ve been spread out thin over those five years and had been
bottled up during that period came to the surface on this occasion in a
lump--or, if you prefer to put it that way, like a tidal wave.

There may be something in this. Jeeves generally knows.

Anyway, be that as it may, I was dashed glad I had had the shrewdness to
keep out of that second row. It might be unworthy of the prestige of a
Wooster to squash in among the proletariat in the standing-room-only
section, but at least, I felt, I was out of the danger zone. So
thoroughly had Gussie got it up his nose by now that it seemed to me that
had he sighted me he might have become personal about even an old school
friend.

"If there's one thing in the world I can't stand," proceeded Gussie,
"it's a pessimist. Be optimists, boys. You all know the difference
between an optimist and a pessimist. An optimist is a man who--well, take
the case of two Irishmen walking along Broadway. One is an optimist and
one is a pessimist, just as one's name is Pat and the other's Mike....
Why, hullo, Bertie; I didn't know you were here."

Too late, I endeavoured to go to earth behind the chandler, only to
discover that there was no chandler there. Some appointment, suddenly
remembered--possibly a promise to his wife that he would be home to
tea--had caused him to ooze away while my attention was elsewhere,
leaving me right out in the open.

Between me and Gussie, who was now pointing in an offensive manner, there
was nothing but a sea of interested faces looking up at me.

"Now, there," boomed Gussie, continuing to point, "is an instance of what
I mean. Boys and ladies and gentlemen, take a good look at that object
standing up there at the back--morning coat, trousers as worn, quiet grey
tie, and carnation in buttonhole--you can't miss him. Bertie Wooster,
that is, and as foul a pessimist as ever bit a tiger. I tell you I
despise that man. And why do I despise him? Because, boys and ladies and
gentlemen, he is a pessimist. His attitude is defeatist. When I told him
I was going to address you this afternoon, he tried to dissuade me. And
do you know why he tried to dissuade me? Because he said my trousers
would split up the back."

The cheers that greeted this were the loudest yet. Anything about
splitting trousers went straight to the simple hearts of the young
scholars of Market Snodsbury Grammar School. Two in the row in front of
me turned purple, and a small lad with freckles s