiller, sir," said Psmith sadly, "I have been unable to induce to
join."
"Oh, he is one of our oldest members."
"Ah," said Psmith, tolerantly, "that accounts for it."
"Please, sir--" said Spiller.
"One moment, Spiller. We shall have the first outing of the term on
Saturday. We intend to inspect the Roman Camp at Embury Hill, two
miles from the school."
"We shall be there, sir."
"Capital!"
"Please, sir--" said Spiller.
"One moment, Spiller," said Psmith. "There is just one other matter,
if you could spare the time, sir."
"Certainly, Smith. What is that?"
"Would there be any objection to Jackson and myself taking Simpson's
old study?"
"By all means, Smith. A very good idea."
"Yes, sir. It would give us a place where we could work quietly in the
evenings."
"Quite so. Quite so."
"Thank you very much, sir. We will move our things in."
"Thank you very much, sir," said Mike.
"Please, sir," shouted Spiller, "aren't I to have it? I'm next on the
list, sir. I come next after Simpson. Can't I have it?"
"I'm afraid I have already promised it to Smith, Spiller. You should
have spoken before."
"But, sir----"
Psmith eyed the speaker pityingly.
"This tendency to delay, Spiller," he said, "is your besetting fault.
Correct it, Edwin. Fight against it."
He turned to Mr. Outwood.
"We should, of course, sir, always be glad to see Spiller in our
study. He would always find a cheery welcome waiting there for him.
There is no formality between ourselves and Spiller."
"Quite so. An excellent arrangement, Smith. I like this spirit of
comradeship in my house. Then you will be with us on Saturday?"
"On Saturday, sir."
"All this sort of thing, Spiller," said Psmith, as they closed the
door, "is very, very trying for a man of culture. Look us up in our
study one of these afternoons."
Content of CHAPTER XXXIII - STAKING OUT A CLAIM [P G Wodehouse's novel: Mike]
_
Read next: CHAPTER XXXIV - GUERILLA WARFARE
Read previous: CHAPTER XXXII - PSMITH
Table of content of Mike
GO TO TOP OF SCREEN
Post your review
Your review will be placed after the table of content of this book
