|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 57
It was one of Psmith's theories of Life, which he was accustomed to
propound to Mike in the small hours of the morning with his feet on the
mantelpiece, that the secret of success lay in taking advantage of
one's occasional slices of luck, in seizing, as it were, the happy
moment. When Mike, who had had the passage to write out ten times at
Wrykyn on one occasion as an imposition, reminded him that Shakespeare
had once said something about there being a tide in the affairs of men,
which, taken at the flood, &c., Psmith had acknowledged with an easy
grace that possibly Shakespeare _had_ got on to it first, and that
it was but one more proof of how often great minds thought alike.
Though waiving his claim to the copyright of the maxim, he nevertheless
had a high opinion of it, and frequently acted upon it in the conduct
of his own life.
Thus, when approaching the Senior Conservative Club at five o'clock
with the idea of finding Mr Bickersdyke there, he observed his quarry
entering the Turkish Baths which stand some twenty yards from the
club's front door, he acted on his maxim, and decided, instead of
waiting for the manager to finish his bath before approaching him on
the subject of Mike, to corner him in the Baths themselves.
He gave Mr Bickersdyke five minutes' start. Then, reckoning that by
that time he would probably have settled down, he pushed open the door
and went in himself. And, having paid his money, and left his boots
with the boy at the threshold, he was rewarded by the sight of the
manager emerging from a box at the far end of the room, clad in the
mottled towels which the bather, irrespective of his personal taste in
dress, is obliged to wear in a Turkish bath.
Psmith made for the same box. Mr Bickersdyke's clothes lay at the head
of one of the sofas, but nobody else had staked out a claim. Psmith
took possession of the sofa next to the manager's. Then, humming
lightly, he undressed, and made his way downstairs to the Hot Rooms. He
rather fancied himself in towels. There was something about them which
seemed to suit his figure. They gave him, he though, rather a
_debonnaire_ look. He paused for a moment before the looking-glass
to examine himself, with approval, then pushed open the door of the Hot
Rooms and went in.
23. Mr Bickersdyke Makes a Concession
Mr Bickersdyke was reclining in an easy-chair in the first room,
staring before him in the boiled-fish manner customary in a Turkish
Bath. Psmith dropped into the next seat with a cheery 'Good evening.'
The manager started as if some firm hand had driven a bradawl into him.
He looked at Psmith with what was intended to be a dignified stare. But
dignity is hard to achieve in a couple of parti-coloured towels. The
stare did not differ to any great extent from the conventional
boiled-fish look, alluded to above.
Psmith settled himself comfortably in his chair. 'Fancy finding you
here,' he said pleasantly. 'We seem always to be meeting. To me,' he
added, with a reassuring smile, 'it is a great pleasure. A very great
pleasure indeed. We see too little of each other during office hours.
Not that one must grumble at that. Work before everything. You have
your duties, I mine. It is merely unfortunate that those duties are not
such as to enable us to toil side by side, encouraging each other with
word and gesture. However, it is idle to repine. We must make the most
of these chance meetings when the work of the day is over.'
Mr Bickersdyke heaved himself up from his chair and took another at the
opposite end of the room. Psmith joined him.
'There's something pleasantly mysterious, to my mind,' said he
chattily, 'in a Turkish Bath. It seems to take one out of the hurry and
bustle of the everyday world. It is a quiet backwater in the rushing
river of Life. I like to sit and think in a Turkish Bath. Except, of
course, when I have a congenial companion to talk to. As now. To me--'
Mr Bickersdyke rose, and went into the next room.
'To me,' continued Psmith, again following, and seating himself beside
the manager, 'there is, too, something eerie in these places. There is
a certain sinister air about the attendants. They glide rather than
walk. They say little. Who knows what they may be planning and
plotting? That drip-drip again. It may be merely water, but how are we
to know that it is not blood? It would be so easy to do away with a man
in a Turkish Bath. Nobody has seen him come in. Nobody can trace him if
he disappears. These are uncomfortable thoughts, Mr Bickersdyke.'
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|