'Honest?' said Mr. Jarvis. He tapped Mr. Wilberfloss in friendly fashion on the chest. 'Say,' he asked, 'did youse ever have a cat wit one blue and one yellow eye?'
Mr. Wilberfloss side-stepped and turned once more to Psmith, who was offering B. Henderson Asher a cigarette.
'Who are you?' he demanded.
'Who am I?' repeated Psmith in an astonished tone.
'Who are you?'
'I am Psmith,' said the old Etonian reverently. 'There is a preliminary P before the name. This, however, is silent. Like the tomb. Compare such words as ptarmigan, psalm, and phthisis.'
'These gentlemen tell me you're acting editor. Who appointed you?'
Psmith reflected.
'It is rather a nice point,' he said. 'It might be claimed that I appointed myself. You may say, however, that Comrade Windsor appointed me.'
'Ah! And where is Mr. Windsor?'
'In prison,' said Psmith sorrowfully.
'In prison!'
Psmith nodded.
'It is too true. Such is the generous impulsiveness of Comrade Windsor's nature that he hit a policeman, was promptly gathered in, and is now serving a sentence of thirty days on Blackwell's Island.'
Mr. Wilberfloss looked at Mr. Philpotts. Mr. Asher looked at Mr. Wilberfloss. Mr. Waterman started, and stumbled over a cat.
'I never heard of such a thing,' said Mr. Wilberfloss.
A faint, sad smile played across Psmith's face.
'Do you remember, Comrade Waterman--I fancy it was to you that I made the remark--my commenting at our previous interview on the rashness of confusing the unusual with the improbable? Here we see Comrade Wilberfloss, big-brained though he is, falling into error.'
'I shall dismiss Mr. Windsor immediately,' said the big-brained one.
'From Blackwell's Island?' said Psmith. 'I am sure you will earn his gratitude if you do. They live on bean soup there. Bean soup and bread, and not much of either.'
He broke off, to turn his attention to Mr. Jarvis and Mr. Waterman, between whom bad blood seemed to have arisen. Mr. Jarvis, holding a cat in his arms, was glowering at Mr. Waterman, who had backed away and seemed nervous.
'What is the trouble, Comrade Jarvis?'
'Dat guy dere wit two left feet,' said Bat querulously, 'goes and treads on de kit. I--'
'I assure you it was a pure accident. The animal--'
Mr. Wilberfloss, eyeing Bat and the silent Otto with disgust, intervened.
'Who are these persons, Mr. Smith?' he inquired.
'Poisson yourself,' rejoined Bat, justly incensed. 'Who's de little guy wit de peeled breezer, Mr. Smith?'
Psmith waved his hands.
'Gentlemen, gentlemen,' he said, 'let us not descend to mere personalities. I thought I had introduced you. This, Comrade Jarvis, is Mr. Wilberfloss, the editor of this journal. These, Comrade Wilberfloss--Zam-buk would put your nose right in a day--are, respectively, Bat Jarvis and Long Otto, our acting fighting-editors, vice Kid Brady, absent on unavoidable business.'
'Kid Brady !' shrilled Mr. Wilberfloss. 'I insist that you give me a full explanation of this matter. I go away by my doctor's orders for ten weeks, leaving Mr. Windsor to conduct the paper on certain well-defined lines. I return yesterday, and, getting into communication with Mr. Philpotts, what do I find? Why, that in my absence the paper has been ruined.'
'Ruined?' said Psmith. 'On the contrary. Examine the returns, and you will see that the circulation has gone up every week. Cosy Moments was never so prosperous and flourishing. Comrade Otto, do you think you could use your personal influence with that dog to induce it to suspend its barking for a while? It is musical, but renders conversation difficult.'
Long Otto raised a massive boot and aimed it at the animal, which, dodging with a yelp, cannoned against the second cat and had its nose scratched. Piercing shrieks cleft the air.
'I demand an explanation,' roared Mr. Wilberfloss above the din.
'I think, Comrade Otto,' said Psmith, 'it would make things a little easier if you removed that dog.'
He opened the door. The dog shot out. They could hear it being ejected from the outer office by Master Maloney. When there was silence, Psmith turned courteously to the editor.
'You were saying, Comrade Wilberfloss?'
'Who is this person Brady? With Mr. Philpotts I have been going carefully over the numbers which have been issued since my departure--'
'An intellectual treat,' murmured Psmith.
