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Page 27
Mr Bickersdyke left the Navy, and went on to more general topics. But
he was not interesting. He quoted figures, saw a moment later that he
had not quoted them accurately, and instead of carrying on boldly, went
back and corrected himself.
'Gow up top!' said a voice at the back of the hall, and there was a
general laugh.
Mr Bickersdyke galloped unsteadily on. He condemned the Government. He
said they had betrayed their trust.
And then he told an anecdote.
'The Government, gentlemen,' he said, 'achieves nothing worth
achieving, and every individual member of the Government takes all the
credit for what is done to himself. Their methods remind me, gentlemen,
of an amusing experience I had while fishing one summer in the Lake
District.'
In a volume entitled 'Three Men in a Boat' there is a story of how the
author and a friend go into a riverside inn and see a very large trout
in a glass case. They make inquiries about it, have men assure them,
one by one, that the trout was caught by themselves. In the end the
trout turns out to be made of plaster of Paris.
Mr Bickersdyke told that story as an experience of his own while
fishing one summer in the Lake District.
It went well. The meeting was amused. Mr Bickersdyke went on to draw a
trenchant comparison between the lack of genuine merit in the trout and
the lack of genuine merit in the achievements of His Majesty's
Government.
There was applause.
When it had ceased, Psmith rose to his feet again.
'Excuse me,' he said.
11. Misunderstood
Mike had refused to accompany Psmith to the meeting that evening,
saying that he got too many chances in the ordinary way of business of
hearing Mr Bickersdyke speak, without going out of his way to make
more. So Psmith had gone off to Kenningford alone, and Mike, feeling
too lazy to sally out to any place of entertainment, had remained at
the flat with a novel.
He was deep in this, when there was the sound of a key in the latch,
and shortly afterwards Psmith entered the room. On Psmith's brow there
was a look of pensive care, and also a slight discoloration. When he
removed his overcoat, Mike saw that his collar was burst and hanging
loose and that he had no tie. On his erstwhile speckless and gleaming
shirt front were number of finger-impressions, of a boldness and
clearness of outline which would have made a Bertillon expert leap with
joy.
'Hullo!' said Mike dropping his book.
Psmith nodded in silence, went to his bedroom, and returned with a
looking-glass. Propping this up on a table, he proceeded to examine
himself with the utmost care. He shuddered slightly as his eye fell on
the finger-marks; and without a word he went into his bathroom again.
He emerged after an interval of ten minutes in sky-blue pyjamas,
slippers, and an Old Etonian blazer. He lit a cigarette; and, sitting
down, stared pensively into the fire.
'What the dickens have you been playing at?' demanded Mike.
Psmith heaved a sigh.
'That,' he replied, 'I could not say precisely. At one moment it seemed
to be Rugby football, at another a jiu-jitsu _seance_. Later, it
bore a resemblance to a pantomime rally. However, whatever it was, it
was all very bright and interesting. A distinct experience.'
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