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Updated: June 6, 2025
He seemed to me to be giving a spirited imitation of a man about to foam at the mouth. I did my best to entertain him. I chatted. His only reply was to leave the room. I followed him to the card-room, and watched his very remarkable and brainy tactics at bridge, and he accused me of causing him to revoke. A very curious personality, that of Comrade Bickersdyke.
He chatted amiably to the new-comer. 'You lost the game, I suppose, said Mr Bickersdyke. The cricketer in Mr Smith came to the top again, blended now, however, with the host. He was annoyed, but restrained in his annoyance. 'I say, Bickersdyke, you know, my dear fellow, he said complainingly, 'you shouldn't have walked across the screen. You put Jackson off, and made him get bowled.
Good show? 'Jolly good. What about Bickersdyke? Psmith looked sad. 'I cannot make Comrade Bickersdyke out, he said. 'You would think that a man would be glad to see the son of a personal friend. On the contrary, I may be wronging Comrade B., but I should almost be inclined to say that my presence in the Senior Conservative Club tonight irritated him. There was no bonhomie in his manner.
'Always said so. And with that the New Asiatic Bank staff of messengers dismissed Mr Bickersdyke and proceeded to concentrate themselves on their duties, which consisted principally of hanging about and discussing the prophecies of that modern seer, Captain Coe. What had made Mr Bickersdyke change his mind so abruptly was the sudden realization of the fact that he had no case against Psmith.
The sunlight can now enter and illumine my life through more ordinary channels. The cry goes round, "Psmith is himself again." Mr Bickersdyke said nothing. Unless a snort of fury may be counted as anything. The Spirit of Unrest During the following fortnight, two things happened which materially altered Mike's position in the bank.
That is what is carving these lines of care on my forehead, Comrade Jackson. That is what is painting these purple circles beneath my eyes. Quite inadvertently to be disturbing Comrade Bickersdyke, annoying him, preventing him from enjoying life. How sad this is. Life bulges with these tragedies. Mike picked up the evening paper. 'Don't let it keep you awake at night, he said.
'So that taking everything into consideration, said Psmith, summing up, 'I fancy that Comrade Bickersdyke is home. And the papers next day proved that he was right. 'A hundred and fifty-seven, said Psmith, as he read his paper at breakfast. 'Not what one would call a slashing victory.
Surely, he thought, he could find something in the shape of words to show his sympathy. But he could find nothing that would not sound horribly stilted and cold. He sat silent. 'Sir John is in there, went on the cashier. 'He is furious. Mr Bickersdyke, too. They are both furious. I shall be dismissed. I shall lose my place. I shall be dismissed. He was talking more to himself than to Mike.
They will stand between me and black depression. Without them I am in the cart. With them I may possibly buoy myself up. Mr Bickersdyke shifted uneasily on his sofa. He glared at the floor. Then he eyed the ceiling as if it were a personal enemy of his. Finally he looked at Psmith. Psmith's eyes were closed in peaceful meditation. 'Very well, said he at last. 'Jackson shall stop.
Psmith's work well, it stood alone. You couldn't compare it with anything. There are no degrees in perfection. Psmith's work was perfect, and there was an end to it. He put it differently, but that was the gist of what he said. Mr Bickersdyke observed he was glad to hear it, and smashed a nib by stabbing the desk with it.
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