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Updated: May 9, 2025
"I am," he said. "You!" cried Mr. Wilberfloss. "The same," said Psmith. "You!" exclaimed Messrs. Waterman, Asher, and the Reverend Edwin Philpotts. "On the spot!" said Psmith. Mr. Wilberfloss groped for a chair and sat down. "Am I going mad?" he demanded feebly. "Not so, Comrade Wilberfloss," said Psmith encouragingly. "All is well. The cry goes round New York, 'Comrade Wilberfloss is to the good.
"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.
Then perhaps you would not mind passing the word round among Comrades Asher, Waterman, and the rest of the squad, and telling them to burnish their brains and be ready to wade in at a moment's notice. I fear you will have a pretty tough job roping in the old subscribers again, but it can be done. I look to you, Comrade Wilberfloss. Are you on?" Mr.
In his absence Comrade Windsor and I did our best to keep the old journal booming along, but it lacked the master-hand. But now all is well: Comrade Wilberfloss is once more doing stunts at the old stand. You may speak as freely before him as you would before well, let us say Comrade Parker." "Who are you, then, if this gentleman is the editor?" "I am the proprietor." "I understood that a Mr.
What makes you fancy that there is even a possibility of his being er ?" "Nobody but a lunatic would approve of seeing his paper ruined." "Again!" said Psmith. "I fear that the notion that this journal is ruined has become an obsession with you, Comrade Wilberfloss. Once again I assure you that it is more than prosperous." "If," said Mr.
Every one stared, except Mr. Jarvis, who, since the readings from the Kid's reminiscences had ceased, had lost interest in the discussion, and was now entertaining the cats with a ball of paper tied to a string. "Fancied that Mr. White . . .?" repeated Mr. Wilberfloss. "I don't follow you. Who is, if he isn't?" Psmith removed his monocle, polished it thoughtfully, and put it back in its place.
Psmith ripped open the envelope. The message ran: "Returning to-day. Will be at office to-morrow morning," and it was signed "Wilberfloss." "See who's here!" said Psmith softly. In the light of subsequent events it was perhaps the least bit unfortunate that Mr.
Waring in, Comrade Maloney." He took a seat. "We are now, Comrade Wilberfloss," he said, "at a crisis in the affairs of this journal, but I fancy we shall win through." The door opened, and Pugsy announced Mr. Waring. The owner of the Pleasant Street Tenements was of what is usually called commanding presence. He was tall and broad, and more than a little stout.
"I fear that there is nothing to be done, except wait. The present régime is but an experiment. It may be that when Comrade Wilberfloss, having dodged the bears and eluded the wild cat, returns to his post at the helm of this journal, he may decide not to continue on the lines at present mapped out. He should be back in about ten weeks." "Ten weeks!"
Julia Burdett Parslow is a little inclined I may have mentioned this before " "You did," said the sub-editor. Mr. Wilberfloss chirruped on, unchecked. "A little inclined to be late with her 'Moments with Budding Girlhood'. If this should happen while I am away, just write her a letter, quite a pleasant letter, you understand, pointing out the necessity of being in good time.
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