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already made friends.”

 

“Spiller’s, sir,” said Psmith, laying a hand patronisingly on

the study-claimer’s shoulder—a proceeding violently resented by

Spiller—“is a character one cannot help but respect. His nature

expands before one like some beautiful flower.”

 

Mr. Outwood received this eulogy with rather a startled expression,

and gazed at the object of the tribute in a surprised way.

 

“Er—quite so, Smith, quite so,” he said at last. “I like to see boys

in my house friendly towards one another.”

 

“There is no vice in Spiller,” pursued Psmith earnestly. “His heart is

the heart of a little child.”

 

“Please, sir,” burst out this paragon of all the virtues, “I–-”

 

“But it was not entirely with regard to Spiller that I wished to speak

to you, sir, if you were not too busy.”

 

“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. Cricket and football, games that left him cold, appeared

to be the main interest in their lives. It was but rarely that he

could induce new boys to join. His colleague, Mr. Downing, who

presided over the School Fire Brigade, never had any difficulty in

finding support. Boys came readily at his call. Mr. Outwood pondered

wistfully on this at times, not knowing that the Fire Brigade owed its

support to the fact that it provided its light-hearted members with

perfectly unparalleled opportunities for ragging, while his own band,

though small, were in the main earnest.

 

“Yes, Smith.” he said. “Yes. We have a small Archaeological Society.

I—er—in a measure look after it. Perhaps you would care to become a

member?”

 

“Please, sir—” said Spiller.

 

“One moment, Spiller. Do you want to join, Smith?”

 

“Intensely, sir. Archaeology fascinates me. A grand pursuit, sir.”

 

“Undoubtedly, Smith. I am very pleased, very pleased indeed. I will

put down your name at once.”

 

“And Jackson’s, sir.”

 

“Jackson, too!” Mr. Outwood beamed. “I am delighted. Most delighted.

This is capital. This enthusiasm is most capital.”

 

“Spiller, sir,” said Psmith sadly, “I have been unable to induce to

join.”

 

“Oh, he is one of our oldest members.”

 

“Ah,” said Psmith, tolerantly, “that accounts for it.”

 

“Please, sir—” said Spiller.

 

“One moment, Spiller. We shall have the first outing of the term on

Saturday. We intend to inspect the Roman Camp at Embury Hill, two

miles from the school.”

 

“We shall be there, sir.”

 

“Capital!”

 

“Please, sir—” said Spiller.

 

“One moment, Spiller,” said Psmith. “There is just one other matter,

if you could spare the time, sir.”

 

“Certainly, Smith. What is that?”

 

“Would there be any objection to Jackson and myself taking Simpson’s

old study?”

 

“By all means, Smith. A very good idea.”

 

“Yes, sir. It would give us a place where we could work quietly in the

evenings.”

 

“Quite so. Quite so.”

 

“Thank you very much, sir. We will move our things in.”

 

“Thank you very much, sir,” said Mike.

 

“Please, sir,” shouted Spiller, “aren’t I to have it? I’m next on the

list, sir. I come next after Simpson. Can’t I have it?”

 

“I’m afraid I have already promised it to Smith, Spiller. 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.”

 

“Quite so. An excellent arrangement, Smith. I like this spirit of

comradeship in my house. Then you will be with us on Saturday?”

 

“On Saturday, sir.”

 

“All this sort of thing, Spiller,” said Psmith, as they closed the

door, “is very, very trying for a man of culture. Look us up in our

study one of these afternoons.”

CHAPTER XXXIV

GUERRILLA WARFARE

 

“There are few pleasures,” said Psmith, as he resumed his favourite

position against the mantelpiece and surveyed the commandeered study

with the pride of a householder, “keener to the reflective mind than

sitting under one’s own roof-tree. This place would have been wasted

on Spiller; he would not have appreciated it properly.”

 

Mike was finishing his tea. “You’re a jolly useful chap to have by you

in a crisis, Smith,” he said with approval. “We ought to have known

each other before.”

 

“The loss was mine,” said Psmith courteously. “We will now, with your

permission, face the future for awhile. I suppose you realise that we

are now to a certain extent up against it. Spiller’s hot Spanish blood

is not going to sit tight and do nothing under a blow like this.”

 

“What can he do? Outwood’s given us the study.”

 

“What would you have done if somebody had bagged your study?”

 

“Made it jolly hot for them!”

 

“So will Comrade Spiller. I take it that he will collect a gang and

make an offensive movement against us directly he can. To all

appearances we are in a fairly tight place. It all depends on how big

Comrade Spiller’s gang will be. I don’t like rows, but I’m prepared to

take on a reasonable number of bravoes in defence of the home.”

 

Mike intimated that he was with him on the point. “The difficulty is,

though,” he said, “about when we leave this room. I mean, we’re all

right while we stick here, but we can’t stay all night.”

 

“That’s just what I was about to point out when you put it with such

admirable clearness. Here we are in a stronghold, they can only get at

us through the door, and we can lock that.”

 

“And jam a chair against it.”

 

“And, as you rightly remark, jam a chair against it. But what

of the nightfall? What of the time when we retire to our dormitory?”

 

“Or dormitories. I say, if we’re in separate rooms we shall be in the

cart.”

 

Psmith eyed Mike with approval. “He thinks of everything! You’re the

man, Comrade Jackson, to conduct an affair of this kind—such

foresight! such resource! We must see to this at once; if they put us

in different rooms we’re done—we shall be destroyed singly in the

watches of the night.”

 

“We’d better nip down to the matron right off.”

 

“Not the matron—Comrade Outwood is the man. We are as sons to him;

there is nothing he can deny us. I’m afraid we are quite spoiling his

afternoon by these interruptions, but we must rout him out once more.”

 

As they got up, the door handle rattled again, and this time there

followed a knocking.

 

“This must be an emissary of Comrade Spiller’s,” said Psmith. “Let us

parley with the man.”

 

Mike unlocked the door. A light-haired youth with a cheerful, rather

vacant face and a receding chin strolled into the room, and stood

giggling with his hands in his pockets.

 

“I just came up to have a look at you,” he explained.

 

“If you move a little to the left,” said Psmith, “you will catch the

light and shade effects on Jackson’s face better.”

 

The newcomer giggled with renewed vigour. “Are you the chap with the

eyeglass who jaws all the time?”

 

“I do wear an eyeglass,” said Psmith; “as to the rest of the

description–-”

 

“My name’s Jellicoe.”

 

“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.

 

“He’s going to get the chaps to turn you out.”

 

“As I suspected,” sighed Psmith, as one mourning over the frailty of

human nature. “About how many horny-handed assistants should you say

that he would be likely to bring? Will you, for instance, join the

glad throng?”

 

“Me? No fear! I think Spiller’s an ass.”

 

“There’s nothing like a common thought for binding people together.

I think Spiller’s an ass.”

 

“How many will there be, then?” asked Mike.

 

“He might get about half a dozen, not more, because most of the chaps

don’t see why they should sweat themselves just because Spiller’s

study has been bagged.”

 

“Sturdy common sense,” said Psmith approvingly, “seems to be the chief

virtue of the Sedleigh character.”

 

“We shall be able to tackle a crowd like that,” said Mike. “The only

thing is we must get into the same dormitory.”

 

“This is where Comrade Jellicoe’s knowledge of the local geography

will come in useful. Do you happen to know of any snug little room,

with, say, about four beds in it? How many dormitories are there?”

 

“Five—there’s one with three beds in it, only it belongs to three

chaps.”

 

“I believe in the equal distribution of property. We will go to

Comrade Outwood and stake out another claim.”

 

Mr. Outwood received them even more beamingly than before. “Yes,

Smith?” he said.

 

“We must apologise for disturbing you, sir–-”

 

“Not at all, Smith, not at all! I like the boys in my house to come to

me when they wish for my advice or help.”

 

“We were wondering, sir, if you would have any objection to Jackson,

Jellicoe and myself sharing the dormitory with the three beds in it. A

very warm friendship—” explained Psmith, patting the gurgling

Jellicoe kindly on the shoulder, “has sprung up between Jackson,

Jellicoe and myself.”

 

“You make friends easily, Smith. I like to see it—I like to see it.”

 

“And we can have the room, sir?”

 

“Certainly—certainly! Tell the matron as you go down.”

 

“And now,” said Psmith, as they returned to the study, “we may say

that we are in a fairly winning position. A vote of thanks to Comrade

Jellicoe for his valuable assistance.”

 

“You are a chap!” said Jellicoe.

 

The handle began to revolve again.

 

“That door,” said Psmith, “is getting a perfect incubus! It cuts into

one’s leisure cruelly.”

 

This time it was a small boy. “They told me to come up and tell you to

come down,” he said.

 

Psmith looked at him searchingly through his eyeglass.

 

“Who?”

 

“The senior day-room chaps.”

 

“Spiller?”

 

“Spiller and Robinson and Stone, and some other chaps.”

 

“They want us to speak to them?”

 

“They told me to come up and tell you to come down.”

 

“Go and give Comrade Spiller our compliments and say that we can’t

come down, but shall be delighted to see him up here. Things,” he

said, as the messenger departed, “are beginning to move. Better leave

the door open, I think; it will save trouble. Ah, come in, Comrade

Spiller, what can we do for you?”

 

Spiller advanced into the study; the others waited outside, crowding

in the doorway.

 

“Look here,” said Spiller, “are you going to clear out of here or

not?”

 

“After Mr. Outwood’s kindly thought in giving us the room? You suggest

a black and ungrateful action, Comrade Spiller.”

 

“You’ll get it hot, if you don’t.”

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