Psmith, Journalist by P.G. Wodehouse

Author:P.G. Wodehouse
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Jovian Press

CHAPTER XVII

~

GUERILLA WARFARE

Thus ended the opening engagement of the campaign, seemingly in a victory for the Cosy Moments army. Billy Windsor, however, shook his head.

“We’ve got mighty little out of it,” he said.

“The victory,” said Psmith, “was not bloodless. Comrade Brady’s ear, my hat—these are not slight casualties. On the other hand, surely we are one up? Surely we have gained ground? The elimination of Comrade Repetto from the scheme of things in itself is something. I know few men I would not rather meet in a lonely road than Comrade Repetto. He is one of Nature’s sand-baggers. Probably the thing crept upon him slowly. He started, possibly, in a merely tentative way by slugging one of the family circle. His nurse, let us say, or his young brother. But, once started, he is unable to resist the craving. The thing grips him like dram-drinking. He sandbags now not because he really wants to, but because he cannot help himself. To me there is something consoling in the thought that Comrade Repetto will no longer be among those present.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I should imagine that a benevolent Law will put him away in his little cell for at least a brief spell.”

“Not on your life,” said Billy. “He’ll prove an alibi.”

Psmith’s eyeglass dropped out of his eye. He replaced it, and gazed, astonished, at Billy.

“An alibi? When three keen-eyed men actually caught him at it?”

“He can find thirty toughs to swear he was five miles away.”

“And get the court to believe it?” said Psmith.

“Sure,” said Billy disgustedly. “You don’t catch them hurting a gangsman unless they’re pushed against the wall. The politicians don’t want the gangs in gaol, especially as the Aldermanic elections will be on in a few weeks. Did you ever hear of Monk Eastman?”

“I fancy not, Comrade Windsor. If I did, the name has escaped me.

Who was this cleric?”

“He was the first boss of the East Side gang, before Kid Twist took it on.”

“Yes?”

“He was arrested dozens of times, but he always got off. Do you know what he said once, when they pulled him for thugging a fellow out in New Jersey?”

“I fear not, Comrade Windsor. Tell me all.”

“He said, ‘You’re arresting me, huh? Say, you want to look where you’re goin’; I cut some ice in this town. I made half the big politicians in New York!’ That was what he said.”

“His small-talk,” said Psmith, “seems to have been bright and well-expressed. What happened then? Was he restored to his friends and his relations?”

“Sure, he was. What do you think? Well, Jack Repetto isn’t Monk Eastman, but he’s in with Spider Reilly, and the Spider’s in with the men behind. Jack’ll get off.”

“It looks to me, Comrade Windsor,” said Psmith thoughtfully, “as if my stay in this great city were going to cost me a small fortune in hats.”

Billy’s prophecy proved absolutely correct. The police were as good as their word. In due season they rounded up the impulsive Mr. Repetto, and he was haled before a magistrate.

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