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Page 47
After about twenty minutes, during which Mike's discomfort changed to a
dull resignation, Mr Waller suggested a move to the drawing-room, where
Ada, he said, would play some hymns.
The prospect did not dazzle Mike, but any change, he thought, must be
for the better. He had sat staring at the ruin of the blancmange so
long that it had begun to hypnotize him. Also, the move had the
excellent result of eliminating the snub-nosed Edward, who was sent to
bed. His last words were in the form of a question, addressed to Mike,
on the subject of the hypotenuse and the square upon the same.
'A remarkably intelligent boy,' said Psmith. 'You must let him come to
tea at our flat one day. I may not be in myself--I have many duties
which keep me away--but Comrade Jackson is sure to be there, and will
be delighted to chat with him.'
On the way upstairs Mike tried to get Psmith to himself for a moment to
suggest the advisability of an early departure; but Psmith was in close
conversation with his host. Mike was left to Comrade Prebble, who,
apparently, had only touched the fringe of his subject in his lecture
in the dining-room.
When Mr Waller had predicted hymns in the drawing-room, he had been too
sanguine (or too pessimistic). Of Ada, when they arrived, there were no
signs. It seemed that she had gone straight to bed. Young Mr Richards
was sitting on the sofa, moodily turning the leaves of a photograph
album, which contained portraits of Master Edward Waller in
geometrically progressing degrees of repulsiveness--here, in frocks,
looking like a gargoyle; there, in sailor suit, looking like nothing on
earth. The inspection of these was obviously deepening Mr Richards'
gloom, but he proceeded doggedly with it.
Comrade Prebble backed the reluctant Mike into a corner, and, like the
Ancient Mariner, held him with a glittering eye. Psmith and Mr Waller,
in the opposite corner, were looking at something with their heads
close together. Mike definitely abandoned all hope of a rescue from
Psmith, and tried to buoy himself up with the reflection that this
could not last for ever.
Hours seemed to pass, and then at last he heard Psmith's voice saying
good-bye to his host.
He sprang to his feet. Comrade Prebble was in the middle of a sentence,
but this was no time for polished courtesy. He felt that he must get
away, and at once. 'I fear,' Psmith was saying, 'that we must tear
ourselves away. We have greatly enjoyed our evening. You must look us
up at our flat one day, and bring Comrade Prebble. If I am not in,
Comrade Jackson is certain to be, and he will be more than delighted to
hear Comrade Prebble speak further on the subject of which he is such a
master.' Comrade Prebble was understood to say that he would certainly
come. Mr Waller beamed. Mr Richards, still steeped in gloom, shook
hands in silence.
Out in the road, with the front door shut behind them, Mike spoke his
mind.
'Look here, Smith,' he said definitely, 'if being your confidential
secretary and adviser is going to let me in for any more of that sort
of thing, you can jolly well accept my resignation.'
'The orgy was not to your taste?' said Psmith sympathetically.
Mike laughed. One of those short, hollow, bitter laughs.
'I am at a loss, Comrade Jackson,' said Psmith, 'to understand your
attitude. You fed sumptuously. You had fun with the crockery--that
knockabout act of yours with the water-jug was alone worth the
money--and you had the advantage of listening to the views of a
master of his subject. What more do you want?'
'What on earth did you land me with that man Prebble for?'
'Land you! Why, you courted his society. I had practically to drag you
away from him. When I got up to say good-bye, you were listening to him
with bulging eyes. I never saw such a picture of rapt attention. Do you
mean to tell me, Comrade Jackson, that your appearance belied you, that
you were not interested? Well, well. How we misread our fellow
creatures.'
'I think you might have come and lent a hand with Prebble. It was a bit
thick.'
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