There was nothing crude or overdone about Psmith's methods. The ordinary man, having conceived the idea of haunting a fellow clubman, might have seized the first opportunity of engaging him in conversation. Not so Psmith. The first time he met Mr Bickersdyke in the club was on the stairs after dinner one night. The great man, having received practical proof of the excellence of cuisine referred to above, was coming down the main staircase at peace with all men, when he was aware of a tall young man in the 'faultless evening dress' of which the female novelist is so fond, who was regarding him with a fixed stare through an eye-glass. The tall young man, having caught his eye, smiled faintly, nodded in a friendly but patronizing manner, and passed on up the staircase to the library. Mr Bickersdyke sped on in search of a waiter. As Psmith sat in the library with a novel, the waiter entered, and approached him. 'Beg pardon, sir,' he said. 'Are you a member of this club?' Psmith fumbled in his pocket and produced his eye-glass, through which he examined the waiter, button by button. 'I am Psmith,' he said simply. 'A member, sir?' '_The_ member,' said Psmith. 'Surely you participated in the general rejoicings which ensued when it was announced that I had been elected? But perhaps you were too busy working to pay any attention. If so, I respect you. I also am a worker. A toiler, not a flatfish. A sizzler, not a squab. Yes, I am a member. Will you tell Mr Bickersdyke that I am sorry, but I have been elected, and have paid my entrance fee and subscription.' 'Thank you, sir.' The waiter went downstairs and found Mr Bickersdyke in the lower smoking-room. 'The gentleman says he is, sir.' 'H'm,' said the bank-manager. 'Coffee and Benedictine, and a cigar.' 'Yes, sir.' On the following day Mr Bickersdyke met Psmith in the club three times, and on the day after that seven. Each time the latter's smile was friendly, but patronizing. Mr Bickersdyke began to grow restless. On the fourth day Psmith made his first remark. The manager was reading the evening paper in a corner, when Psmith sinking gracefully into a chair beside him, caused him to look up. 'The rain keeps off,' said Psmith. Mr Bickersdyke looked as if he wished his employee would imitate the rain, but he made no reply. Psmith called a waiter. 'Would you mind bringing me a small cup of coffee?' he said. 'And for you,' he added to Mr Bickersdyke. 'Nothing,' growled the manager. 'And nothing for Mr Bickersdyke.' The waiter retired. Mr Bickersdyke became absorbed in his paper. 'I see from my morning paper,' said Psmith, affably, 'that you are to address a meeting at the Kenningford Town Hall next week. I shall come and hear you. Our politics differ in some respects, I fear--I incline to the Socialist view--but nevertheless I shall listen to your remarks with great interest, great interest.' The paper rustled, but no reply came from behind it.