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Updated: May 1, 2025
The apostle of the Revolution was clad soberly in black, except for a tie of vivid crimson. His eyes shone with the light of enthusiasm, vastly different from the mild glow of amiability which they exhibited for six days in every week. The man was transformed. 'Here you are, he said. 'Here you are. Excellent. You are in good time. Comrades Wotherspoon and Prebble have already begun to speak.
Besides Psmith and Mike and their host, there were four people present Comrade Prebble, the orator; a young man of the name of Richards; Mr Waller's niece, answering to the name of Ada, who was engaged to Mr Richards; and Edward. Edward was Mr Waller's son. He was ten years old, wore a very tight Eton suit, and had the peculiarly loathsome expression which a snub nose sometimes gives to the young.
On the way upstairs Mike tried to get Psmith to himself for a moment to suggest the advisability of an early departure; but Psmith was in close conversation with his host. Mike was left to Comrade Prebble, who, apparently, had only touched the fringe of his subject in his lecture in the dining-room. Of Ada, when they arrived, there were no signs. It seemed that she had gone straight to bed.
They are not only as a rule conceived in better taste, but are, almost consequently, better in their execution. The following example from Cooling, a small village in the Medway Marshes, is an excellent specimen of its class, and a very exceptional "find" for a spot so remote. "To M'r Richard Prebble of Cliffe, died April 1775." One of later date at Hendon, Middlesex, is also to be commended.
But he registered a vow that nothing should drag him on to the small platform which had been erected for the benefit of the speaker. As they drew nearer, the voices of Comrades Wotherspoon and Prebble became more audible. They had been audible all the time, very much so, but now they grew in volume. Comrade Wotherspoon was a tall, thin man with side-whiskers and a high voice.
'I am at a loss, Comrade Jackson, said Psmith, 'to understand your attitude. You fed sumptuously. You had fun with the crockery that knockabout act of yours with the water-jug was alone worth the money and you had the advantage of listening to the views of a master of his subject. What more do you want? 'What on earth did you land me with that man Prebble for? 'Land you!
You must look us up at our flat one day, and bring Comrade Prebble. If I am not in, Comrade Jackson is certain to be, and he will be more than delighted to hear Comrade Prebble speak further on the subject of which he is such a master. Comrade Prebble was understood to say that he would certainly come. Mr Waller beamed. Mr Richards, still steeped in gloom, shook hands in silence.
He seemed to have no curiosity as to the extent of Psmith's knowledge. Mike's appeared to fascinate him. Mike helped himself to beetroot in moody silence. His mouth was full when Comrade Prebble asked him a question. Comrade Prebble, as has been pointed out in an earlier part of the narrative, was a good chap, but had no roof to his mouth. 'I beg your pardon? said Mike.
Perhaps you' he bowed in Comrade Prebble's direction 'would resume, for the benefit of Comrade Jackson a novice in the Cause, but earnest your very lucid Comrade Prebble beamed, and took the floor. Mike began to realize that, till now, he had never known what boredom meant. There had been moments in his life which had been less interesting than other moments, but nothing to touch this for agony.
Hours seemed to pass, and then at last he heard Psmith's voice saying good-bye to his host. He sprang to his feet. Comrade Prebble was in the middle of a sentence, but this was no time for polished courtesy. He felt that he must get away, and at once. 'I fear, Psmith was saying, 'that we must tear ourselves away. We have greatly enjoyed our evening.
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