aid Mike.

He had made up his mind on this point in the train. There is a certain
fascination about making the very worst of a bad job. Achilles knew his
business when he sat in his tent. The determination not to play cricket
for Sedleigh as he could not play for Wrykyn gave Mike a sort of
pleasure. To stand by with folded arms and a somber frown, as it were,
was one way of treating the situation, and one not without its meed
of comfort.

Psmith approved the resolve.

"Stout fellow," he said. "'Tis well. You and I, hand in hand, will
search the countryside for ruined abbeys. We will snare the elusive
fossil together. Above all, we will go out of bounds. We shall thus
improve our minds, and have a jolly good time as well. I shouldn't
wonder if one mightn't borrow a gun from some friendly native, and do a
bit of rabbit shooting here and there. From what I saw of Comrade
Outwood during our brief interview, I shouldn't think he was one of the
lynx-eyed contingent. With tact we ought to be able to slip away from
the merry throng of fossil chasers, and do a bit on our own account."

"Good idea," said Mike. "We will. A chap at Wrykyn, called Wyatt, used
to break out at night and shoot at cats with an air pistol."

"It would take a lot to make me do that. I am all against anything that
interferes with my sleep. But rabbits in the daytime is a scheme. We'll
nose about for a gun at the earliest opp. Meanwhile we'd better go up to
Comrade Outwood, and get our names shoved down for the Society."

"I vote we get some tea first somewhere."

"Then let's beat up a study. I suppose they have studies here. Let's go
and look."

They went upstairs. On the first floor there was a passage with doors on
either side. Psmith opened the first of these.

"This'll do us well," he said.

It was a biggish room, looking out over the school grounds. There were a
couple of deal tables, two empty bookcases, and a looking glass, hung
on a nail.

"Might have been made for us," said Psmith approvingly.

"I suppose it belongs to some rotter."

"Not now."

"You aren't going to collar it!"

"That," said Psmith, looking at himself earnestly in the mirror, and
straightening his tie, "is the exact program. We must stake out our
claims. This is practical socialism."

"But the real owner's bound to turn up some time or other."

"His misfortune, not ours. You can't expect two masterminds like us to
pig it in that room downstairs. There are mom