Psmith, in the matter of decorating a study and preparing tea in it,was rather a critic than an executant. He was full of ideas, but hepreferred to allow Mike to carry them out. It was he who suggestedthat the wooden bar which ran across the window was unnecessary, butit was Mike who wrenched it from its place. Similarly, it was Mike whoabstracted the key from the door of the next study, though the ideawas Psmith's.

　　"Privacy," said Psmith, as he watched Mike light the Etna, "is what wechiefly need in this age of publicity. If you leave a study doorunlocked in these strenuous times, the first thing you know is,somebody comes right in, sits down, and begins to talk about himself.

　　I think with a little care we ought to be able to make this room quitedecently comfortable. That putrid calendar must come down, though.

　　Do you think you could make a long arm, and haul it off the parenttin-tack? Thanks. We make progress. We make progress.""We shall jolly well make it out of the window," said Mike, spooningup tea from a paper bag with a postcard, "if a sort of youngHackenschmidt turns up and claims the study. What are you going to doabout it?""Don't let us worry about it. I have a presentiment that he will be aninsignificant-looking little weed. How are you getting on with theevening meal?""Just ready. What would you give to be at Eton now? I'd give somethingto be at Wrykyn.""These school reports," said Psmith sympathetically, "are the verydickens. Many a bright young lad has been soured by them. Hullo.

　　What's this, I wonder."A heavy body had plunged against the door, evidently without asuspicion that there would be any resistance. A rattling at the handlefollowed, and a voice outside said, "Dash the door!""Hackenschmidt!" said Mike.

　　"The weed," said Psmith. "You couldn't make a long arm, could you, andturn the key? We had better give this merchant audience. Remind melater to go on with my remarks on school reports. I had several brightthings to say on the subject."Mike unlocked the door, and flung it open. Framed in the entrance wasa smallish, freckled boy, wearing a bowler hat and carrying a bag. Onhis face was an expression of mingled wrath and astonishment.

　　Psmith rose courteously from his chair, and moved forward with slowstateliness to do the honours.

　　"What the dickens," inquired the newcomer, "are you doing here?"[Illustration: "WHAT THE DICKENS ARE YOU DOING HERE?"]

　　"We were having a little tea," said Psmith, "to restore our tissuesafter our journey. Come in and join us. We keep open house, wePsmiths. Let me introduce you to Comrade Jackson. A stout fellow.

　　Homely in appearance, perhaps, but one of us. I am Psmith. Your ownname will doubtless come up in the course of general chit-chat overthe tea-cups.""My name's Spiller, and this is my study."Psmith leaned against the mantelpiece, put up his eyeglass, andharangued Spiller in a philosophical vein.

　　"Of all sad words of tongue or pen," said he, "the saddest are these:

　　'It might have been.' Too late! That is the bitter cry. If you hadtorn yourself from the bosom of the Spiller family by an earliertrain, all might have been well. But no. Your father held your handand said huskily, 'Edwin, don't leave us!' Your mother clung to youweeping, and said, 'Edwin, stay!' Your sisters----""I want to know what----""Your sisters froze on to your knees like little octopuses (oroctopi), and screamed, 'Don't go, Edwin!' And so," said Psmith, deeplyaffected by his recital, "you stayed on till the later train; and, onarrival, you find strange faces in the familiar room, a people thatknow not Spiller." Psmith went to the table, and cheered himself witha sip of tea. Spiller's sad case had moved him greatly.

　　The victim of Fate seemed in no way consoled.

　　"It's beastly cheek, that's what I call it. Are you new chaps?""The very latest thing," said Psmith.

　　"Well, it's beastly cheek."Mike's outlook on life was of the solid, practical order. He wentstraight to the root of the matter.

　　"What are you going to do about it?" he asked.

　　Spiller evaded the question.

　　"It's beastly cheek," he repeated. "You can't go about the placebagging studies.""But we do," said Psmith. "In this life, Comrade Spiller, we must beprepared for every emergency. We must distinguish between the unusualand the impossible. It is unusual for people to go about the placebagging studies, so you have rashly ordered your life on theassumption that it is impossible. Error! Ah, Spiller, Spiller, letthis be a lesson to you.""Look here, I tell you what it----""I was in a motor with a man once. I said to him: 'What would happenif you trod on that pedal thing instead of that other pedal thing?' Hesaid, 'I couldn't. One's the foot-brake, and the other's theaccelerator.' 'But suppose you did?' I said. 'I wouldn't,' he said.

　　'Now we'll let her rip.' So he stamped on the accelerator. Only itturned out to be the foot-brake after all, and we stopped dead, andskidded into a ditch. The advice I give to every young man startinglife is: 'Never confuse the unusual and the impossible.' Take thepresent case. If you had only realised the possibility of somebodysome day collaring your study, you might have thought out dozens ofsound schemes for dealing with the matter. As it is, you areunprepared. The thing comes on you as a surprise. The cry goes round:

　　'Spiller has been taken unawares. He cannot cope wit............