"What's all this?" demanded Mr. Gooch.
"I will explain all," said Psmith soothingly. "In the first place,
however, this matter of Comrade Spaghetti's rent. Sooner than see
that friend of my boyhood slung out to do the wandering-child-
in-the-snow act, I will brass up for him."
"Confound his rent. Let me out."
"Business before pleasure. How much is it? Twelve dollars? For the
privilege of suffocating in this compact little Black Hole? By my
halidom, Comrade Gooch, that gentleman whose name you are so
shortly to tell us has a very fair idea of how to charge! But who
am I that I should criticise? Here are the simoleons, as our young
friend, Comrade Maloney, would call them. Push me over a receipt."
"Let me out."
"Anon, gossip, anon.--Shakespeare. First, the receipt."
Mr. Gooch scribbled a few words in his notebook and tore out the
page. Psmith thanked him.
"I will see that it reaches Comrade Spaghetti," he said. "And now
to a more important matter. Don't put away that notebook. Turn to
a clean page, moisten your pencil, and write as follows. Are you
ready? By the way, what is your Christian name? . . . Gooch, Gooch,
this is no way to speak! Well, if you are sensitive on the point,
we will waive the Christian name. It is my duty to tell you,
however, that I suspect it to be Percy. Let us push on. Are you
ready, once more? Pencil moistened? Very well, then.
Pages:
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153