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Updated: May 9, 2025
Wilberfloss could, perhaps, have endured, if this had been all. There are worse places than the mountains of America in which to spend ten weeks of the tail-end of summer, when the sun has ceased to grill and the mosquitoes have relaxed their exertions. But it was not all. The doctor, a far-seeing man who went down to first causes, had absolutely declined to consent to Mr.
Comrade Wilberfloss, you have been misinformed. The Kid is as decent a little chap as you'd meet anywhere. You do not seem to appreciate the philanthropic motives of the paper in adopting Comrade Brady's cause. Think of it, Comrade Wilberfloss.
Your services to the paper have been greatly appreciated. If I might drop in some afternoon and inspect the remainder of your zoo ?" "Any time you're down Groome Street way. Glad." "I will make a point of it. Comrade Wilberfloss, would you mind remaining? As editor of this journal, you should be present. If the rest of you would look in about this time to-morrow Show 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.
Prosperity beams on us like a sun. The proprietor is more than satisfied." "The proprietor?" gasped Mr. Wilberfloss. "Does he know how you have treated the paper?" "He is cognisant of our every move." "And he approves?" "He more than approves." Mr. Wilberfloss snorted. "I don't believe it," he said. The assembled ex-contributors backed up this statement with a united murmur.
"Bah!" exclaimed Mr. Wilberfloss. "Go on, boss," urged Mr. Jarvis approvingly. "It's to de good, dat stuff." "There!" said Psmith triumphantly. "You heard? Comrade Jarvis, one of the most firmly established critics east of Fifth Avenue, stamps Kid Brady's reminiscences with the hall-mark of his approval." "I falls fer de Kid every time," assented Mr. Jarvis. "Assuredly, Comrade Jarvis.
We are both at a loss to make head or tail of it." Psmith was reading the letter. "It seems reasonably clear to me," he said. "It is an outrage. My wife has been a contributor to this journal from its foundation. Her work has given every satisfaction to Mr. Wilberfloss. And now, without the slightest warning, comes this peremptory dismissal from W. Windsor. Who is W. Windsor? Where is Mr.
None. At a thousand street corners a thousand policemen preserved their air of massive superiority to the things of this world. Not one of them showed the least sign of perturbation. Nevertheless, the crisis was at hand. Mr. J. Fillken Wilberfloss, editor-in-chief of Cosy Moments, was about to leave his post and start on a ten weeks' holiday.
"You understand the general lines on which I think the paper should be conducted?" The sub-editor nodded. Mr. Wilberfloss made him tired. Sometimes he made him more tired than at other times. At the present moment he filled him with an aching weariness. The editor meant well, and was full of zeal, but he had a habit of covering and recovering the ground.
B. Henderson Asher snorted satirically. "They don't believe it," sighed Psmith. "Nevertheless, it is true." "It is not true," thundered Mr. Wilberfloss, hopping to avoid a perambulating cat. "Nothing will convince me of it. Mr. Benjamin White is not a maniac." "I trust not," said Psmith. "I sincerely trust not. I have every reason to believe in his complete sanity.
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