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.