11. Misunderstood
Mike had refused to accompany Psmith to the meeting that evening,saying that he got too many chances in the ordinary way of business ofhearing Mr Bickersdyke speak, without going out of his way to makemore. So Psmith had gone off to Kenningford alone, and Mike, feelingtoo lazy to sally out to any place of entertainment, had remained atthe flat with a novel.
He was deep in this, when there was the sound of a key in the latch,and shortly afterwards Psmith entered the room. On Psmith's brow therewas a look of pensive care, and also a slight discoloration. When heremoved his overcoat, Mike saw that his collar was burst and hangingloose and that he had no tie. On his erstwhile speckless and gleamingshirt front were number of finger-impressions, of a boldness andclearness of outline which would have made a Bertillon expert leap withjoy.
'Hullo!' said Mike dropping his book.
Psmith nodded in silence, went to his bedroom, and returned with alooking-glass. Propping this up on a table, he proceeded to examinehimself with the utmost care. He shuddered slightly as his eye fell onthe finger-marks; and without a word he went into his bathroom again.He emerged after an interval of ten minutes in sky-blue pyjamas,slippers, and an Old Etonian blazer. He lit a cigarette; and, sittingdown, stared pensively into the fire.
'What the dickens have you been playing at?' demanded Mike.
Psmith heaved a sigh.
'That,' he replied, 'I could not say precisely. At one moment it seemedto be Rugby football, at another a jiu-jitsu _seance_. Later, itbore a resemblance to a pantomime rally. However, whatever it was, itwas all very bright and interesting. A distinct experience.'
'Have you been scrapping?' asked Mike. 'What happened? Was there arow?'
'There was,' said Psmith, 'in a measure what might be described as arow. At least, when you find a perfect stranger attaching himself toyour collar and pulling, you begin to suspect that something of thatkind is on the bill.'
'Did they do that?'
Psmith nodded.
'A merchant in a moth-eaten bowler started warbling to a certain extentwith me. It was all very trying for a man of culture. He was a man whohad, I should say, discovered that alcohol was a food long before thedoctors found it out. A good chap, possibly, but a little boisterous inhis manner. Well, well.'
Psmith shook his head sadly.
'He got you one on the forehead,' said Mike, 'or somebody did. Tell uswhat happened. I wish the dickens I'd come with you. I'd no notionthere would be a rag of any sort. What did happen?'
'Comrade Jackson,' said Psmith sorrowfully, 'how sad it is in this lifeof ours to be consistently misunderstood. You know, of course, howwrapped up I am in Comrade Bickersdyke's welfare. You know that all myefforts are directed towards making a decent man of him; that, inshort, I am his truest friend. Does he show by so much as a word thathe appreciates my labours? Not he. I believe that man is beginning todislike me, Comrade Jackson.'
'What happened, anyhow? Never mind about Bickersdyke.'
'Perhaps it was mistaken zeal on my part.... Well, I will tell you all.Make a long arm for the shovel, Comrade Jackson, and pile on a few morecoals. I thank you. Well, all went quite smoothly for a while. ComradeB. in quite good form. Got his second wind, and was going strong for thetape, when a regrettable incident occurred. He informed the meeting,that while up in the Lake country, fishing, he went to an inn and sawa remarkably large stuffed trout in a glass case. He made inquiries,and found that five separate and distinct people had caught--'
'Why, dash it all,' said Mike, 'that's a frightful chestnut.'
Psmith nodded.
'It certainly has appeared in print,' he said. 'In fact I should havesaid it was rather a well-known story. I was so interested in ComradeBickersdyke's statement that the thing had happened to himself that,purely out of good-will towards him, I got up and told him that Ithought it was my duty, as a friend, to let him know that a man namedJerome had pinched his story, put it in a book, and got money by it.Money, mark you, that should by rights have been Comrade Bickersdyke's.He didn't appear to care much about sifting the matter thoroughly. Infact, he seemed anxious to get on with his speech, and slur the matterover. But, tactlessly perhaps, I continued rather to harp on the thing.I said that the book in which the story had appeared was published in1889. I asked him how long ago it was that he had been on his fishingtour, because it was important to know in order to bring the chargehome against Jerome. Well, after a bit, I was amazed, and pained, too,to hear Comrade Bickersdyke urging certain bravoes in the audience toturn me out. If ever there was a case of biting the hand that fedhim.... Well, well.... By this time the meeting had begun to take sidesto some extent. What I might call my party, the Earnest Investigators,were whistling between their fingers, stamping on the floor, andshouting, "Chestnuts!" while the opposing party, the bravoes, seemed tobe trying, as I say, to do jiu-jitsu tricks with me. It was a painfulsituation. I know the cultivated man of affairs should have passed thething off with a short, careless laugh; but, owing to theabove-mentioned alcohol-expert having got both hands under my collar,short, careless laughs were off. I was compelled, very reluctantly, toconclude the interview by tapping the bright boy on the jaw. He tookthe hint, and sat down on the floor. I thought no more of the matter,and was making my way thoughtfully to the exit, when a second man ofwrath put the above on my forehead. You can't ignore a thing like that.I collected some of his waistcoat and one of his legs, and hove himwith some vim into the middle distance. By this time a good many of theEarnest Investigators were beginning to join in; and it was just therethat the affair began to have certain points of resemblance to apantomime rally. Everybody seemed to be shouting a good deal andhitting everybody else. It was no place for a man of delicate culture,so I edged towards the door, and drifted out. There was a cab in theoffing. I boarded it. And, having kicked a vigorous politician in thestomach, as he was endeavouring to climb in too, I drove off home.'
Psmith got up, looked at his forehead once more in the glass, sighed,and sat down again.
'All very disturbing,' he said.
'Great Scott,' said Mike, 'I wish I'd come. Why on earth didn't youtell me you were going to rag? I think you might as well have done. Iwouldn't have missed it for worlds.'
Psmith regarded him with raised eyebrows.
'Rag!' he said. 'Comrade Jackson, I do not understand you. You surelydo not think that I had any other object in doing what I did than toserve Comrade Bickersdyke? It's terrible how one's motives getdistorted in this world of ours.'
'Well,' said Mike, with a grin, 'I know one person who'll jolly welldistort your motives, as you call it, and that's Bickersdyke.'
Psmith looked thoughtful.
'True,' he said, 'true. There is that possibility. I tell you, ComradeJackson, once more that my bright young life is being slowly blightedby the frightful way in which that man misunderstands me. It seemsalmost impossible to try to do him a good turn without having theaction misconstrued.'
'What'll you say to him tomorrow?'
'I shall make no allusion to the painful affair. If I happen to meethim in the ordinary course of business routine, I shall pass somelight, pleasant remark--on the weather, let us say, or the Bankrate--and continue my duties.'
'How about if he sends for you, and wants to do the light, pleasantremark business on his own?'
'In that case I shall not thwart him. If he invites me into his privateroom, I shall be his guest, and shall discuss, to the best of myability, any topic which he may care to introduce. There shall be noconstraint between Comrade Bickersdyke and myself.'
'No, I shouldn't think there would be. I wish I could come and hearyou.'
'I wish you could,' said Psmith courteously.
'Still, it doesn't matter much to you. You don't care if you do getsacked.'
Psmith rose.
'In that way possibly, as you say, I am agreeably situated. If the NewAsiatic Bank does not require Psmith's services, there are otherspheres where a young man of spirit may
carve a place for himself. No,what is worrying me, Comrade Jackson, is not the thought of the push.It is the growing fear that Comrade Bickersdyke and I will neverthoroughly understand and appreciate one another. A deep gulf liesbetween us. I do what I can do to bridge it over, but he makes noresponse. On his side of the gulf building operations appear to be atan entire standstill. That is what is carving these lines of care on myforehead, Comrade Jackson. That is what is painting these purplecircles beneath my eyes. Quite inadvertently to be disturbing ComradeBickersdyke, annoying him, preventing him from enjoying life. How sadthis is. Life bulges with these tragedies.'
Mike picked up the evening paper.
'Don't let it keep you awake at night,' he said. 'By the way, did yousee that Manchester United were playing this afternoon? They won. You'dbetter sit down and sweat up some of the details. You'll want themtomorrow.'
'You are very right, Comrade Jackson,' said Psmith, reseating himself.'So the Mancunians pushed the bulb into the meshes beyond the uprightsno fewer than four times, did they? Bless the dear boys, what spiritsthey do enjoy, to be sure. Comrade Jackson, do not disturb me. I mustconcentrate myself. These are deep waters.'
Psmith in the City Page 11
