'This is no time for half-measures,' he said. 'We must do our utmost.
We must burn our boats--'

'Excuse me,' said a gentle voice.

Mr Bickersdyke broke off. In the centre of the hall a tall figure had
risen. Mr Bickersdyke found himself looking at a gleaming eye-glass
which the speaker had just polished and inserted in his eye.

The ordinary heckler Mr Bickersdyke would have taken in his stride. He
had got his audience, and simply by continuing and ignoring the
interruption, he could have won through in safety. But the sudden
appearance of Psmith unnerved him. He remained silent.

'How,' asked Psmith, 'do you propose to strengthen the Navy by burning
boats?'

The inanity of the question enraged even the pleasure-seekers at the
back.

'Order! Order!' cried the earnest contingent.

'Sit down, fice!' roared the pleasure-seekers.

Psmith sat down with a patient smile.

Mr Bickersdyke resumed his speech. But the fire had gone out of it. He
had lost his audience. A moment before, he had grasped them and played
on their minds (or what passed for minds down Kenningford way) as on a
stringed instrument. Now he had lost his hold.