column.

The column was headed, 'Amusing Heckling'.

Mr Bickersdyke read a few lines, and crumpled the paper up with a
snort.

The next he examined was an organ of his own shade of political
opinion. It too, gave him nearly a column, headed 'Disgraceful Scene at
Kenningford'. There was also a leaderette on the subject.

The leaderette said so exactly what Mr Bickersdyke thought himself that
for a moment he was soothed. Then the thought of his grievance
returned, and he pressed the bell.

'Send Mr Smith to me,' he said.

William, the messenger, proceeded to inform Psmith of the summons.

Psmith's face lit up.

'I am always glad to sweeten the monotony of toil with a chat with
Little Clarence,' he said. 'I shall be with him in a moment.'

He cleaned his pen very carefully, placed it beside his ledger, flicked
a little dust off his coatsleeve, and made his way to the manager's
room.

Mr Bickersdyke received him with the ominous restraint of a tiger
crouching for its spring. Psmith stood beside the table with languid