Out on the field Mike was introduced to the man of hobbies. Mr Smith,
senior, was a long, earnest-looking man who might have been Psmith in a
grey wig but for his obvious energy. He was as wholly on the move as
Psmith was wholly statuesque. Where Psmith stood like some dignified
piece of sculpture, musing on deep questions with a glassy eye, his
father would be trying to be in four places at once. When Psmith
presented Mike to him, he shook hands warmly with him and started a
sentence, but broke off in the middle of both performances to dash
wildly in the direction of the pavilion in an endeavour to catch an
impossible catch some thirty yards away. The impetus so gained carried
him on towards Bagley, the Ilsworth Hall ground-man, with whom a moment
later he was carrying on an animated discussion as to whether he had or
had not seen a dandelion on the field that morning. Two minutes
afterwards he had skimmed away again. Mike, as he watched him, began to
appreciate Psmith's reasons for feeling some doubt as to what would be
his future walk in life.

At lunch that day Mike sat next to Mr Smith, and improved his
acquaintance with him; and by the end of the week they were on
excellent terms. Psmith's father had Psmith's gift of getting on well
with people.

On this Saturday, as Mike buckled on his pads, Mr Smith bounded up,
full of advice and encouragement.

'My boy,' he said, 'we rely on you. These others'--he indicated with a
disparaging wave of the hand the rest of the team, who were visible
through the window of the changing-room--'are all very well. Decent
club bats. Good for a few on a billiard-table. But you're our hope on a