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Updated: June 28, 2025
"Mine is Psmith P-s-m-i-t-h one of the Shropshire Psmiths. The object on the skyline is Comrade Jackson." "Old Spiller," giggled Jellicoe, "is cursing you like anything downstairs. You are chaps! Do you mean to say you simply bagged his study? He's making no end of a row about it." "Spiller's fiery nature is a byword," said Psmith. "What's he going to do?" asked Mike, in his practical way.
My good Spiller, if his vanity ever prompted him to air his voice on the stage, the people would think he was mocking them, and one half would laugh and the other half boo and hiss." "I know I know. Still, he holds command, and he likes his own way, no man better." "No doubt, but whatever a man wills he has to give up when a woman says yea or nay.
"Come on, you chaps," cried Spiller suddenly. There was an inward rush on the enemy's part, but Mike had been watching. He grabbed Spiller by the shoulders and ran him back against the advancing crowd. For a moment the doorway was blocked, then the weight and impetus of Mike and Spiller prevailed, the enemy gave back, and Mike, stepping into the room again, slammed the door and locked it.
One man followed him, but kept losing ground purposely, merely keeping the leader in sight; the others did the same. Before the last man had lost sight of the camp, he could see Spiller in the distance walking towards it. He then uttered a long coo-ee, which was answered by every man of the party. They thought some valuable discovery had been made.
Whisperings could be heard in the corridor. Somebody hammered on the door. "Yes?" called Psmith patiently. "You'd better come out, you know; you'll only get it hotter if you don't." "Leave us, Spiller; we would be alone." A bell rang in the distance. "Tea," said Jellicoe; "we shall have to go now." "They won't do anything till after tea, I shouldn't think," said Mike.
Whisperings could be heard in the corridor. Somebody hammered on the door. "Yes?" called Psmith patiently. "You'd better come out, you know; you'll only get it hotter if you don't." "Leave us, Spiller; we would be alone." A bell rang in the distance. "Tea," said Jellicoe; "we shall have to go now." "They won't do anything till after tea, I shouldn't think," said Mike.
"We were having a little tea," said Psmith, "to restore our tissues after our journey. Come in and join us. We keep open house, we Psmiths. Let me introduce you to Comrade Jackson. A stout fellow. Homely in appearance, perhaps, but one of us. I am Psmith. Your own name will doubtless come up in the course of general chitchat over the teacups." "My name's Spiller, and this is my study."
Lavinia blushed with pleasure and cast a grateful look at Spiller, whose hints had proved so valuable. "Was I not right, Spiller?" went on Gay. "You've read my opera, what there is of it that's finished. Won't Polly Peachum fit her like a glove?" "Aye, if she can sing as prettily as she acted to-night," said Spiller, with a quizzical glance at the girl. "Sing?
"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.
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."
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