Read Online Leave it to Psmith by P.G. Wodehouse - Free Book Online Page A

the shelter of the building, had made his way to the wash-room, where, having studied his features with interest for a moment in the mirror, he smoothed his hair, which the rain had somewhat disordered, and brushed his clothes with extreme care. He then went to the cloak-room for his hat. The attendant regarded him as he entered with the air of one whose mind is not wholly at rest.
    ‘Mr Walderwick was in here a moment ago, sir,’ said the attendant.
    ‘Yes?’ said Psmith, mildly interested. ‘An energetic, bustling soul, Comrade Walderwick. Always somewhere. Now here, now there.’
    Asking about his umbrella, he was,’ pursued the attendant with a touch of coldness.
    ‘Indeed? Asking about his umbrella, eh?’
    ‘Made a great fuss about it, sir, he did.’
    And rightly,’ said Psmith with approval. ‘The good man loves his umbrella.’
    ‘Of course I had to tell him that you had took it, sir.’
    ‘I would not have it otherwise,’ assented Psmith heartily. ‘I like this spirit of candour. There must be no reservations, no subterfuges between you and Comrade Walderwick. Let all be open and above-board.’
    ‘He seemed very put out, sir. He went off to find you.’
    ‘I am always glad of a chat with Comrade Walderwick,’ said Psmith. ‘Always.’
    He left the cloak-room and made for the hall, where he desired the porter to procure him a cab. This having drawn up in front of the club, he descended the steps and was about to enter it, when there was a hoarse cry in his rear, and through the front door there came bounding a pinkly indignant youth, who called loudly:
    ‘Here! Hi! Smith! Dash it!’
    Psmith climbed into the cab and gazed benevolently out at the new-comer.
    ‘Ah, Comrade Walderwick!’ he said. ‘What have we on our mind?’
    ‘Where’s my umbrella?’ demanded the pink one. ‘The cloakroom waiter says you took my umbrella. I mean, a joke’s a joke, but that was a dashed good umbrella.’
    ‘It was, indeed,’ Psmith agreed cordially. ‘It maybe of interest to you to know that I selected it as the only possible one from among a number of competitors. I fear this club is becoming very mixed, Comrade Walderwick. You with your pure mind would hardly believe the rottenness of some of the umbrellas I inspected in the cloak-room.’
    ‘Where is it?’
    ‘The cloak-room? You turn to the left as you go in at the main entrance and . . .’
    ‘My umbrella, dash it! Where’s my umbrella?’
    ‘Ah, there,’ said Psmith, and there was a touch of manly regret in his voice, ‘you have me. I gave it to a young lady in the street. Where she is at the present moment I could not say.’
    The pink youth tottered slightly.
    ‘You gave my umbrella to a girl?’
    ‘A very loose way of describing her. You would not speak of her in that light fashion if you had seen her. Comrade Walder-wick, she was wonderful! I am a plain, blunt, rugged man, above the softer emotions as a general thing, but I frankly confess that she stirred a chord in me which is not often stirred. She thrilled my battered old heart, Comrade Walderwick. There is no other word. Thrilled it!’
    ‘But, dash it! . . .’
    Psmith reached out a long arm and laid his hand paternally on the other’s shoulder.
    ‘Be brave, Comrade Walderwick!’ he said. ‘Face this thing like a man! I am sorry to have been the means of depriving you of an excellent umbrella, but as you will readily understand I had no alternative. It was raining. She was over there, crouched despairingly beneath the awning of that shop. She wanted to be elsewhere, but the moisture lay in wait to damage her hat. What could I do? What could any man worthy of the name do but go down to the cloak-room and pinch the best umbrella in sight and take it to her? Yours was easily the best. There was absolutely no comparison. I gave it to her, and she has gone off with it, happy once more. This explanation,’ said Psmith, ‘will, I am sure, sensibly diminish your natural