'Great Scott,' said Mike, 'I wish I'd come. Why on earth didn't you
tell me you were going to rag? I think you might as well have done. I
wouldn't have missed it for worlds.'

Psmith regarded him with raised eyebrows.

'Rag!' he said. 'Comrade Jackson, I do not understand you. You surely
do not think that I had any other object in doing what I did than to
serve Comrade Bickersdyke? It's terrible how one's motives get
distorted in this world of ours.'

'Well,' said Mike, with a grin, 'I know one person who'll jolly well
distort your motives, as you call it, and that's Bickersdyke.'

Psmith looked thoughtful.

'True,' he said, 'true. There is that possibility. I tell you, Comrade
Jackson, once more that my bright young life is being slowly blighted
by the frightful way in which that man misunderstands me. It seems
almost impossible to try to do him a good turn without having the
action misconstrued.'

'What'll you say to him tomorrow?'

'I shall make no allusion to the painful affair. If I happen to meet
him in the ordinary course of business routine, I shall pass some
light, pleasant remark--on the weather, let us say, or the Bank
rate--and continue my duties.'