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Page 23
As Psmith sat in the library with a novel, the waiter entered, and
approached him.
'Beg pardon, sir,' he said. 'Are you a member of this club?'
Psmith fumbled in his pocket and produced his eye-glass, through which
he examined the waiter, button by button.
'I am Psmith,' he said simply.
'A member, sir?'
'_The_ member,' said Psmith. 'Surely you participated in the
general rejoicings which ensued when it was announced that I had been
elected? But perhaps you were too busy working to pay any attention. If
so, I respect you. I also am a worker. A toiler, not a flatfish. A
sizzler, not a squab. Yes, I am a member. Will you tell Mr Bickersdyke
that I am sorry, but I have been elected, and have paid my entrance fee
and subscription.'
'Thank you, sir.'
The waiter went downstairs and found Mr Bickersdyke in the lower
smoking-room.
'The gentleman says he is, sir.'
'H'm,' said the bank-manager. 'Coffee and Benedictine, and a cigar.'
'Yes, sir.'
On the following day Mr Bickersdyke met Psmith in the club three times,
and on the day after that seven. Each time the latter's smile was
friendly, but patronizing. Mr Bickersdyke began to grow restless.
On the fourth day Psmith made his first remark. The manager was reading
the evening paper in a corner, when Psmith sinking gracefully into a
chair beside him, caused him to look up.
'The rain keeps off,' said Psmith.
Mr Bickersdyke looked as if he wished his employee would imitate the
rain, but he made no reply.
Psmith called a waiter.
'Would you mind bringing me a small cup of coffee?' he said. 'And for
you,' he added to Mr Bickersdyke.
'Nothing,' growled the manager.
'And nothing for Mr Bickersdyke.'
The waiter retired. Mr Bickersdyke became absorbed in his paper.
'I see from my morning paper,' said Psmith, affably, 'that you are to
address a meeting at the Kenningford Town Hall next week. I shall come
and hear you. Our politics differ in some respects, I fear--I incline
to the Socialist view--but nevertheless I shall listen to your remarks
with great interest, great interest.'
The paper rustled, but no reply came from behind it.
'I heard from father this morning,' resumed Psmith.
Mr Bickersdyke lowered his paper and glared at him.
'I don't wish to hear about your father,' he snapped.
An expression of surprise and pain came over Psmith's face.
'What!' he cried. 'You don't mean to say that there is any coolness
between my father and you? I am more grieved than I can say. Knowing,
as I do, what a genuine respect my father has for your great talents, I
can only think that there must have been some misunderstanding. Perhaps
if you would allow me to act as a mediator--'
Mr Bickersdyke put down his paper and walked out of the room.
Psmith found him a quarter of an hour later in the card-room. He sat
down beside his table, and began to observe the play with silent
interest. Mr Bickersdyke, never a great performer at the best of times,
was so unsettled by the scrutiny that in the deciding game of the
rubber he revoked, thereby presenting his opponents with the rubber by
a very handsome majority of points. Psmith clicked his tongue
sympathetically.
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