Mike and Psmith. P. G. Wodehouse

someday collaring your study, you might have thought out dozens of sound schemes for dealing with the matter. As it is, you are unprepared. The thing comes on you as a surprise. The cry goes round: 'Spiller has been taken unawares. He cannot cope with the situation.'"

      "Can't I! I'll—"

      "What are you going to do about it?" said Mike.

      "All I know is, I'm going to have it. It was Simpson's last term, and Simpson's left, and I'm next on the house list, so, of course, it's my study."

      "But what steps," said Psmith, "are you going to take? Spiller, the man of Logic, we know. But what of Spiller, the Man of Action? How do you intend to set about it? Force is useless. I was saying to Comrade Jackson before you came in, that I didn't mind betting you were an insignificant-looking little weed. And you are an insignificant-looking little weed."

      "We'll see what Outwood says about it."

      "Not an unsound scheme. By no means a scaly project. Comrade Jackson and myself were about to interview him upon another point. We may as well all go together."

      The trio made their way to the Presence, Spiller pink and determined, Mike sullen, Psmith particularly debonair. He hummed lightly as he walked, and now and then pointed out to Spiller objects of interest by the wayside.

      Mr. Outwood received them with the motherly warmth which was evidently the leading characteristic of his normal manner.

      "Ah, Spiller," he said. "And Smith, and Jackson. I am glad to see you have already made friends."

      "Spiller's, sir," said Psmith, laying a hand patronizingly on the study-claimer's shoulder—a proceeding violently resented by Spiller—"is a character one cannot help but respect. His nature expands before one like some beautiful flower."

      Mr. Outwood received this eulogy with rather a startled expression, and gazed at the object of the tribute in a surprised way.

      "Er—quite so, Smith, quite so," he said at last. "I like to see boys in my house friendly toward one another."

      "There is no vice in Spiller," pursued Psmith earnestly. "His heart is the heart of a little child."

      "Please, sir," burst out this paragon of all the virtues, "I—"

      "But it was not entirely with regard to Spiller that I wished to speak to you, sir, if you were not too busy."

      "Not at all, Smith, not at all. Is there anything … "

      "Please, sir—" began Spiller

      "I understand, sir," said Psmith, "that there is an Archaeological Society in the school."

      Mr. Outwood's eyes sparkled behind their pince-nez. It was a disappointment to him that so few boys seemed to wish to belong to his chosen band. Cricket and football, games that left him cold, appeared to be the main interest in their lives. It was but rarely that he could induce new boys to join. His colleague, Mr. Downing, who presided over the School Fire Brigade, never had any difficulty in finding support. Boys came readily at his call. Mr. Outwood pondered wistfully on this at times, not knowing that the Fire Brigade owed its support to the fact that it provided its lighthearted members with perfectly unparalleled opportunities for ragging, while his own band, though small, was, in the main, earnest.

      "Yes, Smith," he said, "Yes. We have a small Archaeological Society. I—er—in a measure look after it. Perhaps you would care to become a member?"

      "Please, sir—" said Spiller.

      "One moment, Spiller. Do you want to join, Smith?"

      "Intensely, sir. Archaeology fascinates me. A grand pursuit, sir."

      "Undoubtedly, Smith. I am very pleased, very pleased indeed. I will put down your name at once."

      "And Jackson's, sir."

      "Jackson, too!" Mr. Outwood beamed. "I am delighted. Most delighted. This is capital. This enthusiasm is most capital."

      "Spiller, sir," said Psmith sadly, "I have been unable to induce to join."

      "Oh, he is one of our oldest members."

      "Ah," said Psmith, tolerantly, "that accounts for it."

      "Please, sir—" said Spiller.

      "One moment, Spiller. We shall have the first outing of the term on Saturday. We intend to inspect the Roman Camp at Embury Hill, two miles from the school."

      "We shall be there, sir."

      "Capital!"

      "Please, sir—" said Spiller.

      "One moment, Spiller," said Psmith. "There is just one other matter, if you could spare the time, sir."

      "Certainly, Smith. What is that?"

      "Would there be any objection to Jackson and myself taking Simpson's old study?"

      "By all means, Smith. A very good idea."

      "Yes, sir. It would give us a place where we could work quietly in the evenings."

      "Quite so. Quite so."

      "Thank you very much, sir. We will move our things in."

      "Thank you very much, sir," said Mike.

      "Please, sir," shouted Spiller, "aren't I to have it? I'm next on the list, sir. I come next after Simpson. Can't I have it?"

      "I'm afraid I have already promised it to Smith, Spiller. You should have spoken before."

      "But sir—"

      Psmith eyed the speaker pityingly.

      "This tendency to delay, Spiller," he said, "is your besetting fault. Correct it, Edwin. Fight against it."

      He turned to Mr. Outwood.

      "We should, of course, sir, always be glad to see Spiller in our study. He would always find a cheery welcome waiting there for him. There is no formality between ourselves and Spiller."

      "Quite so. An excellent arrangement, Smith. I like this spirit of comradeship in my house. Then you will be with us on Saturday?"

      "On Saturday, sir."

      "All this sort of thing, Spiller," said Psmith, as they closed the door, "is very, very trying for a man of culture. Look us up in our study one of these afternoons."