eated beside them asked
me for my autograph.

"Let me tell you a story about Bertie Wooster."

A Wooster can stand a good deal, but he cannot stand having his name
bandied in a public place. Picking my feet up softly, I was in the very
process of executing a quiet sneak for the door, when I perceived that
the bearded bloke had at last decided to apply the closure.

Why he hadn't done so before is beyond me. Spell-bound, I take it. And,
of course, when a chap is going like a breeze with the public, as Gussie
had been, it's not so dashed easy to chip in. However, the prospect of
hearing another of Gussie's anecdotes seemed to have done the trick.
Rising rather as I had risen from my bench at the beginning of that
painful scene with Tuppy in the twilight, he made a leap for the table,
snatched up a book and came bearing down on the speaker.

He touched Gussie on the arm, and Gussie, turning sharply and seeing a
large bloke with a beard apparently about to bean him with a book, sprang
back in an attitude of self-defence.

"Perhaps, as time is getting on, Mr. Fink-Nottle, we had better----"

"Oh, ah," said Gussie, getting the trend. He relaxed. "The prizes, eh? Of
course, yes. Right-ho. Yes, might as well be shoving along with it.
What's this one?"

"Spelling and dictation--P.K. Purvis," announced the bearded bloke.

"Spelling and dictation--P.K. Purvis," echoed Gussie, as if he were
calling coals. "Forward, P.K. Purvis."

Now that the whistle had been blown on his speech, it seemed to me that
there was no longer any need for the strategic retreat which I had been
planning. I had no wish to tear myself away unless I had to. I mean, I
had told Jeeves that this binge would be fraught with interest, and it
was fraught with interest. There was a fascination about Gussie's methods
which gripped and made one reluctant to pass the thing up provided
personal innuendoes were steered clear of. I decided, accordingly, to
remain, and presently there was a musical squeaking and P.K. Purvis
climbed the platform.

The spelling-and-dictation champ was about three foot six in his
squeaking shoes, with a pink face and sandy hair. Gussie patted his hair.
He seemed to have taken an immediate fancy to the lad.

"You P.K. Purvis?"

"Sir, yes, sir."

"It's a beautiful world, P.K. Purvis."

"Sir, yes, sir."

"Ah, you've noticed it, have you? Good. You married, by any chance?"

"Sir, no, sir."

"Get married, P.K. Purvis," said