It should go without saying that A Putsch in Time was an instant hit with the patrons of Mimsy Whimsy's; no zoilus in the house to pour cold water or sneer, no place for the recrudescence which bemoans, laments, or disdains a product of the Zeitgeist here; oh no, the men and women who had sat with rapt attention may have been left rather logy by the climax – which was quite unexpected and extremely daring, but nonetheless leapt to their feet to give a standing ovation and, when it was realised that the author of the book was in their midst, and an absolute stunner! well, you can imagine . . . . . so there is no need to indulge in scribblemania here; suffice it to say that Mr Sheehy-Skeffington was swept away by an overabundance of sudden, instant, admirers and that was the last poor Savile Rowe saw of him and it was Mimsy himself who spotted the Assistant Editor of QQ, his absolutely favourite satirical journal and one which he read avidly from cover to cover, filing away sundry bon mots for his own future use, and came over to commiserate and cheer up: "dear Mr Rowe," the voice was huskier than expected from the delicate features and dainty figure, but it had an intensity which in itself stirred Savile, who returned the gaze and smiled back; "what cam I do," murmured Mimsy, "to cheer you up, you are a dear friend and it distresses me to see you looking so glum – forget the boy, he may be an Adonis now, but remember what happened to Narcissus, recall the proud words of Ozymandius, and who remembers Sylvester MacGillycuddy?" and in puzzlement, Savile asked? "who?" at which Mimsy snapped his fingers, summoning a bottle of the House's finest real Champagne and, as he poured it, he smiled back at the Assistant Editor and breathed, sotto voce: "exactly!"