an unusual silence, being deep in a large square book of the sort in
which Press cuttings are pasted. As Psmith scanned its contents a
curious smile lit up his face. His reflections seemed to be of an
agreeable nature.

'Hullo,' said Mike, 'what have you got hold of there? Where did you get
that?'

'Comrade Waller very kindly lent it to me. He showed it to me after
supper, knowing how enthusiastically I was attached to the Cause. Had
you been less tensely wrapped up in Comrade Prebble's conversation, I
would have desired you to step across and join us. However, you now
have your opportunity.'

'But what is it?' asked Mike.

'It is the record of the meetings of the Tulse Hill Parliament,' said
Psmith impressively. 'A faithful record of all they said, all the votes
of confidence they passed in the Government, and also all the nasty
knocks they gave it from time to time.'

'What on earth's the Tulse Hill Parliament?'

'It is, alas,' said Psmith in a grave, sad voice, 'no more. In life it
was beautiful, but now it has done the Tom Bowling act. It has gone
aloft. We are dealing, Comrade Jackson, not with the live, vivid
present, but with the far-off, rusty past. And yet, in a way, there is
a touch of the live, vivid present mixed up in it.'

'I don't know what the dickens you're talking about,' said Mike. 'Let's