8. The Friendly Native


'The first principle of warfare,' said Psmith at breakfast next
morning, doling out bacon and eggs with the air of a medieval monarch
distributing largesse, 'is to collect a gang, to rope in allies, to
secure the cooperation of some friendly native. You may remember that
at Sedleigh it was partly the sympathetic cooperation of that record
blitherer, Comrade Jellicoe, which enabled us to nip the pro-Spiller
movement in the bud. It is the same in the present crisis. What Comrade
Jellicoe was to us at Sedleigh, Comrade Rossiter must be in the City.
We must make an ally of that man. Once I know that he and I are as
brothers, and that he will look with a lenient and benevolent eye on
any little shortcomings in my work, I shall be able to devote my
attention whole-heartedly to the moral reformation of Comrade
Bickersdyke, that man of blood. I look on Comrade Bickersdyke as a
bargee of the most pronounced type; and anything I can do towards
making him a decent member of Society shall be done freely and
ungrudgingly. A trifle more tea, Comrade Jackson?'

'No, thanks,' said Mike. 'I've done. By Jove, Smith, this flat of yours
is all right.'

'Not bad,' assented Psmith, 'not bad. Free from squalor to a great
extent. I have a number of little objects of _vertu_ coming down
shortly from the old homestead. Pictures, and so on. It will be by no
means un-snug when they are up. Meanwhile, I can rough it. We are old
campaigners, we Psmiths. Give us a roof, a few comfortable chairs, a
sofa or two, half a dozen cushions, and decent meals, and we do not
repine. Reverting once more to Comrade Rossiter--'