Psmith in the City by P. G. Wodehouse


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Page 5

The touch of gloom was contributed by his brother Bob to a certain
extent, and by his father more noticeably. Bob looked slightly
thoughtful. Mr Jackson seemed thoroughly worried.

Mike approached Bob on the subject in the billiard-room after dinner.
Bob was practising cannons in rather a listless way.

'What's up, Bob?' asked Mike.

Bob laid down his cue.

'I'm hanged if I know,' said Bob. 'Something seems to be. Father's
worried about something.'

'He looked as if he'd got the hump rather at dinner.'

'I only got here this afternoon, about three hours before you did. I
had a bit of a talk with him before dinner. I can't make out what's up.
He seemed awfully keen on my finding something to do now I've come down
from Oxford. Wanted to know whether I couldn't get a tutoring job or a
mastership at some school next term. I said I'd have a shot. I don't
see what all the hurry's about, though. I was hoping he'd give me a bit
of travelling on the Continent somewhere before I started in.'

'Rough luck,' said Mike. 'I wonder why it is. Jolly good about Joe,
wasn't it? Let's have fifty up, shall we?'

Bob's remarks had given Mike no hint of impending disaster. It seemed
strange, of course, that his father, who had always been so easy-going,
should have developed a hustling Get On or Get Out spirit, and be
urging Bob to Do It Now; but it never occurred to him that there could
be any serious reason for it. After all, fellows had to start working
some time or other. Probably his father had merely pointed this out to
Bob, and Bob had made too much of it.

Half-way through the game Mr Jackson entered the room, and stood
watching in silence.

'Want a game, father?' asked Mike.

'No, thanks, Mike. What is it? A hundred up?'

'Fifty.'

'Oh, then you'll be finished in a moment. When you are, I wish you'd
just look into the study for a moment, Mike. I want to have a talk with
you.'

'Rum,' said Mike, as the door closed. 'I wonder what's up?'

For a wonder his conscience was free. It was not as if a bad school-report
might have arrived in his absence. His Sedleigh report had come at
the beginning of the holidays, and had been, on the whole, fairly
decent--nothing startling either way. Mr Downing, perhaps through
remorse at having harried Mike to such an extent during the Sammy
episode, had exercised a studied moderation in his remarks. He had let
Mike down far more easily than he really deserved. So it could not be a
report that was worrying Mr Jackson. And there was nothing else on his
conscience.

Bob made a break of sixteen, and ran out. Mike replaced his cue, and
walked to the study.

His father was sitting at the table. Except for the very important fact
that this time he felt that he could plead Not Guilty on every possible
charge, Mike was struck by the resemblance in the general arrangement
of the scene to that painful ten minutes at the end of the previous
holidays, when his father had announced his intention of taking him
away from Wrykyn and sending him to Sedleigh. The resemblance was
increased by the fact that, as Mike entered, Mr Jackson was kicking at
the waste-paper basket--a thing which with him was an infallible sign
of mental unrest.

'Sit down, Mike,' said Mr Jackson. 'How did you get on during the
week?'

'Topping. Only once out under double figures. And then I was run out.
Got a century against the Green Jackets, seventy-one against the
Incogs, and today I made ninety-eight on a beast of a wicket, and only
got out because some silly goat of a chap--'

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Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Thu 9th Jan 2025, 12:26