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Page 53
He got up, smiling.
The cashier did not notice the movement. Somebody had come in to cash a
cheque, and he was working mechanically.
Mike walked up the aisle to Mr Bickersdyke's room, and went in.
The manager was in his chair at the big table. Opposite him, facing
slightly sideways, was a small, round, very red-faced man. Mr
Bickersdyke was speaking as Mike entered.
'I can assure you, Sir John--' he was saying.
He looked up as the door opened.
'Well, Mr Jackson?'
Mike almost laughed. The situation was tickling him.
'Mr Waller has told me--' he began.
'I have already seen Mr Waller.'
'I know. He told me about the cheque. I came to explain.'
'Explain?'
'Yes. He didn't cash it at all.'
'I don't understand you, Mr Jackson.'
'I was at the counter when it was brought in,' said Mike. 'I cashed it.'
21. Psmith Makes Inquiries
Psmith, as was his habit of a morning when the fierce rush of his
commercial duties had abated somewhat, was leaning gracefully against
his desk, musing on many things, when he was aware that Bristow was
standing before him.
Focusing his attention with some reluctance upon this blot on the
horizon, he discovered that the exploiter of rainbow waistcoats and
satin ties was addressing him.
'I say, Smithy,' said Bristow. He spoke in rather an awed voice.
'Say on, Comrade Bristow,' said Psmith graciously. 'You have our ear.
You would seem to have something on your chest in addition to that
Neapolitan ice garment which, I regret to see, you still flaunt. If it
is one tithe as painful as that, you have my sympathy. Jerk it out,
Comrade Bristow.'
'Jackson isn't half copping it from old Bick.'
'Isn't--? What exactly did you say?'
'He's getting it hot on the carpet.'
'You wish to indicate,' said Psmith, 'that there is some slight
disturbance, some passing breeze between Comrades Jackson and
Bickersdyke?'
Bristow chuckled.
'Breeze! Blooming hurricane, more like it. I was in Bick's room just
now with a letter to sign, and I tell you, the fur was flying all over
the bally shop. There was old Bick cursing for all he was worth, and a
little red-faced buffer puffing out his cheeks in an armchair.'
'We all have our hobbies,' said Psmith.
'Jackson wasn't saying much. He jolly well hadn't a chance. Old Bick
was shooting it out fourteen to the dozen.'
'I have been privileged,' said Psmith, 'to hear Comrade Bickersdyke
speak both in his sanctum and in public. He has, as you suggest, a
ready flow of speech. What, exactly was the cause of the turmoil?'
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