CHAPTER XXV
TRAPPED
Mr. Jarvis was as good as his word. On the following morning, at ten o’clock to the minute, he made his appearance at the office of Cosy Moments, his fore-lock more than usually well oiled in honour of the occasion, and his right coat-pocket bulging in a manner that betrayed to the initiated eye the presence of the faithful “canister.” With him, in addition to his revolver, he brought a long, thin young man who wore under his brown tweed coat a blue-and-red striped jersey. Whether he brought him as an ally in case of need or merely as a kindred soul with whom he might commune during his vigil, was not ascertained.
Pugsy, startled out of his wonted calm by the arrival of this distinguished company, observed the pair, as they passed through into the inner office, with protruding eyes, and sat speechless for a full five minutes. Psmith received the new-corners in the editorial sanctum with courteous warmth. Mr. Jarvis introduced his colleague.
“Thought I’d bring him along. Long Otto’s his monaker.”
“You did very rightly, Comrade Jarvis,” Psmith assured him. “Your unerring instinct did not play you false when it told you that Comrade Otto would be as welcome as the flowers in May. With Comrade Otto I fancy we shall make a combination which will require a certain amount of tackling.”
Mr. Jarvis confirmed this view. Long Otto, he affirmed, was no rube, but a scrapper from Biffville-on-the-Slosh. The hardiest hooligan would shrink from introducing rough-house proceedings into a room graced by the combined presence of Long Otto and himself.
“Then,” said Psmith, “I can go about my professional duties with a light heart. I may possibly sing a bar or two. You will find cigars in that box. If you and Comrade Otto will select one apiece and group yourselves tastefully about the room in chairs, I will start in to hit up a slightly spicy editorial on the coming election.”
Mr. Jarvis regarded the paraphernalia of literature on the table with interest. So did Long Otto, who, however, being a man of silent habit, made no comment. Throughout the seance and the events which followed it he confined himself to an occasional grunt. He seemed to lack other modes of expression. A charming chap, however.
“Is dis where youse writes up pieces fer de paper?” inquired Mr. Jarvis, eyeing the table.
“It is,” said Psmith. “In Comrade Windsor’s pre-dungeon days he was wont to sit where I am sitting now, while I bivouacked over there at the smaller table. On busy mornings you could hear our brains buzzing in Madison Square Garden. But wait! A thought strikes me.” He called for Pugsy.
“Comrade Maloney,” he said, “if the Editorial Staff of this paper were to give you a day off, could you employ it to profit?”
“Surest t’ing you know,” replied Pugsy with some fervour. “I’d take me goil to de Bronx Zoo.”
“Your girl?” said Psmith inquiringly. “I had heard no inkling of this, Comrade Maloney. I had always imagined you one of those strong, rugged, blood-and-iron men who were above the softer emotions. Who is she?”
“Aw, she’s a kid,” said Pugsy. “Her pa runs a delicatessen shop down our street. She ain’t a bad mutt,” added the ardent swain. “I’m her steady.”
“See that I have a card for the wedding, Comrade Maloney,” said Psmith, “and in the meantime take her to the Bronx, as you suggest.”
“Won’t youse be wantin’ me to-day.”
“Not to-day. You need a holiday. Unflagging toil is sapping your physique. Go up and watch the animals, and remember me very kindly to the Peruvian Llama, whom friends have sometimes told me I resemble in appearance. And if two dollars would in any way add to the gaiety of the jaunt…”
“Sure t’ing. T’anks, boss.”
“It occurred to me,” said Psmith, when he had gone, “that the probable first move of any enterprising Three Pointer who invaded this office would be to knock Comrade Maloney on the head to prevent his announcing him. Comrade Maloney’s services are too valuable to allow him to be exposed to unnecessary perils. Any visitors who call must find their way in for themselves. And now to work. Work, the what’s-its-name of the thingummy and the thing-um-a-bob of the what d’you-call-it.”