Psmith in the City by P. G. Wodehouse


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Page 2

It was during this week that Mike had first made the acquaintance of
Psmith's family. Mr Smith had moved from Shropshire, and taken Ilsworth
Hall in a neighbouring county. This he had done, as far as could be
ascertained, simply because he had a poor opinion of Shropshire
cricket. And just at the moment cricket happened to be the pivot of his
life.

'My father,' Psmith had confided to Mike, meeting him at the station in
the family motor on the Monday, 'is a man of vast but volatile brain.
He has not that calm, dispassionate outlook on life which marks your
true philosopher, such as myself. I--'

'I say,' interrupted Mike, eyeing Psmith's movements with apprehension,
'you aren't going to drive, are you?'

'Who else? As I was saying, I am like some contented spectator of a
Pageant. My pater wants to jump in and stage-manage. He is a man of
hobbies. He never has more than one at a time, and he never has that
long. But while he has it, it's all there. When I left the house this
morning he was all for cricket. But by the time we get to the ground he
may have chucked cricket and taken up the Territorial Army. Don't be
surprised if you find the wicket being dug up into trenches, when we
arrive, and the pro. moving in echelon towards the pavilion. No,' he
added, as the car turned into the drive, and they caught a glimpse of
white flannels and blazers in the distance, and heard the sound of bat
meeting ball, 'cricket seems still to be topping the bill. Come along,
and I'll show you your room. It's next to mine, so that, if brooding on
Life in the still hours of the night, I hit on any great truth, I shall
pop in and discuss it with you.'

While Mike was changing, Psmith sat on his bed, and continued to
discourse.

'I suppose you're going to the 'Varsity?' he said.

'Rather,' said Mike, lacing his boots. 'You are, of course? Cambridge,
I hope. I'm going to King's.'

'Between ourselves,' confided Psmith, 'I'm dashed if I know what's
going to happen to me. I am the thingummy of what's-its-name.'

'You look it,' said Mike, brushing his hair.

'Don't stand there cracking the glass,' said Psmith. 'I tell you I am
practically a human three-shies-a-penny ball. My father is poising me
lightly in his hand, preparatory to flinging me at one of the milky
cocos of Life. Which one he'll aim at I don't know. The least thing
fills him with a whirl of new views as to my future. Last week we were
out shooting together, and he said that the life of the gentleman-farmer
was the most manly and independent on earth, and that he had a good
mind to start me on that. I pointed out that lack of early training
had rendered me unable to distinguish between a threshing-machine and
a mangel-wurzel, so he chucked that. He has now worked round to
Commerce. It seems that a blighter of the name of Bickersdyke is
coming here for the week-end next Saturday. As far as I can say
without searching the Newgate Calendar, the man Bickersdyke's career
seems to have been as follows. He was at school with my pater, went
into the City, raked in a certain amount of doubloons--probably
dishonestly--and is now a sort of Captain of Industry, manager of some
bank or other, and about to stand for Parliament. The result of these
excesses is that my pater's imagination has been fired, and at time of
going to press he wants me to imitate Comrade Bickersdyke. However,
there's plenty of time. That's one comfort. He's certain to change his
mind again. Ready? Then suppose we filter forth into the arena?'

Out on the field Mike was introduced to the man of hobbies. Mr Smith,
senior, was a long, earnest-looking man who might have been Psmith in a
grey wig but for his obvious energy. He was as wholly on the move as
Psmith was wholly statuesque. Where Psmith stood like some dignified
piece of sculpture, musing on deep questions with a glassy eye, his
father would be trying to be in four places at once. When Psmith
presented Mike to him, he shook hands warmly with him and started a
sentence, but broke off in the middle of both performances to dash
wildly in the direction of the pavilion in an endeavour to catch an
impossible catch some thirty yards away. The impetus so gained carried
him on towards Bagley, the Ilsworth Hall ground-man, with whom a moment
later he was carrying on an animated discussion as to whether he had or
had not seen a dandelion on the field that morning. Two minutes
afterwards he had skimmed away again. Mike, as he watched him, began to
appreciate Psmith's reasons for feeling some doubt as to what would be
his future walk in life.

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