'That's 'im, Bill!' cried eager voices, indicating Mike.

''E's the bloke wot 'it yer, Bill,' said others, more precise in
detail.

Bill advanced on Mike in a sidelong, crab-like manner.

''Oo're you, I should like to know?' said Bill.

Mike, rightly holding that this was merely a rhetorical question and
that Bill had no real thirst for information as to his family history,
made no reply. Or, rather, the reply he made was not verbal. He waited
till his questioner was within range, and then hit him in the eye. A
reply far more satisfactory, if not to Bill himself, at any rate to the
interested onlookers, than any flow of words.

A contented sigh went up from the crowd. Their Sunday afternoon was
going to be spent just as they considered Sunday afternoons should be
spent.

'Give us your coat,' said Psmith briskly, 'and try and get it over
quick. Don't go in for any fancy sparring. Switch it on, all you know,
from the start. I'll keep a thoughtful eye open to see that none of his
friends and relations join in.'

Outwardly Psmith was unruffled, but inwardly he was not feeling so
composed. An ordinary turn-up before an impartial crowd which could be
relied upon to preserve the etiquette of these matters was one thing.
As regards the actual little dispute with the cloth-capped Bill, he
felt that he could rely on Mike to handle it satisfactorily. But there