"Nope. Here, kit."

Mr. Jarvis stooped, and, still whistling softly, lifted the cat. He
looked round the company, met Psmith's eye-glass, was transfixed by
it for a moment, and finally turned again to Billy Windsor.

"Say!" he said, and paused. "Obliged," he added.

He shifted the cat on to his left arm, and extended his right hand
to Billy.

"Shake!" he said.

Billy did so.

Mr. Jarvis continued to stand and whistle for a few moments more.

"Say!" he said at length, fixing his roving gaze once more upon
Billy. "Obliged. Fond of de kit, I am."

Psmith nodded approvingly.

"And rightly," he said. "Rightly, Comrade Jarvis. She is not
unworthy of your affection. A most companionable animal, full of
the highest spirits. Her knockabout act in the restaurant would
have satisfied the most jaded critic. No diner-out can afford to be
without such a cat. Such a cat spells death to boredom."

Mr. Jarvis eyed him fixedly, as if pondering over his remarks. Then
he turned to Billy again.