Part 33 (2/2)
”There are few brighter brains in this city, Comrade Parker. But why this sudden tribute?”
”You reckon you've thought it all out, eh?”
”There may be a flaw in my reasoning, but I confess I do not at the moment see where it lies. Have you detected one?”
”I guess so.”
”Ah! And what is it?”
”You seem to think New York's the only place on the map.”
”Meaning what, Comrade Parker?”
”It might be a fool trick to shoot you in the city as you say, but, you see, we aren't due to stay in the city. This cab is moving on.”
”Like John Brown's soul,” said Psmith, nodding. ”I see. Then you propose to make quite a little tour in this cab?”
”You've got it.”
”And when we are out in the open country, where there are no witnesses, things may begin to move.”
”That's it.”
”Then,” said Psmith heartily, ”till that moment arrives what we must do is to entertain each other with conversation. You can take no step of any sort for a full half-hour, possibly more, so let us give ourselves up to the merriment of the pa.s.sing instant. Are you good at riddles, Comrade Parker? How much wood would a wood-chuck chuck, a.s.suming for purposes of argument that it was in the power of a wood-chuck to chuck wood?”
Mr. Parker did not attempt to solve this problem. He was sitting in the same att.i.tude of watchfulness, the revolver resting on his knee. He seemed mistrustful of Psmith's right hand, which was hanging limply at his side. It was from this quarter that he seemed to expect attack. The cab was bowling easily up the broad street, past rows on rows of high houses, all looking exactly the same.
Occasionally, to the right, through a break in the line of buildings, a glimpse of the river could be seen.
Psmith resumed the conversation.
”You are not interested in wood-chucks, Comrade Parker? Well, well, many people are not. A pa.s.sion for the flora and fauna of our forests is innate rather than acquired. Let us talk of something else. Tell me about your home-life, Comrade Parker. Are you married? Are there any little Parkers running about the house? When you return from this very pleasant excursion will baby voices crow gleefully, 'Fahzer's come home'?”
Mr. Parker said nothing.
”I see,” said Psmith with ready sympathy. ”I understand. Say no more. You are unmarried. She wouldn't have you. Alas, Comrade Parker! However, thus it is! We look around us, and what do we see? A solid phalanx of the girls we have loved and lost. Tell me about her, Comrade Parker. Was it your face or your manners at which she drew the line?”
Mr. Parker leaned forward with a scowl. Psmith did not move, but his right hand, as it hung, closed. Another moment and Mr. Parker's chin would be in just the right position for a swift upper-cut...
This fact appeared suddenly to dawn on Mr. Parker himself. He drew back quickly, and half raised the revolver. Psmith's hand resumed its normal att.i.tude.
”Leaving more painful topics,” said Psmith, ”let us turn to another point. That note which the grubby stripling brought to me at the office purported to come from Comrade Windsor, and stated that he had escaped from Blackwell's Island, and was awaiting my arrival at some address in the Bowery. Would you mind telling me, purely to satisfy my curiosity, if that note was genuine? I have never made a close study of Comrade Windsor's handwriting, and in an unguarded moment I may have a.s.sumed too much.”
Mr. Parker permitted himself a smile.
”I guess you aren't so clever after all,” he said. ”The note was a fake all right.”
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