'What!' he cried. 'You don't mean to say that there is any coolness
between my father and you? I am more grieved than I can say. Knowing,
as I do, what a genuine respect my father has for your great talents, I
can only think that there must have been some misunderstanding. Perhaps
if you would allow me to act as a mediator--'

Mr Bickersdyke put down his paper and walked out of the room.

Psmith found him a quarter of an hour later in the card-room. He sat
down beside his table, and began to observe the play with silent
interest. Mr Bickersdyke, never a great performer at the best of times,
was so unsettled by the scrutiny that in the deciding game of the
rubber he revoked, thereby presenting his opponents with the rubber by
a very handsome majority of points. Psmith clicked his tongue
sympathetically.

Dignified reticence is not a leading characteristic of the
bridge-player's manner at the Senior Conservative Club on occasions
like this. Mr Bickersdyke's partner did not bear his calamity with
manly resignation. He gave tongue on the instant. 'What on earth's',
and 'Why on earth's' flowed from his mouth like molten lava. Mr
Bickersdyke sat and fermented in silence. Psmith clicked his tongue
sympathetically throughout.

Mr Bickersdyke lost that control over himself which every member of a
club should possess. He turned on Psmith with a snort of frenzy.

'How can I keep my attention fixed on the game when you sit staring at
me like a--like a--'