CHAPTER XXVIII
STANDING ROOM ONLY
In the light of subsequent events it was perhaps the least bitunfortunate that Mr. Jarvis should have seen fit to bring with himto the office of _Cosy Moments_ on the following morning two of hiscelebrated squad of cats, and that Long Otto, who, as usual,accompanied him, should have been fired by his example to theextent of introducing a large and rather boisterous yellow dog.They were not to be blamed, of course. They could not know thatbefore the morning was over space in the office would be at apremium. Still, it was unfortunate.
Mr. Jarvis was slightly apologetic.
"T'ought I'd bring de kits along," he said. "Dey started inscrappin' yesterday when I was here, so to-day I says I'll keep myeye on dem."
Psmith inspected the menagerie without resentment.
"Assuredly, Comrade Jarvis," he said. "They add a pleasantly cosyand domestic touch to the scene. The only possible criticism I canfind to make has to do with their probable brawling with the dog."
"Oh, dey won't scrap wit de dawg. Dey knows him."
"But is he aware of that? He looks to me a somewhat impulsiveanimal. Well, well, the matter's in your hands. If you willundertake to look after the refereeing of any pogrom that mayarise, I say no more."
Mr. Jarvis's statement as to the friendly relations between theanimals proved to be correct. The dog made no attempt to annihilatethe cats. After an inquisitive journey round the room he lay downand went to sleep, and an era of peace set in. The cats had settledthemselves comfortably, one on each of Mr. Jarvis's knees, and LongOtto, surveying the ceiling with his customary glassy stare,smoked a long cigar in silence. Bat breathed a tune, and scratchedone of the cats under the ear. It was a soothing scene.
But it did not last. Ten minutes had barely elapsed when the yellowdog, sitting up with a start, uttered a whine. In the outer officecould be heard a stir and movement. The next moment the door burstopen and a little man dashed in. He had a peeled nose and showedother evidences of having been living in the open air. Behind himwas a crowd of uncertain numbers. Psmith recognised the leaders ofthis crowd. They were the Reverend Edwin T. Philpotts and Mr. B.Henderson Asher.
"Why, Comrade Asher," he said, "this is indeed a Moment of Mirth. Ihave been wondering for weeks where you could have got to. AndComrade Philpotts! Am I wrong in saying that this is the maddest,merriest day of all the glad New Year?"
The rest of the crowd had entered the room.
"Comrade Waterman, too!" cried Psmith. "Why we have all metbefore. Except--"
He glanced inquiringly at the little man with the peeled nose.
"My name is Wilberfloss," said the other with austerity. "Will yoube so good as to tell me where Mr. Windsor is?"
A murmur of approval from his followers.
"In one moment," said Psmith. "First, however, let me introduce twoimportant members of our staff. On your right, Mr. Bat Jarvis. Onyour left, Mr. Long Otto. Both of Groome Street."
The two Bowery boys rose awkwardly. The cats fell in an avalancheto the floor. Long Otto, in his haste, trod on the dog, which beganbarking, a process which it kept up almost without a pause duringthe rest of the interview.
"Mr. Wilberfloss," said Psmith in an aside to Bat, "is widely knownas a cat fancier in Brooklyn circles."
"Honest?" said Mr. Jarvis. He tapped Mr. Wilberfloss in friendlyfashion on the chest. "Say," he asked, "did youse ever have a catwit one blue and one yellow eye?"
Mr. Wilberfloss side-stepped and turned once more to Psmith, whowas 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. "There is apreliminary P before the name. This, however, is silent. Like thetomb. Compare such words as ptarmigan, psalm, and phthisis."
"These gentlemen tell me you're acting editor. Who appointed you?"
Psmith reflected.
"It is rather a nice point," he said. "It might be claimed that Iappointed myself. You may say, however, that Comrade Windsorappointed me."
"Ah! And where is Mr. Windsor?"
"In prison," said Psmith sorrowfully.
"In prison!"
Psmith nodded.
"It is too true. Such is the generous impulsiveness of ComradeWindsor's nature that he hit a policeman, was promptly gathered in,and is now serving a sentence of thirty days on Blackwell's Island."
Mr. Wilberfloss looked at Mr. Philpotts. Mr. Asher looked at Mr.Wilberfloss. Mr. Waterman started, and stumbled over a cat.
"I never heard of such a thing," said Mr. Wilberfloss.
A faint, sad smile played across Psmith's face.
"Do you remember, Comrade Waterman--I fancy it was to you that Imade the remark--my commenting at our previous interview on therashness of confusing the unusual with the improbable? Here we seeComrade Wilberfloss, big-brained though he is, falling into error."
"I shall dismiss Mr. Windsor immediately," said the big-brainedone.
"From Blackwell's Island?" said Psmith. "I am sure you will earnhis gratitude if you do. They live on bean soup there. Bean soupand bread, and not much of either."
He broke off, to turn his attention to Mr. Jarvis and Mr. Waterman,between whom bad blood seemed to have arisen. Mr. Jarvis, holding acat in his arms, was glowering at Mr. Waterman, who had backed awayand seemed nervous.
"What is the trouble, Comrade Jarvis?"
"Dat guy dere wit two left feet," said Bat querulously, "goes andtreads on de kit. I--"
"I assure you it was a pure accident. The animal--"
Mr. Wilberfloss, eyeing Bat and the silent Otto with disgust,intervened.
"Who are these persons, Mr. Smith?" he inquired.
"Poisson yourself," rejoined Bat, justly incensed. "Who's delittle guy wit de peeled breezer, Mr. Smith?"
Psmith waved his hands.
"Gentlemen, gentlemen," he said, "let us not descend to merepersonalities. I thought I had introduced you. This, ComradeJarvis, is Mr. Wilberfloss, the editor of this journal. These,Comrade Wilberfloss--Zam-buk would put your nose right in aday--are, respectively, Bat Jarvis and Long Otto, our actingfighting-editors, vice Kid Brady, absent on unavoidable business."
"Kid Brady!" shrilled Mr. Wilberfloss. "I insist that you give mea full explanation of this matter. I go away by my doctor's ordersfor ten weeks, leaving Mr. Windsor to conduct the paper on certainwell-defined lines. I return yesterday, and, getting intocommunication with Mr. Philpotts, what do I find? Why, that in myabsence the paper has been ruined."
"Ruined?" said Psmith. "On the contrary. Examine the returns, andyou will see that the circulation has gone up every week. _CosyMoments_ was never so prosperous and flourishing. Comrade Otto, doyou think you could use your personal influence with that dog toinduce it to suspend its barking for a while? It is musical, butrenders conversation difficult."
Long Otto raised a massive boot and aimed it at the animal, which,dodging with a yelp, cannoned against the second cat and had itsnose scratched. Piercing shrieks cleft the air.
"I demand an explanation," roared Mr. Wilberfloss above the din.
"I think, Comrade Otto," said Psmith, "it would make things a littleeasier if you removed that dog."
He opened the door. The dog shot out. They could hear it beingejected from the outer office by Master Maloney. When there wassilence, Psmith turned courteously to the editor.
"You were saying, Comrade Wilberfloss?"
"Who is this person Brady? With Mr. Philpotts I have been goingcarefully over the numbers which have been issued since mydeparture--"
"An intellectual treat," murmured Psmith.
"--and in each there is a picture of this young man in a costumewhich I will not particularise--"
"There is hardly enough of it to particularise."
"--together with a page of disgusting autobiographical matter."
Psmith held up his hand.
"I protest," he said. "We court criticism, but this is mere abuse.I appeal to these gentlemen to say whether this, for instance, isnot bright and interesting."
He picked up the current number of _Cosy Moments_, and turned to theKid's page.
"This," he said. "Describing a certain ten-round unpleasantness withone Mexican Joe. 'Joe comes up for the second round and he gives mea nasty look, but I thinks of my mother and swats him one in thelower ribs. He hollers foul, but nix on that. Referee says, "Fighton." Joe gives me another nasty look. "All right, Kid," he says;"now I'll knock you up into the gallery." And with that he cutsloose with a right swing, but I falls into the clinch, andthen---!'"
"Bah!" exclaimed Mr. Wilberfloss.
"Go on, boss," urged Mr. Jarvis approvingly. "It's to de good, datstuff."
"There!" said Psmith triumphantly. "You heard? Comrade Jarvis, oneof the most firmly established critics east of Fifth Avenue, stampsKid Brady's reminiscences with the hall-mark of his approval."
"I falls fer de Kid every time," assented Mr. Jarvis.
"Assuredly, Comrade Jarvis. You know a good thing when you see one.Why," he went on warmly, "there is stuff in these reminiscenceswhich would stir the blood of a jelly-fish. Let me quote youanother passage to show that they are not only enthralling, buthelpful as well. Let me see, where is it? Ah, I have it. 'A bullygood way of putting a guy out of business is this. You don't wantto use it in the ring, because by Queensberry Rules it's a foul;but you will find it mighty useful if any thick-neck comes up toyou in the street and tries to start anything. It's this way. Whilehe's setting himself for a punch, just place the tips of thefingers of your left hand on the right side of his chest. Thenbring down the heel of your left hand. There isn't a guy livingthat could stand up against that. The fingers give you a leverageto beat the band. The guy doubles up, and you upper-cut him withyour right, and out he goes.' Now, I bet you never knew thatbefore, Comrade Philpotts. Try it on your parishioners."
"_Cosy Moments_," said Mr. Wilberfloss irately, "is no medium forexploiting low prize-fighters."
"Low prize-fighters! Comrade Wilberfloss, you have beenmisinformed. The Kid is as decent a little chap as you'd meetanywhere. You do not seem to appreciate the philanthropic motivesof the paper in adopting Comrade Brady's cause. Think of it,Comrade Wilberfloss. There was that unfortunate stripling with onlytwo pleasures in life, to love his mother and to knock the headsoff other youths whose weight coincided with his own; andmisfortune, until we took him up, had barred him almost completelyfrom the second pastime. Our editorial heart was melted. Weadopted Comrade Brady. And look at him now! Matched against EddieWood! And Comrade Waterman will support me in my statement that avictory over Eddie Wood means that he gets a legitimate claim tomeet Jimmy Garvin for the championship."
"It is abominable," burst forth Mr. Wilberfloss. "It isdisgraceful. I never heard of such a thing. The paper is ruined."
"You keep reverting to that statement, Comrade Wilberfloss. Cannothing reassure you? The returns are excellent. Prosperity beamson us like a sun. The proprietor is more than satisfied."
"The proprietor?" gasped Mr. Wilberfloss. "Does _he_ know how youhave 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 aunited murmur. B. Henderson Asher snorted satirically.
"They don't believe it," sighed Psmith. "Nevertheless, it istrue."
"It is not true," thundered Mr. Wilberfloss, hopping to avoid aperambulating cat. "Nothing will convince me of it. Mr. BenjaminWhite is not a maniac."
"I trust not," said Psmith. "I sincerely trust not. I have everyreason to believe in his complete sanity. What makes you fancy thatthere 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 isruined has become an obsession with you, Comrade Wilberfloss. Onceagain I assure you that it is more than prosperous."
"If," said Mr. Wilberfloss, "you imagine that I intend to take yourword in this matter, you are mistaken. I shall cable Mr. Whiteto-day, and inquire whether these alterations in the paper meetwith his approval."
"I shouldn't, Comrade Wilberfloss. Cables are expensive, and inthese hard times a penny saved is a penny earned. Why worry ComradeWhite? He is so far away, so out of touch with our New Yorkliterary life. I think it is practically a certainty that he has notthe slightest inkling of any changes in the paper."
Mr. Wilberfloss uttered a cry of triumph.
"I knew it," he said, "I knew it. I knew you would give up when itcame to the point, and you were driven into a corner. Now, perhaps,you will admit that Mr. White has given no sanction for thealterations in the paper?"
A puzzled look crept into Psmith's face.
"I think, Comrade Wilberfloss," he said, "we are talking atcross-purposes. You keep harping on Comrade White and his views andtastes. One would almost imagine that you fancied that ComradeWhite was the proprietor of this paper."
Mr. Wilberfloss stared. B. Henderson Asher stared. Every onestared, except Mr. Jarvis, who, since the readings from the Kid'sreminiscences had ceased, had lost interest in the discussion, andwas now entertaining the cats with a ball of paper tied to astring.
"Fancied that Mr. White . . .?" repeated Mr. Wilberfloss. "I don'tfollow you. Who is, if he isn't?"
Psmith removed his monocle, polished it thoughtfully, and put itback in its place.
"I am," he said.