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Page 19
'No, thanks,' said Mike. 'I've done. By Jove, Smith, this flat of yours
is all right.'
'Not bad,' assented Psmith, 'not bad. Free from squalor to a great
extent. I have a number of little objects of _vertu_ coming down
shortly from the old homestead. Pictures, and so on. It will be by no
means un-snug when they are up. Meanwhile, I can rough it. We are old
campaigners, we Psmiths. Give us a roof, a few comfortable chairs, a
sofa or two, half a dozen cushions, and decent meals, and we do not
repine. Reverting once more to Comrade Rossiter--'
'Yes, what about him?' said Mike. 'You'll have a pretty tough job
turning him into a friendly native, I should think. How do you mean to
start?'
Psmith regarded him with a benevolent eye.
'There is but one way,' he said. 'Do you remember the case of Comrade
Outwood, at Sedleigh? How did we corral him, and become to him
practically as long-lost sons?'
'We got round him by joining the Archaeological Society.'
'Precisely,' said Psmith. 'Every man has his hobby. The thing is to
find it out. In the case of comrade Rossiter, I should say that it
would be either postage stamps, dried seaweed, or Hall Caine. I shall
endeavour to find out today. A few casual questions, and the thing is
done. Shall we be putting in an appearance at the busy hive now? If we
are to continue in the running for the bonus stakes, it would be well
to start soon.'
Mike's first duty at the bank that morning was to check the stamps and
petty cash. While he was engaged on this task, he heard Psmith
conversing affably with Mr Rossiter.
'Good morning,' said Psmith.
'Morning,' replied his chief, doing sleight-of-hand tricks with a
bundle of letters which lay on his desk. 'Get on with your work,
Psmith. We have a lot before us.'
'Undoubtedly. I am all impatience. I should say that in an institution
like this, dealing as it does with distant portions of the globe, a
philatelist would have excellent opportunities of increasing his
collection. With me, stamp-collecting has always been a positive craze.
I--'
'I have no time for nonsense of that sort myself,' said Mr Rossiter. 'I
should advise you, if you mean to get on, to devote more time to your
work and less to stamps.'
'I will start at once. Dried seaweed, again--'
'Get on with your work, Smith.'
Psmith retired to his desk.
'This,' he said to Mike, 'is undoubtedly something in the nature of a
set-back. I have drawn blank. The papers bring out posters, "Psmith
Baffled." I must try again. Meanwhile, to work. Work, the hobby of the
philosopher and the poor man's friend.'
The morning dragged slowly on without incident. At twelve o'clock Mike
had to go out and buy stamps, which he subsequently punched in the
punching-machine in the basement, a not very exhilarating job in which
he was assisted by one of the bank messengers, who discoursed learnedly
on roses during the _seance_. Roses were his hobby. Mike began to
see that Psmith had reason in his assumption that the way to every
man's heart was through his hobby. Mike made a firm friend of William,
the messenger, by displaying an interest and a certain knowledge of
roses. At the same time the conversation had the bad effect of leading
to an acute relapse in the matter of homesickness. The rose-garden at
home had been one of Mike's favourite haunts on a summer afternoon. The
contrast between it and the basement of the new Asiatic Bank, the
atmosphere of which was far from being roselike, was too much for his
feelings. He emerged from the depths, with his punched stamps, filled
with bitterness against Fate.
He found Psmith still baffled.
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