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Page 21
Psmith, who had been listening with an air of pleased interest, much as
a father would listen to his child prattling for the benefit of a
visitor, confirmed this statement.
'Comrade Jackson,' he said, 'has put the matter with his usual
admirable clearness. That is the thing in a nutshell. Has Comrade
Rossiter any hobby that you know of? Spillikins, brass-rubbing, the
Near Eastern Question, or anything like that? I have tried him with
postage-stamps (which you'd think, as head of a postage department, he
ought to be interested in), and dried seaweed, Hall Caine, but I have
the honour to report total failure. The man seems to have no pleasures.
What does he do with himself when the day's toil is ended? That giant
brain must occupy itself somehow.'
'I don't know,' said Bannister, 'unless it's football. I saw him once
watching Chelsea. I was rather surprised.'
'Football,' said Psmith thoughtfully, 'football. By no means a scaly
idea. I rather fancy, Comrade Bannister, that you have whanged the nail
on the head. Is he strong on any particular team? I mean, have you ever
heard him, in the intervals of business worries, stamping on his desk
and yelling, "Buck up Cottagers!" or "Lay 'em out, Pensioners!" or
anything like that? One moment.' Psmith held up his hand. 'I will get
my Sherlock Holmes system to work. What was the other team in the
modern gladiatorial contest at which you saw Comrade Rossiter?'
'Manchester United.'
'And Comrade Rossiter, I should say, was a Manchester man.'
'I believe he is.'
'Then I am prepared to bet a small sum that he is nuts on Manchester
United. My dear Holmes, how--! Elementary, my dear fellow, quite
elementary. But here comes the lad in person.'
Mr Rossiter turned in from the central aisle through the counter-door,
and, observing the conversational group at the postage-desk, came
bounding up. Bannister moved off.
'Really, Smith,' said Mr Rossiter, 'you always seem to be talking. I
have overlooked the matter once, as I did not wish to get you into
trouble so soon after joining; but, really, it cannot go on. I must
take notice of it.'
Psmith held up his hand.
'The fault was mine,' he said, with manly frankness. 'Entirely mine.
Bannister came in a purely professional spirit to deposit a letter with
Comrade Jackson. I engaged him in conversation on the subject of the
Football League, and I was just trying to correct his view that
Newcastle United were the best team playing, when you arrived.'
'It is perfectly absurd,' said Mr Rossiter, 'that you should waste the
bank's time in this way. The bank pays you to work, not to talk about
professional football.'
'Just so, just so,' murmured Psmith.
'There is too much talking in this department.'
'I fear you are right.'
'It is nonsense.'
'My own view,' said Psmith, 'was that Manchester United were by far the
finest team before the public.'
'Get on with your work, Smith.'
Mr Rossiter stumped off to his desk, where he sat as one in thought.
'Smith,' he said at the end of five minutes.
Psmith slid from his stool, and made his way deferentially towards him.
'Bannister's a fool,' snapped Mr Rossiter.
'So I thought,' said Psmith.
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