But Mr. Repetto's eye was fastened on Mr. Jarvis's revolver. The sight apparently had the effect of quenching his desire for song.
"'Lov' muh, ahnd ther world is—ah—mine!'" concluded Psmith.
He looked round the assembled company.
"Comrade Otto," he observed, "will now recite that pathetic little poem 'Baby's Sock is now a Blue-bag.' Pray, gentlemen, silence for Comrade Otto."
He looked inquiringly at the long youth, who remained mute. Psmith clicked his tongue regretfully.
"Comrade Jarvis," he said, "I fear that as a smoking-concert this is not going to be a success. I understand, however. Comrade Repetto and his colleagues have come here on business, and nothing will make them forget it. Typical New York men of affairs, they close their minds to all influences that might lure them from their business. Let us get on, then. What did you wish to see me about, Comrade Repetto?"
Mr. Repetto's reply was unintelligible.
Mr. Jarvis made a suggestion.
"Youse had better beat it," he said.
Long Otto grunted sympathy with this advice.