"My reports from Eton were simply scurrilous. There's a libel action in
every sentence. How do you like this place, from what you've seen
of it?"

"Rotten."

"I am with you, Comrade Jackson. You won't mind my calling you Comrade,
will you? I've just become a socialist. It's a great scheme. You ought
to be one. You work for the equal distribution of property, and start by
collaring all you can and sitting on it. We must stick together. We are
companions in misfortune. Lost lambs. Sheep that have gone astray.
Divided, we fall, together we may worry through. Have you seen Professor
Radium yet? I should say Mr. Outwood. What do you think of him?"

"He doesn't seem a bad sort of chap. Bit off his nut. Jawed about apses
and things."

"And thereby," said Psmith, "hangs a tale. I've been making inquiries of
a stout sportsman in a sort of Salvation Army uniform, whom I met in the
grounds--he's the school sergeant or something, quite a solid man--and I
hear that Comrade Outwood's an archaeological cove. Goes about the
country beating up old ruins and fossils and things. There's an
Archaeological Society in the school, run by him. It goes out on
half-holidays, prowling about, and is allowed to break bounds and
generally steep itself to the eyebrows in reckless devilry. And, mark
you, laddie, if you belong to the Archaeological Society you get off
cricket. To get off cricket," said Psmith, dusting his right trouser
leg, "was the dream of my youth and the aspiration of my riper years. A
noble game, but a bit too thick for me. At Eton I used to have to field