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Page 64
Psmith's manner became fatherly.
'_You're_ all right,' he said. 'The hot weather has given you that
tired feeling. What you want is a change of air. We will pop down
together hand in hand this week-end to some seaside resort. You shall
build sand castles, while I lie on the beach and read the paper. In the
evening we will listen to the band, or stroll on the esplanade, not so
much because we want to, as to give the natives a treat. Possibly, if
the weather continues warm, we may even paddle. A vastly exhilarating
pastime, I am led to believe, and so strengthening for the ankles. And
on Monday morning we will return, bronzed and bursting with health, to
our toil once more.'
'I'm going to bed,' said Mike, rising.
Psmith watched him lounge from the room, and shook his head sadly. All
was not well with his confidential secretary and adviser.
The next day, which was a Thursday, found Mike no more reconciled to
the prospect of spending from ten till five in the company of Mr
Gregory and the ledgers. He was silent at breakfast, and Psmith, seeing
that things were still wrong, abstained from conversation. Mike propped
the _Sportsman_ up against the hot-water jug, and read the cricket
news. His county, captained by brother Joe, had, as he had learned
already from yesterday's evening paper, beaten Sussex by five wickets
at Brighton. Today they were due to play Middlesex at Lord's. Mike
thought that he would try to get off early, and go and see some of the
first day's play.
As events turned out, he got off a good deal earlier, and saw a good
deal more of the first day's play than he had anticipated.
He had just finished the preliminary stages of the morning's work,
which consisted mostly of washing his hands, changing his coat, and
eating a section of a pen-holder, when William, the messenger,
approached.
'You're wanted on the 'phone, Mr Jackson.'
The New Asiatic Bank, unlike the majority of London banks, was on the
telephone, a fact which Psmith found a great convenience when securing
seats at the theatre. Mike went to the box and took up the receiver.
'Hullo!' he said.
'Who's that?' said an agitated voice. 'Is that you, Mike? I'm Joe.'
'Hullo, Joe,' said Mike. 'What's up? I'm coming to see you this
evening. I'm going to try and get off early.'
'Look here, Mike, are you busy at the bank just now?'
'Not at the moment. There's never anything much going on before
eleven.'
'I mean, are you busy today? Could you possibly manage to get off and
play for us against Middlesex?'
Mike nearly dropped the receiver.
'What?' he cried.
'There's been the dickens of a mix-up. We're one short, and you're our
only hope. We can't possibly get another man in the time. We start in
half an hour. Can you play?'
For the space of, perhaps, one minute, Mike thought.
'Well?' said Joe's voice.
The sudden vision of Lord's ground, all green and cool in the morning
sunlight, was too much for Mike's resolution, sapped as it was by days
of restlessness. The feeling surged over him that whatever happened
afterwards, the joy of the match in perfect weather on a perfect wicket
would make it worth while. What did it matter what happened afterwards?
'All right, Joe,' he said. 'I'll hop into a cab now, and go and get my
things.'
'Good man,' said Joe, hugely relieved.
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