[87694] in Discussion of MIT-community interests
Search Acne Treatment Solutions
daemon@ATHENA.MIT.EDU (Acne Treatment)
Mon Aug 29 14:31:28 2016
Date: Mon, 29 Aug 2016 14:21:29 -0400
From: "Acne Treatment" <acne_treatment@christinas.stream>
To: <mit-talk-mtg@charon.mit.edu>
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<td align=3D"center"> <p id=3D"tap">Cant see this Ad because of image=
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<td align=3D"center"><a href=3D"http://www.christinas.stream/Charlie-Sweeney/44a86Utp3a3-a5WhvVdVKyxdhVtFMuKmji0hvV0ONW4b2"><img src=3D"http://www.christinas.stream/4677CWa3asq6Ima5vhvVdVKyxdhVtFMuKmji0hvV0ONW202/loner-baffled" =
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<td> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p>&=
nbsp; </p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p align=3D"left" style=3D"font: 1=
6px; "><span id=3D"content">Psmith, in the matter of decorating a study and=
preparing tea in it, was rather a critic than an executant. He was full of=
ideas, but he preferred to allow Mike to carry them out. It was he who sug=
gested that the wooden bar which ran across the window was unnecessary, but=
it was Mike who wrenched it from its place. Similarly, it was Mike who abs=
tracted the key from the door of the next study, though the idea was Psmith=
' s. " Privacy," said Psmith, as he watched Mike light the Etna, =
" is what we chiefly need in this age of publicity. If you leave a stu=
dy door unlocked in these strenuous times, the first thing you know is, som=
ebody comes right in, sits down, and begins to talk about himself. I think =
with a little care we ought to be able to make this room quite decently com=
fortable. That putrid calendar must come down, though. Do you think you cou=
ld make a long arm, and haul it off the parent tin-tack? Thanks. We make pr=
ogress. We make progress." " We shall jolly well make it out of t=
he window," said Mike, spooning up tea from a paper bag with a postcar=
d, " if a sort of young Hackenschmidt turns up and claims the study. W=
hat are you going to do about it?" " Don' t let us worry about it=
I have a presentiment that he will be an insignificant-looking little wee=
d. How are you getting on with the evening meal?" " Just ready. W=
hat would you give to be at Eton now? I' d give something to be at Wrykyn.&=
quot; " These school reports," said Psmith sympathetically, "=
; are the very dickens. Many a bright young lad has been soured by them. Hu=
llo. What' s this, I wonder." A heavy body had plunged against the doo=
r, evidently without a suspicion that there would be any resistance. A ratt=
ling at the handle followed, and a voice outside said, " Dash the door=
!" " Hackenschmidt!" said Mike. " The weed," said =
Psmith. " You couldn' t make a long arm, could you, and turn the key? =
We had better give this merchant audience. Remind me later to go on with my=
remarks on school reports. I had several bright things to say on the subje=
ct." Mike unlocked the door, and flung it open. Framed in the entrance=
was a smallish, freckled boy, wearing a bowler hat and carrying a bag. On =
his face was an expression of mingled wrath and astonishment. Psmith rose c=
ourteously from his chair, and moved forward with slow stateliness to do th=
e honours. " What the dickens," inquired the newcomer, " are=
you doing here?" [Illustration: " WHAT THE DICKENS ARE YOU DOING=
HERE?" ] " We were having a little tea," said Psmith, "=
; to restore our tissues after our journey. Come in and join us. We keep op=
en house, we Psmiths. Let me introduce you to Comrade Jackson. A stout fell=
ow. Homely in appearance, perhaps, but one of us. I am Psmith. Your own nam=
e will doubtless come up in the course of general chit-chat over the tea-cu=
ps." " My name' s Spiller, and this is my study." Psmith lea=
ned against the mantelpiece, put up his eyeglass, and harangued Spiller in =
a philosophical vein. " Of all sad words of tongue or pen," said =
he, " the saddest are these: ' It might have been.' Too late! That is =
the bitter cry. If you had torn yourself from the bosom of the Spiller fami=
ly by an earlier train, all might have been well. But no. Your father held =
your hand and said huskily, ' Edwin, don' t leave us!' Your mother clung to=
you weeping, and said, ' Edwin, stay!' Your sisters----" " I wan=
t to know what----" " Your sisters froze on to your knees like li=
ttle octopuses (or octopi), and screamed, ' Don' t go, Edwin!' And so,"=
; said Psmith, deeply affected by his recital, " you stayed on till th=
e later train; and, on arrival, you find strange faces in the familiar room=
, a people that know not Spiller." Psmith went to the table, and cheer=
ed himself with a sip of tea. Spiller' s sad case had moved him greatly. Th=
e victim of Fate seemed in no way consoled. " It' s beastly cheek, tha=
t' s what I call it. Are you new chaps?" " The very latest thing,=
" said Psmith. " Well, it' s beastly cheek." Mike' s outlook=
on life was of the solid, practical order. He went straight to the root of=
the matter. " What are you going to do about it?" he asked. Spil=
ler evaded the question. " It' s beastly cheek," he repeated. &qu=
ot; You can' t go about the place bagging studies." " But we do,&=
quot; said Psmith. " In this life, Comrade Spiller, we must be prepare=
d for every emergency. We must distinguish between the unusual and the impo=
ssible. It is unusual for people to go about the place bagging studies, so =
you have rashly ordered your life on the assumption that it is impossible. =
Error! Ah, Spiller, Spiller, let this be a lesson to you." " Look=
here, I tell you what it----" " I was in a motor with a man once=
I said to him: ' What would happen if you trod on that pedal thing instea=
d of that other pedal thing?' He said, ' I couldn' t. One' s the foot-brake=
, and the other' s the accelerator.' ' But suppose you did?' I said. ' I wo=
uldn' t,' he said. ' Now we' ll let her rip.' So he stamped on the accelera=
tor. Only it turned out to be the foot-brake after all, and we stopped dead=
, and skidded into a ditch. The advice I give to every young man starting l=
ife is: ' Never confuse the unusual and the impossible.' Take the present c=
ase. If you had only realised the possibility of somebody some day collarin=
g your study, you might have thought out dozens of sound schemes for dealin=
g with the matter. As it is, you are unprepared. The thing comes on you as =
a surprise. The cry goes round: ' Spiller has been taken unawares. He canno=
t cope with the situation.' " " Can' t I! I' ll----" " =
What _are_ you going to do about it?" said Mike. " All I know is,=
I' m going to have it. It was Simpson' s last term, and Simpson' s left, a=
nd I' m next on the house list, so, of course, it' s my study." "=
But what steps," said Psmith, " are you going to take? Spiller, =
the man of Logic, we know. But what of Spiller, the Man of Action? How do y=
ou intend to set about it? Force is useless. I was saying to Comrade Jackso=
n before you came in, that I didn' t mind betting you were an insignificant=
-looking little weed. And you _are_ an insignificant-looking little weed.&q=
uot; " We' ll see what Outwood says about it." " Not an unso=
und scheme. By no means a scaly project. Comrade Jackson and myself were ab=
out to interview him upon another point. We may as well all go together.&qu=
ot; The trio made their way to the Presence, Spiller pink and determined, M=
ike sullen, Psmith particularly debonair. He hummed lightly as he walked, a=
nd now and then pointed out to Spiller objects of interest by the wayside. =
Mr. Outwood received them with the motherly warmth which was evidently the =
leading characteristic of his normal manner. " Ah, Spiller," he s=
aid. " And Smith, and Jackson. I am glad to see that you have already =
made friends." " Spiller' s, sir," said Psmith, laying a han=
d patronisingly on the study-claimer' s shoulder--a proceeding violently re=
sented by Spiller--" is a character one cannot help but respect. His n=
ature expands before one like some beautiful flower." Mr. Outwood rece=
ived this eulogy with rather a startled expression, and gazed at the object=
of the tribute in a surprised way. " Er--quite so, Smith, quite so,&q=
uot; he said at last. " I like to see boys in my house friendly toward=
s one another." " There is no vice in Spiller," pursued Psmi=
th earnestly. " His heart is the heart of a little child." "=
Please, sir," burst out this paragon of all the virtues, " I----=
" " But it was not entirely with regard to Spiller that I wished =
to speak to you, sir, if you were not too busy." " Not at all, Sm=
ith, not at all. Is there anything----" " Please, sir--" beg=
an Spiller. " I understand, sir," said Psmith, " that there =
is an Archaeological Society in the school." Mr. Outwood' s eyes spark=
led behind their pince-nez. It was a disappointment to him that so few boys=
seemed to wish to belong to his chosen band. Cricket and football, games t=
hat left him cold, appeared to be the main interest in their lives. It was =
but rarely that he could induce new boys to join. His colleague, Mr. Downin=
g, who presided over the School Fire Brigade, never had any difficulty in f=
inding support. Boys came readily at his call. Mr. Outwood pondered wistful=
ly on this at times, not knowing that the Fire Brigade owed its support to =
the fact that it provided its light-hearted members with perfectly unparall=
eled opportunities for ragging, while his own band, though small, were in t=
he main earnest.</span></p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p=
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