Welcome to the penultimate episode of Psmith, Journalist, The Mark Steyn Club's latest Tale for Our Time and a bit of post-election almost-escapism from P G Wodehouse.
In this caper, an Englishman in New York sets about, in management's absence, transforming a somnolent Manhattan magazine. Alas, in tonight's episode, the editor returns:
Mr. Wilberfloss side-stepped and turned once more to Psmith, who was offering B. Henderson Asher a cigarette.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
"Who am I?" repeated Psmith in an astonished tone.
"Who are you?"
"I am Psmith," said the old Etonian reverently. "There is a preliminary P before the name. This, however, is silent. Like the tomb. Compare such words as ptarmigan, psalm, and phthisis."
Wait a minute - "psalm"? Everyone knows it's the s that's silent - just ask Joe Biden.
Tales for Our Time is an experimental feature we introduced as a bonus for Mark Steyn Club members, and, as you know, I said if it was a total stinkeroo, we'd eighty-six the thing and speak no more of it. But I'm thrilled to say it's proved very popular, and is now in its fourth season. If you're a Club member and you incline more to the stinkeroo side of things, give it your best in the Comments Section below. And do join me tomorrow evening for the conclusion of Psmith, Journalist.