"Ah," he said tolerantly, "the fierce rush of New York life. How it wipes from the retina of to-day the image impressed on it but yesterday. Are you with me, Comrade Jarvis?" The cat-expert concentrated himself on the cat's paws without replying. "A fine animal," said Psmith, adjusting his eyeglass. "To which particular family of the Felis Domestica does that belong? In colour it resembles a Neapolitan ice more than anything." Mr. Jarvis's manner became unfriendly. "Say, what do youse want? That's straight ain't it? If youse want to buy a boid or a snake why don't youse say so?" "I stand corrected," said Psmith. "I should have remembered that time is money. I called in here partly on the strength of being a colleague and side-partner of Comrade Windsor--" "Mr. Windsor! De gent what caught my cat?" "The same--and partly in order that I might make two very eminent cat-fanciers acquainted. This," he said, with a wave of his hand in the direction of the silently protesting Mike, "is Comrade Jackson, possibly the best known of our English cat-fanciers. Comrade Jackson's stud of Angoras is celebrated wherever the King's English is spoken, and in Hoxton." Mr. Jarvis rose, and, having inspected Mike with silent admiration for a while, extended a well-buttered hand towards him. Psmith looked on benevolently. "What Comrade Jackson does not know about cats," he said, "is not knowledge. His information on Angoras alone would fill a volume." "Say,"--Mr. Jarvis was evidently touching on a point which had weighed deeply upon him--"why's catnip called catnip?" Mike looked at Psmith helplessly. It sounded like a riddle, but it was obvious that Mr. Jarvis's motive in putting the question was not frivolous. He really wished to know. "The word, as Comrade Jackson was just about to observe," said Psmith, "is a corruption of cat-mint. Why it should be so corrupted I do not know. But what of that? The subject is too deep to be gone fully into at the moment. I should recommend you to read Comrade Jackson's little brochure on the matter. Passing lightly on from that--" "Did youse ever have a cat dat ate beetles?" inquired Mr. Jarvis. "There was a time when many of Comrade Jackson's felidae supported life almost entirely on beetles." "Did they git thin?" Mike felt that it was time, if he was to preserve his reputation, to assert himself. "No," he replied firmly. Mr. Jarvis looked astonished. "English beetles," said Psmith, "don't make cats thin. Passing lightly--" "I had a cat oncest," said Mr. Jarvis, ignoring the remark and sticking to his point, "dat ate beetles and got thin and used to tie itself into knots." "A versatile animal," agreed Psmith. "Say," Mr. Jarvis went on, now plainly on a subject near to his heart, "dem beetles is fierce. Sure. Can't keep de cats off of eatin' dem, I can't. First t'ing you know dey've swallowed dem, and den dey gits thin and ties theirselves into knots."