Psmith Series. P. G. Wodehouse

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      CHAPTER XIX

      MIKE GOES TO SLEEP AGAIN

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      Mike was a stout supporter of the view that sleep in large quantities is good for one.; He belonged to the school of thought which holds that a man becomes plain and pasty if deprived of his full spell in bed.; He aimed at the peach-bloom complexion.

      To be routed out of bed a clear hour before the proper time, even on a summer morning, was not, therefore, a prospect that appealed to him.

      When he woke it seemed even less attractive than it had done when he went to sleep.; He had banged his head on the pillow six times over-night, and this silent alarm proved effective, as it always does.; Reaching out a hand for his watch, he found that it was five minutes past six.

      This was to the good.; He could manage another quarter of an hour between the sheets.; It would only take him ten minutes to wash and get into his flannels.

      He took his quarter of an hour, and a little more.; He woke from a sort of doze to find that it was twenty-five past.

      Man’s inability to get out of bed in the morning is a curious thing.; One may reason with oneself clearly and forcibly without the slightest effect.; One knows that delay means inconvenience.; Perhaps it may spoil one’s whole day.; And one also knows that a single resolute heave will do the trick.; But logic is of no use.; One simply lies there.

      Mike thought he would take another minute.

      And during that minute there floated into his mind the question, Who was Firby-Smith?; That was the point.; Who was he, after all?

      This started quite a new train of thought.; Previously Mike had firmly intended to get up—­some time.; Now he began to waver.

      The more he considered the Gazeka’s insignificance and futility and his own magnificence, the more outrageous did it seem that he should be dragged out of bed to please Firby-Smith’s vapid mind.; Here was he, about to receive his first eleven colours on this very day probably, being ordered about, inconvenienced—­in short, put upon by a worm who had only just scraped into the third.

      Was this right, he asked himself.; Was this proper?

      And the hands of the watch moved round to twenty to.

      What was the matter with his fielding? It was all right.; Make the rest of the team fag about, yes.; But not a chap who, dash it all, had got his first for fielding!

      It was with almost a feeling of self-righteousness that Mike turned over on his side and went to sleep again.

      And outside in the cricket-field, the massive mind of the Gazeka was filled with rage, as it was gradually borne in upon him that this was not a question of mere lateness—­which, he felt, would be bad enough, for when he said six-thirty he meant six-thirty—­but of actual desertion.; It was time, he said to himself, that the foot of Authority was set firmly down, and the strong right hand of Justice allowed to put in some energetic work.; His comments on the team’s fielding that morning were bitter and sarcastic.; His eyes gleamed behind their pince-nez.

      The painful interview took place after breakfast.; The head of the house despatched his fag in search of Mike, and waited.; He paced up and down the room like a hungry lion, adjusting his pince-nez (a thing, by the way, which lions seldom do) and behaving in other respects like a monarch of the desert.; One would have felt, looking at him, that Mike, in coming to his den, was doing a deed which would make the achievement of Daniel seem in comparison like the tentative effort of some timid novice.

      And certainly Mike was not without qualms as he knocked at the door, and went in in response to the hoarse roar from the other side of it.

      Firby-Smith straightened his tie, and glared.

      “Young Jackson,” he said, “look here, I want to know what it all means, and jolly quick.; You weren’t at house-fielding this morning.; Didn’t you see the notice?”

      Mike admitted that he had seen the notice.

      “Then you frightful kid, what do you mean by it?; What?”

      Mike hesitated.; Awfully embarrassing, this.; His real reason for not turning up to house-fielding was that he considered himself above such things, and Firby-Smith a toothy weed.; Could he give this excuse?; He had not his Book of Etiquette by him at the moment, but he rather fancied not.; There was no arguing against the fact that the head of the house was a toothy weed; but he felt a firm conviction that it would not be politic to say so.

      Happy thought:; over-slept himself.

      He mentioned this.

      “Over-slept yourself!; You must jolly well not over-sleep yourself.; What do you mean by over-sleeping yourself?”

      Very trying this sort of thing.

      “What time did you wake up?”

      “Six,” said Mike.

      It was not according to his complicated, yet intelligible code of morality to tell lies to save himself.; When others were concerned he could suppress the true and suggest the false with a face of brass.

      “Six!”

      “Five past.”

      “Why didn’t you get up then?”

      “I went to sleep again.”

      “Oh, you went to sleep again, did you?; Well, just listen to me.; I’ve had my eye on you for some time, and I’ve seen it coming on.; You’ve got swelled head, young man.; That’s what you’ve got.; Frightful swelled head.; You think the place belongs to you.”

      “I don’t,” said Mike indignantly.

      “Yes, you do,” said the Gazeka shrilly.; “You think the whole frightful place belongs to you.; You go siding about as if you’d bought it.; Just because you’ve got your second, you think you can do what you like; turn up or not, СКАЧАТЬ