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preface and chapter 1 of psmith, journalistby p. g. wodehouse. preface of psmith, journalist by p. g. wodehouse.the conditions of life in new york are so different from those of london that a storyof this kind calls for a little explanation. there are several million inhabitants of newyork. not all of them eke out a precarious livelihood by murdering one another, but thereis a definite section of the population which murders—not casually, on the spur of themoment, but on definitely commercial lines at so many dollars per murder. the "gangs"of new york exist in fact. i have not invented them. most of the incidents in this storyare based on actual happenings. the rosenthal case, where four men, headed by a genial individualcalling himself "gyp the blood" shot a fellow-citizen

in cold blood in a spot as public and fashionableas piccadilly circus and escaped in a motor-car, made such a stir a few years ago that thenoise of it was heard all over the world and not, as is generally the case with the doingsof the gangs, in new york only. rosenthal cases on a smaller and less sensational scaleare frequent occurrences on manhattan island. it was the prominence of the victim ratherthan the unusual nature of the occurrence that excited the new york press. most gangvictims get a quarter of a column in small type. p. g. wodehouse.chapter i "cosy moments"the man in the street would not have known it, but a great crisis was imminent in newyork journalism.

everything seemed much as usual in the city.the cars ran blithely on broadway. newsboys shouted "wux-try!" into the ears of nervouspedestrians with their usual caruso-like vim. society passed up and down fifth avenue inits automobiles, and was there a furrow of anxiety upon society's brow? none. at a thousandstreet corners a thousand policemen preserved their air of massive superiority to the thingsof this world. not one of them showed the least sign of perturbation. nevertheless,the crisis was at hand. mr. j. fillken wilberfloss, editor-in-chief of cosy moments, was aboutto leave his post and start on a ten weeks' holiday. in new york one may find every class of paperwhich the imagination can conceive. every

grade of society is catered for. if an esquimaucame to new york, the first thing he would find on the bookstalls in all probabilitywould be the blubber magazine, or some similar production written by esquimaux for esquimaux.everybody reads in new york, and reads all the time. the new yorker peruses his favouritepaper while he is being jammed into a crowded compartment on the subway or leaping likean antelope into a moving street car. there was thus a public for cosy moments.cosy moments, as its name (an inspiration of mr. wilberfloss's own) is designed to imply,is a journal for the home. it is the sort of paper which the father of the family isexpected to take home with him from his office and read aloud to the chicks before bed-time.it was founded by its proprietor, mr. benjamin

white, as an antidote to yellow journalism.one is forced to admit that up to the present yellow journalism seems to be competing againstit with a certain measure of success. headlines are still of as generous a size as heretofore,and there is no tendency on the part of editors to scamp the details of the last murder-case. nevertheless, cosy moments thrives. it hasits public. its contents are mildly interesting, if youlike that sort of thing. there is a "moments in the nursery" page, conducted by luellagranville waterman, to which parents are invited to contribute the bright speeches of theiroffspring, and which bristles with little stories about the nursery canary, by jane(aged six), and other works of rising young

authors. there is a "moments of meditation"page, conducted by the reverend edwin t. philpotts; a "moments among the masters" page, consistingof assorted chunks looted from the literature of the past, when foreheads were bulgy andthoughts profound, by mr. wilberfloss himself; one or two other pages; a short story; answersto correspondents on domestic matters; and a "moments of mirth" page, conducted by analleged humorist of the name of b. henderson asher, which is about the most painful productionever served up to a confiding public. the guiding spirit of cosy moments was mr.wilberfloss. circumstances had left the development of the paper mainly to him. for the past twelvemonths the proprietor had been away in europe, taking the waters at carlsbad, and the solecontrol of cosy moments had passed into the

hands of mr. wilberfloss. nor had he provedunworthy of the trust or unequal to the duties. in that year cosy moments had reached thehighest possible level of domesticity. anything not calculated to appeal to the home had beenrigidly excluded. and as a result the circulation had increased steadily. two extra pages hadbeen added, "moments among the shoppers" and "moments with society." and the advertisementshad grown in volume. but the work had told upon the editor. work of that sort carriesits penalties with it. success means absorption, and absorption spells softening of the brain. whether it was the strain of digging intothe literature of the past every week, or the effort of reading b. henderson asher's"moments of mirth" is uncertain. at any rate,

his duties, combined with the heat of a newyork summer, had sapped mr. wilberfloss's health to such an extent that the doctor hadordered him ten weeks' complete rest in the mountains. this mr. wilberfloss could, perhaps,have endured, if this had been all. there are worse places than the mountains of americain which to spend ten weeks of the tail-end of summer, when the sun has ceased to grilland the mosquitoes have relaxed their exertions. but it was not all. the doctor, a far-seeingman who went down to first causes, had absolutely declined to consent to mr. wilberfloss's suggestionthat he should keep in touch with the paper during his vacation. he was adamant. he hadseen copies of cosy moments once or twice, and he refused to permit a man in the editor'sstate of health to come in contact with luella

granville waterman's "moments in the nursery"and b. henderson asher's "moments of mirth." the medicine-man put his foot down firmly. "you must not see so much as the cover ofthe paper for ten weeks," he said. "and i'm not so sure that it shouldn't be longer. youmust forget that such a paper exists. you must dismiss the whole thing from your mind,live in the open, and develop a little flesh and muscle." to mr. wilberfloss the sentence was almostequivalent to penal servitude. it was with tears in his voice that he was giving hisfinal instructions to his sub-editor, in whose charge the paper would be left during hisabsence. he had taken a long time doing this.

for two days he had been fussing in and outof the office, to the discontent of its inmates, more especially billy windsor, the sub-editor,who was now listening moodily to the last harangue of the series, with the air of onewhose heart is not in the subject. billy windsor was a tall, wiry, loose-jointed young man,with unkempt hair and the general demeanour of a caged eagle. looking at him, one couldpicture him astride of a bronco, rounding up cattle, or cooking his dinner at a camp-fire.somehow he did not seem to fit into the cosy moments atmosphere. "well, i think that that is all, mr. windsor,"chirruped the editor. he was a little man with a long neck and large pince-nez, andhe always chirruped. "you understand the general

lines on which i think the paper should beconducted?" the sub-editor nodded. mr. wilberfloss made him tired. sometimes he made him moretired than at other times. at the present moment he filled him with an aching weariness.the editor meant well, and was full of zeal, but he had a habit of covering and recoveringthe ground. he possessed the art of saying the same obvious thing in a number of differentways to a degree which is found usually only in politicians. if mr. wilberfloss had beena politician, he would have been one of those dealers in glittering generalities who usedto be fashionable in american politics. "there is just one thing," he continued "mrs.julia burdett parslow is a little inclined—i may have mentioned this before—"

"you did," said the sub-editor. mr. wilberfloss chirruped on, unchecked. "a little inclined to be late with her 'momentswith budding girlhood'. if this should happen while i am away, just write her a letter,quite a pleasant letter, you understand, pointing out the necessity of being in good time. themachinery of a weekly paper, of course, cannot run smoothly unless contributors are in goodtime with their copy. she is a very sensible woman, and she will understand, i am sure,if you point it out to her." the sub-editor nodded. "and there is just one other thing. i wishyou would correct a slight tendency i have

noticed lately in mr. asher to be just a trifle—well,not precisely risky, but perhaps a shade broad in his humour." "his what?" said billy windsor. "mr. asher is a very sensible man, and hewill be the first to acknowledge that his sense of humour has led him just a littlebeyond the bounds. you understand? well, that is all, i think. now i must really be going,or i shall miss my train. good-bye, mr. windsor." "good-bye," said the sub-editor thankfully. at the door mr. wilberfloss paused with theair of an exile bidding farewell to his native land, sighed, and trotted out.

billy windsor put his feet upon the table,and with a deep scowl resumed his task of reading the proofs of luella granville waterman's"moments in the nursery." chapter iibilly windsor billy windsor had started life twenty-fiveyears before this story opens on his father's ranch in wyoming. from there he had gone toa local paper of the type whose society column consists of such items as "pawnee jim williamswas to town yesterday with a bunch of other cheap skates. we take this opportunity ofonce more informing jim that he is a liar and a skunk," and whose editor works witha revolver on his desk and another in his

hip-pocket. graduating from this, he had proceededto a reporter's post on a daily paper in a kentucky town, where there were blood feudsand other southern devices for preventing life from becoming dull. all this time newyork, the magnet, had been tugging at him. all reporters dream of reaching new york.at last, after four years on the kentucky paper, he had come east, minus the lobe ofone ear and plus a long scar that ran diagonally across his left shoulder, and had worked withoutmuch success as a free-lance. he was tough and ready for anything that might come hisway, but these things are a great deal a matter of luck. the cub-reporter cannot make a namefor himself unless he is favoured by fortune. things had not come billy windsor's way. hiswork had been confined to turning in reports

of fires and small street accidents, whichthe various papers to which he supplied them cut down to a couple of inches. billy had been in a bad way when he had happenedupon the sub-editorship of cosy moments. he despised the work with all his heart, andthe salary was infinitesimal. but it was regular, and for a while billy felt that a regularsalary was the greatest thing on earth. but he still dreamed of winning through to a poston one of the big new york dailies, where there was something doing and a man wouldhave a chance of showing what was in him. the unfortunate thing, however, was that cosymoments took up his time so completely. he had no chance of attracting the notice ofbig editors by his present work, and he had

no leisure for doing any other. all of which may go to explain why his normalaspect was that of a caged eagle. to him, brooding over the outpourings of luellagranville waterman, there entered pugsy maloney, the office-boy, bearing a struggling cat. "say!" said pugsy. he was a nonchalant youth, with a freckled,mask-like face, the expression of which never varied. he appeared unconscious of the cat.its existence did not seem to occur to him. "well?" said billy, looking up. "hello, whathave you got there?" master maloney eyed the cat, as if he wereseeing it for the first time.

"it's a kitty what i got in de street," hesaid. "don't hurt the poor brute. put her down." master maloney obediently dropped the cat,which sprang nimbly on to an upper shelf of the book-case. "i wasn't hoitin' her," he said, without emotion."dere was two fellers in de street sickin' a dawg on to her. an' i comes up an' says,'g'wan! what do youse t'ink you're doin', fussin' de poor dumb animal?' an' one of deguys, he says, 'g'wan! who do youse t'ink youse is?' an' i says, 'i'm de guy what'sgoin' to swat youse one on de coco if youse don't quit fussin' de poor dumb animal.' sowit dat he makes a break at swattin' me one,

but i swats him one, an' i swats de odderfeller one, an' den i swats dem bote some more, an' i gets de kitty, an' i brings herin here, cos i t'inks maybe youse'll look after her." and having finished this homeric narrative,master maloney fixed an expressionless eye on the ceiling, and was silent. billy windsor, like most men of the plains,combined the toughest of muscle with the softest of hearts. he was always ready at any momentto become the champion of the oppressed on the slightest provocation. his alliance withpugsy maloney had begun on the occasion when he had rescued that youth from the clutchesof a large negro, who, probably from the soundest

of motives, was endeavouring to slay him.billy had not inquired into the rights and wrongs of the matter: he had merely sailedin and rescued the office-boy. and pugsy, though he had made no verbal comment on theaffair, had shown in many ways that he was not ungrateful. "bully for you, pugsy!" he cried. "you'rea little sport. here"—he produced a dollar-bill—"go out and get some milk for the poor brute.she's probably starving. keep the change." "sure thing," assented master maloney. hestrolled slowly out, while billy windsor, mounting a chair, proceeded to chirrup andsnap his fingers in the effort to establish the foundations of an entente cordiale withthe rescued cat.

by the time that pugsy returned, carryinga five-cent bottle of milk, the animal had vacated the book-shelf, and was sitting onthe table, washing her face. the milk having been poured into the lid of a tobacco-tin,in lieu of a saucer, she suspended her operations and adjourned for refreshments. billy, businessbeing business, turned again to luella granville waterman, but pugsy, having no immediate dutieson hand, concentrated himself on the cat. "say!" he said. "well?" "dat kitty." "what about her?"

"pipe de leather collar she's wearing." billy had noticed earlier in the proceedingsthat a narrow leather collar encircled the cat's neck. he had not paid any particularattention to it. "what about it?" he said. "guess i know where dat kitty belongs. deyall have dose collars. i guess she's one of bat jarvis's kitties. he's got a lot of demfor fair, and every one wit one of dem collars round deir neck." "who's bat jarvis? do you mean the gang-leader?" "sure. he's a cousin of mine," said mastermaloney with pride. "is he?" said billy. "nice sort of fellowto have in the family. so you think that's

his cat?" "sure. he's got twenty-t'ree of dem, and deyall has dose collars." "are you on speaking terms with the gentleman?" "huh?" "do you know bat jarvis to speak to?" "sure. he's me cousin." "well, tell him i've got the cat, and thatif he wants it he'd better come round to my place. you know where i live?" "sure."

"fancy you being a cousin of bat's, pugsy.why did you never tell us? are you going to join the gang some day?" "nope. nothin' doin'. i'm goin' to be a cow-boy." "good for you. well, you tell him when yousee him. and now, my lad, out you get, because if i'm interrupted any more i shan't get throughto-night." "sure," said master maloney, retiring. "oh, and pugsy . . ." "go out and get a good big basket. i shallwant one to carry this animal home in." "sure," said master maloney.

chapter iiiat "the gardenia" "it would ill beseem me, comrade jackson,"said psmith, thoughtfully sipping his coffee, "to run down the metropolis of a great andfriendly nation, but candour compels me to state that new york is in some respects asingularly blighted town." "what's the matter with it?" asked mike. "too decorous, comrade jackson. i came overhere principally, it is true, to be at your side, should you be in any way persecutedby scoundrels. but at the same time i confess that at the back of my mind there lurked ahope that stirring adventures might come my way. i had heard so much of the place. reporthad it that an earnest seeker after amusement

might have a tolerably spacious rag in thismodern byzantium. i thought that a few weeks here might restore that keen edge to my nervoussystem which the languor of the past term had in a measure blunted. i wished my visitto be a tonic rather than a sedative. i anticipated that on my return the cry would go round cambridge,'psmith has been to new york. he is full of oats. for he on honey-dew hath fed, and drunkthe milk of paradise. he is hot stuff. rah!' but what do we find?" he paused, and lit a cigarette. "what do we find?" he asked again. "i don't know," said mike. "what?"

"a very judicious query, comrade jackson.what, indeed? we find a town very like london. a quiet, self-respecting town, admirable tothe apostle of social reform, but disappointing to one who, like myself, arrives with a brushand a little bucket of red paint, all eager for a treat. i have been here a week, andi have not seen a single citizen clubbed by a policeman. no negroes dance cake-walks inthe street. no cow-boy has let off his revolver at random in broadway. the cables flash themessage across the ocean, 'psmith is losing his illusions.'" mike had come to america with a team of them.c.c. which was touring the cricket-playing section of the united states. psmith had accompaniedhim in a private capacity. it was the end

of their first year at cambridge, and mike,with a century against oxford to his credit, had been one of the first to be invited tojoin the tour. psmith, who had played cricket in a rather desultory way at the university,had not risen to these heights. he had merely taken the opportunity of mike's visit to theother side to accompany him. cambridge had proved pleasant to psmith, but a trifle quiet.he had welcomed the chance of getting a change of scene. so far the visit had failed to satisfy him.mike, whose tastes in pleasure were simple, was delighted with everything. the cricketso far had been rather of the picnic order, but it was very pleasant; and there was nolimit to the hospitality with which the visitors

were treated. it was this more than anythingwhich had caused psmith's grave disapproval of things american. he was not a member ofthe team, so that the advantages of the hospitality did not reach him. he had all the disadvantages.he saw far too little of mike. when he wished to consult his confidential secretary andadviser on some aspect of life, that invaluable official was generally absent at dinner withthe rest of the team. to-night was one of the rare occasions when mike could get away.psmith was becoming bored. new york is a better city than london to be alone in, but it isnever pleasant to be alone in any big city. as they sat discussing new york's shortcomingsover their coffee, a young man passed them, carrying a basket, and seated himself at thenext table. he was a tall, loose-jointed young

man, with unkempt hair. a waiter made an ingratiating gesture towardsthe basket, but the young man stopped him. "not on your life, sonny," he said. "thisstays right here." he placed it carefully on the floor beside his chair, and proceededto order dinner. psmith watched him thoughtfully. "i have a suspicion, comrade jackson," hesaid, "that this will prove to be a somewhat stout fellow. if possible, we will engagehim in conversation. i wonder what he's got in the basket. i must get my sherlock holmessystem to work. what is the most likely thing for a man to have in a basket? you would reply,in your unthinking way, 'sandwiches.' error.

a man with a basketful of sandwiches doesnot need to dine at restaurants. we must try again." the young man at the next table had ordereda jug of milk to be accompanied by a saucer. these having arrived, he proceeded to liftthe basket on to his lap, pour the milk into the saucer, and remove the lid from the basket.instantly, with a yell which made the young man's table the centre of interest to allthe diners, a large grey cat shot up like a rocket, and darted across the room. psmithwatched with silent interest. it is hard to astonish the waiters at a newyork restaurant, but when the cat performed this feat there was a squeal of surprise allround the room. waiters rushed to and fro,

futile but energetic. the cat, having secureda strong strategic position on the top of a large oil-painting which hung on the farwall, was expressing loud disapproval of the efforts of one of the waiters to drive itfrom its post with a walking-stick. the young man, seeing these manoeuvres, uttered a wrathfulshout, and rushed to the rescue. "comrade jackson," said psmith, rising, "wemust be in this." when they arrived on the scene of hostilities,the young man had just possessed himself of the walking-stick, and was deep in a complexargument with the head-waiter on the ethics of the matter. the head-waiter, a stout impassivegerman, had taken his stand on a point of etiquette. "id is," he said, "to bring gatsinto der grill-room vorbidden. no gendleman

would gats into der grill-room bring. dergendleman—" the young man meanwhile was making enticingsounds, to which the cat was maintaining an attitude of reserved hostility. he turnedfuriously on the head-waiter. "for goodness' sake," he cried, "can't yousee the poor brute's scared stiff? why don't you clear your gang of german comedians away,and give her a chance to come down?" "der gendleman—" argued the head-waiter. psmith stepped forward and touched him onthe arm. "may i have a word with you in private?" "zo?"

psmith drew him away. "you don't know who that is?" he whispered,nodding towards the young man. "no gendleman he is," asserted the head-waiter."der gendleman would not der gat into—" psmith shook his head pityingly. "these petty matters of etiquette are notfor his grace—but, hush, he wishes to preserve his incognito." "ingognito?" "you understand. you are a man of the world,comrade—may i call you freddie? you understand, comrade freddie, that in a man in his grace'sposition a few little eccentricities may be

pardoned. you follow me, frederick?" the head-waiter's eye rested upon the youngman with a new interest and respect. "he is noble?" he inquired with awe. "he is here strictly incognito, you understand,"said psmith warningly. the head-waiter nodded. the young man meanwhile had broken down thecat's reserve, and was now standing with her in his arms, apparently anxious to fight all-comersin her defence. the head-waiter approached deferentially. "der gendleman," he said, indicating psmith,who beamed in a friendly manner through his eye-glass, "haf everything exblained. allwill now quite satisfactory be."

the young man looked inquiringly at psmith,who winked encouragingly. the head-waiter bowed. "let me present comrade jackson," said psmith,"the pet of our english smart set. i am psmith, one of the shropshire psmiths. this is a greatmoment. shall we be moving back? we were about to order a second instalment of coffee, tocorrect the effects of a fatiguing day. perhaps you would care to join us?" "sure," said the alleged duke. "this," said psmith, when they were seated,and the head-waiter had ceased to hover, "is a great meeting. i was complaining with someacerbity to comrade jackson, before you introduced

your very interesting performing-animal speciality,that things in new york were too quiet, too decorous. i have an inkling, comrade—" "windsor's my name." "i have an inkling, comrade windsor, thatwe see eye to eye on the subject." "i guess that's right. i was raised in theplains, and i lived in kentucky a while. there's more doing there in a day than there is herein a month. say, how did you fix it with the old man?" "with comrade freddie? i have a certain amountof influence with him. he is content to order his movements in the main by my judgment.i assured him that all would be well, and

he yielded." psmith gazed with interest atthe cat, which was lapping milk from the saucer. "are you training that animal for a show ofsome kind, comrade windsor, or is it a domestic pet?" "i've adopted her. the office-boy on our papergot her away from a dog this morning, and gave her to me." "your paper?" "cosy moments," said billy windsor, with atouch of shame. "cosy moments?" said psmith reflectively."i regret that the bright little sheet has not come my way up to the present. i mustseize an early opportunity of perusing it."

"don't you do it." "you've no paternal pride in the little journal?" "it's bad enough to hurt," said billy windsordisgustedly. "if you really want to see it, come along with me to my place, and i'll showyou a copy." "it will be a pleasure," said psmith. "comradejackson, have you any previous engagement for to-night?" "i'm not doing anything," said mike. "then let us stagger forth with comrade windsor.while he is loading up that basket, we will be collecting our hats. . . . i am not halfsure, comrade jackson," he added, as they

walked out, "that comrade windsor may notprove to be the genial spirit for whom i have been searching. if you could give me yourundivided company, i should ask no more. but with you constantly away, mingling with thegay throng, it is imperative that i have some solid man to accompany me in my ramblingshither and thither. it is possible that comrade windsor may possess the qualifications necessaryfor the post. but here he comes. let us foregather with him and observe him in private life beforearriving at any premature decision." chapter ivbat jarvis billy windsor lived in a single room on eastfourteenth street. space in new york is valuable, and the average bachelor's apartments consistof one room with a bathroom opening off it.

during the daytime this one room loses alltraces of being used for sleeping purposes at night. billy windsor's room was very muchlike a public-school study. along one wall ran a settee. at night this became a bed;but in the daytime it was a settee and nothing but a settee. there was no space for a greatdeal of furniture. there was one rocking-chair, two ordinary chairs, a table, a book-stand,a typewriter—nobody uses pens in new york—and on the walls a mixed collection of photographs,drawings, knives, and skins, relics of their owner's prairie days. over the door was thehead of a young bear. billy's first act on arriving in this sanctumwas to release the cat, which, having moved restlessly about for some moments, finallycame to the conclusion that there was no means

of getting out, and settled itself on a cornerof the settee. psmith, sinking gracefully down beside it, stretched out his legs andlit a cigarette. mike took one of the ordinary chairs; and billy windsor, planting himselfin the rocker, began to rock rhythmically to and fro, a performance which he kept upuntiringly all the time. "a peaceful scene," observed psmith. "threegreat minds, keen, alert, restless during business hours, relax. all is calm and pleasantchit-chat. you have snug quarters up here, comrade windsor. i hold that there is nothinglike one's own roof-tree. it is a great treat to one who, like myself, is located in oneof these vast caravanserai—to be exact, the astor—to pass a few moments in the quietprivacy of an apartment such as this."

"it's beastly expensive at the astor," saidmike. "the place has that drawback also. anon, comradejackson, i think we will hunt around for some such cubby-hole as this, built for two. ournervous systems must be conserved." "on fourth avenue," said billy windsor, "youcan get quite good flats very cheap. furnished, too. you should move there. it's not muchof a neighbourhood. i don't know if you mind that?" "far from it, comrade windsor. it is my aimto see new york in all its phases. if a certain amount of harmless revelry can be whackedout of fourth avenue, we must dash there with the vim of highly-trained smell-dogs. areyou with me, comrade jackson?"

"all right," said mike. "and now, comrade windsor, it would be a pleasureto me to peruse that little journal of which you spoke. i have had so few opportunitiesof getting into touch with the literature of this great country." billy windsor stretched out an arm and pulleda bundle of papers from the book-stand. he tossed them on to the settee by psmith's side. "there you are," he said, "if you really feellike it. don't say i didn't warn you. if you've got the nerve, read on." psmith had picked up one of the papers whenthere came a shuffling of feet in the passage

outside, followed by a knock upon the door.the next moment there appeared in the doorway a short, stout young man. there was an indescribableair of toughness about him, partly due to the fact that he wore his hair in a well-oiledfringe almost down to his eyebrows, which gave him the appearance of having no foreheadat all. his eyes were small and set close together. his mouth was wide, his jaw prominent.not, in short, the sort of man you would have picked out on sight as a model citizen. his entrance was marked by a curious sibilantsound, which, on acquaintance, proved to be a whistled tune. during the interview whichfollowed, except when he was speaking, the visitor whistled softly and unceasingly.

"mr. windsor?" he said to the company at large. psmith waved a hand towards the rocking-chair."that," he said, "is comrade windsor. to your right is comrade jackson, england's favouriteson. i am psmith." the visitor blinked furtively, and whistledanother tune. as he looked round the room, his eye fell on the cat. his face lit up. "say!" he said, stepping forward, and touchingthe cat's collar, "mine, mister." "are you bat jarvis?" asked windsor with interest. "sure," said the visitor, not without a touchof complacency, as of a monarch abandoning his incognito.

for mr. jarvis was a celebrity. by profession he was a dealer in animals,birds, and snakes. he had a fancier's shop in groome street, in the heart of the bowery.this was on the ground-floor. his living abode was in the upper story of that house, andit was there that he kept the twenty-three cats whose necks were adorned with leathercollars, and whose numbers had so recently been reduced to twenty-two. but it was notthe fact that he possessed twenty-three cats with leather collars that made mr. jarvisa celebrity. a man may win a purely local reputation, ifonly for eccentricity, by such means. but mr. jarvis's reputation was far from beingpurely local. broadway knew him, and the tenderloin.

tammany hall knew him. long island city knewhim. in the underworld of new york his name was a by-word. for bat jarvis was the leaderof the famous groome street gang, the most noted of all new york's collections of apaches.more, he was the founder and originator of it. and, curiously enough, it had come intobeing from motives of sheer benevolence. in groome street in those days there had beena dance-hall, named the shamrock and presided over by one maginnis, an irishman and a friendof bat's. at the shamrock nightly dances were given and well attended by the youth of theneighbourhood at ten cents a head. all might have been well, had it not been for certainother youths of the neighbourhood who did not dance and so had to seek other means ofgetting rid of their surplus energy. it was

the practice of these light-hearted sportsmento pay their ten cents for admittance, and once in, to make hay. and this habit, mr.maginnis found, was having a marked effect on his earnings. for genuine lovers of thedance fought shy of a place where at any moment philistines might burst in and break headsand furniture. in this crisis the proprietor thought of his friend bat jarvis. bat at thattime had a solid reputation as a man of his hands. it is true that, as his detractorspointed out, he had killed no one—a defect which he had subsequently corrected; but hisadmirers based his claim to respect on his many meritorious performances with fists andwith the black-jack. and mr. maginnis for one held him in the very highest esteem. tobat accordingly he went, and laid his painful

case before him. he offered him a handsomesalary to be on hand at the nightly dances and check undue revelry by his own robustmethods. bat had accepted the offer. he had gone to shamrock hall; and with him, faithfuladherents, had gone such stalwarts as long otto, red logan, tommy jefferson, and petebrodie. shamrock hall became a place of joy and order; and—more important still—thenucleus of the groome street gang had been formed. the work progressed. off-shoots ofthe main gang sprang up here and there about the east side. small thieves, pickpocketsand the like, flocked to mr. jarvis as their tribal leader and protector and he protectedthem. for he, with his followers, were of use to the politicians. the new york gangs,and especially the groome street gang, have

brought to a fine art the gentle practiceof "repeating"; which, broadly speaking, is the art of voting a number of different timesat different polling-stations on election days. a man who can vote, say, ten times ina single day for you, and who controls a great number of followers who are also prepared,if they like you, to vote ten times in a single day for you, is worth cultivating. so thepoliticians passed the word to the police, and the police left the groome street gangunmolested and they waxed fat and flourished. such was bat jarvis. * * * "pipe de collar," said mr. jarvis, touchingthe cat's neck. "mine, mister."

"pugsy said it must be," said billy windsor."we found two fellows setting a dog on to it, so we took it in for safety." mr. jarvis nodded approval. "there's a basket here, if you want it," saidbilly. "nope. here, kit." mr. jarvis stooped, and, still whistling softly,lifted the cat. he looked round the company, met psmith's eye-glass, was transfixed byit for a moment, and finally turned again to billy windsor. "say!" he said, and paused. "obliged," headded.

he shifted the cat on to his left arm, andextended his right hand to billy. "shake!" he said. billy did so. mr. jarvis continued to stand and whistlefor a few moments more. "say!" he said at length, fixing his rovinggaze once more upon billy. "obliged. fond of de kit, i am."psmith nodded approvingly. "and rightly," he said. "rightly, comradejarvis. she is not unworthy of your affection. a most companionable animal, full of the highestspirits. her knockabout act in the restaurant would have satisfied the most jaded critic.no diner-out can afford to be without such

a cat. such a cat spells death to boredom." mr. jarvis eyed him fixedly, as if ponderingover his remarks. then he turned to billy again. "say!" he said. "any time you're in bad. gladto be of service. you know the address. groome street. bat jarvis.good night. obliged."he paused and whistled a few more bars, then nodded to psmith andmike, and left the room. they heard him shuffling downstairs."a blithe spirit," said psmith. "not garrulous, perhaps, but what of that? i am a man of fewwords myself. comrade jarvis's massive silences

appeal to me. he seems to have taken a fancyto you, comrade windsor." billy windsor laughed. "i don't know that he's just the sort of side-partneri'd go out of my way to choose, from what i've heard about him. still, if one got mixedup with any of that east-side crowd, he would be a mighty useful friend to have. i guessthere's no harm done by getting him grateful." "assuredly not," said psmith. "we should notdespise the humblest. and now, comrade windsor," he said, taking up the paper again, "let meconcentrate myself tensely on this very entertaining little journal of yours. comrade jackson,here is one for you. for sound, clear-headed criticism," he added to billy, "comrade jackson'sname is a by-word in our english literary

salons. his opinion will be both of interestand of profit to you, comrade windsor." chapter vplanning improvements "by the way," said psmith, "what is your exactposition on this paper? practically, we know well, you are its back-bone, its life-blood;but what is your technical position? when your proprietor is congratulating himselfon having secured the ideal man for your job, what precise job does he congratulate himselfon having secured the ideal man for?" "i'm sub-editor." "merely sub? you deserve a more responsiblepost than that, comrade windsor. where is your proprietor? i mustbuttonhole him and point

out to him what a wealth of talent he is allowingto waste itself. you must have scope.""he's in europe. at carlsbad, or somewhere. he never comes near the paper. he just sitstight and draws the profits. he lets the editor look after things. just at present i'm actingas editor." "ah! then at last you have your big chance.you are free, untrammelled." "you bet i'm not," said billy windsor. "guessagain. there's no room for developing free untrammelled ideas on this paper. when you'velooked at it, you'll see that each page is run by some one. i'm simply the fellow whominds the shop." psmith clicked his tongue sympathetically."it is like setting a gifted french chef to

wash up dishes," he said. "a man of your undoubtedpowers, comrade windsor, should have more scope. that is the cry, 'more scope!' i mustlook into this matter. when i gaze at your broad, bulging forehead, when i see the clearlight of intelligence in your eyes, and hear the grey matter splashing restlessly aboutin your cerebellum, i say to myself without hesitation, 'comrade windsor must have morescope.'" he looked at mike, who was turning over the leaves of his copy of cosy momentsin a sort of dull despair. "well, comrade jackson, and what is your verdict?" mike looked at billy windsor. he wished tobe polite, yet he could find nothing polite to say. billy interpreted the look.

"go on," he said. "say it. it can't be worsethan what i think." "i expect some people would like it awfully,"said mike. "they must, or they wouldn't buy it. i'venever met any of them yet, though." psmith was deep in luella granville waterman's"moments in the nursery." he turned to billy windsor."luella granville waterman," he said, "is not by any chance your nom-de-plume, comradewindsor?" "not on your life. don't think it." "i am glad," said psmith courteously. "for,speaking as man to man, i must confess that for sheer, concentratedbilge she gets away

with the biscuit with almost insolent ease.luella granville waterman must go.""how do you mean?" "she must go," repeated psmith firmly. "yourfirst act, now that you have swiped the editorial chair, must be to sack her." "but, say, i can't. the editor thinks a heapof her stuff." "we cannot help his troubles. we must actfor the good of the paper. moreover, you said, i think, that he was away?" "so he is. but he'll come back." "sufficient unto the day, comrade windsor.i have a suspicion that he will be the first

to approve your action. his holiday will havecleared his brain. make a note of improvement number one—the sacking of luella granvillewaterman." "i guess it'll be followed pretty quick byimprovement number two—the sacking of william windsor. i can't go monkeying about with thepaper that way." psmith reflected for a moment. "has this job of yours any special attractionsfor you, comrade windsor?""i guess not." "as i suspected. you yearn for scope. whatexactly are your ambitions?" "i want to get a job on one of the big dailies.i don't see how

i'm going to fix it, though, at the presentrate." psmith rose, and tapped him earnestly on thechest. "comrade windsor, you have touched the spot.you are wasting the golden hours of your youth. you must move. you must hustle. you must makewindsor of cosy moments a name to conjure with. you must boost this sheet up till newyork rings with your exploits. on the present lines that is impossible. you must strikeout a line for yourself. you must show the world that even cosy moments cannot keep agood man down." he resumed his seat. "how do you mean?" said billy windsor.

psmith turned to mike. "comrade jackson, if you were editing thispaper, is there a single feature you would willingly retain?" "i don't think there is," said mike. "it'sall pretty bad rot." "my opinion in a nutshell," said psmith, approvingly."comrade jackson," he explained, turning to billy, "has a secure reputation on the otherside for the keenness and lucidity of his views upon literature. you may safely buildupon him. in england when comrade jackson says 'turn' we all turn. now, my views onthe matter are as follows. cosy moments, in my opinion (worthless, were it not backedby such a virtuoso as comrade jackson), needs

more snap, more go. all these putrid pagesmust disappear. letters must be despatched to-morrow morning, informing luella granvillewaterman and the others (and in particular b. henderson asher, who from a cursory glancestrikes me as an ideal candidate for a lethal chamber) that, unless they cease their contributionsinstantly, you will be compelled to place yourself under police protection. after thatwe can begin to move." billy windsor sat and rocked himself in hischair without replying. he was trying to assimilate this idea. so far the grandeur of it had dazedhim. it was too spacious, too revolutionary. could it be done? it would undoubtedly meanthe sack when mr. j. fillken wilberfloss returned and found the apple of his eye torn asunderand, so to speak, deprived of its choicest

pips. on the other hand . . . his brow suddenlycleared. after all, what was the sack? one crowded hour of glorious life is worth anage without a name, and he would have no name as long as he clung to his present position.the editor would be away ten weeks. he would have ten weeks in which to try himself out.hope leaped within him. in ten weeks he could change cosy moments into a real live paper.he wondered that the idea had not occurred to him before. the trifling fact that thedespised journal was the property of mr. benjamin white, and that he had no right whatever totinker with it without that gentleman's approval, may have occurred to him, but, if it did,it occurred so momentarily that he did not notice it. in these crises one cannot thinkof everything.

"i'm on," he said, briefly. psmith smiled approvingly. "that," he said, "is the right spirit. youwill, i fancy, have little cause to regret your decision. fortunately, if i may say so,i happen to have a certain amount of leisure just now. it is at your disposal. i have hadlittle experience of journalistic work, but i foresee that i shall be a quick learner.i will become your sub-editor, without salary." "bully for you," said billy windsor. "comrade jackson," continued psmith, "is unhappilymore fettered. the exigencies of his cricket tour will compel him constantly to be gaddingabout, now to philadelphia, now to saskatchewan,

anon to onehorseville, ga. his services, therefore,cannot be relied upon continuously. from him, accordingly, we shall expect little but moralsupport. an occasional congratulatory telegram. now and then a bright smile of approval. thebulk of the work will devolve upon our two selves." "let it devolve," said billy windsor, enthusiastically. "assuredly," said psmith. "and now to decideupon our main scheme. you, of course, are the editor, and my suggestions are merelysuggestions, subject to your approval. but, briefly, my idea is that cosy moments shouldbecome red-hot stuff. i could wish its tone to be such that the public will wonder whywe do not print it on asbestos. we must chronicle

all the live events of the day, murders, fires,and the like in a manner which will make our readers' spines thrill. above all, we mustbe the guardians of the people's rights. we must be a search-light, showing up the darkspot in the souls of those who would endeavour in any way to do the people in the eye. wemust detect the wrong-doer, and deliver him such a series of resentful buffs that he willabandon his little games and become a model citizen. the details of the campaign we mustthink out after, but i fancy that, if we follow those main lines, we shall produce a bright,readable little sheet which will in a measure make this city sit up and take notice. areyou with me, comrade windsor?" "surest thing you know," said billy with fervour.

chapter vithe tenements to alter the scheme of a weekly from cover to cover is not a task that is completed withoutwork. the dismissal of cosy moments' entire staff of contributors left a gap in the paperwhich had to be filled, and owing to the nearness of press day there was no time to fill itbefore the issue of the next number. the editorial staff had to be satisfied with heading everypage with the words "look out! look out!! look out!!! see foot of page!!!!" printingin the space at the bottom the legend, "next week! see editorial!" and compiling in conjunctiona snappy editorial, setting forth the proposed changes. this was largely the work of psmith.

"comrade jackson," he said to mike, as theyset forth one evening in search of their new flat, "i fancy i have found my metier. commerce,many considered, was the line i should take; and doubtless, had i stuck to that walk inlife, i should soon have become a financial magnate. but something seemed to whisper tome, even in the midst of my triumphs in the new asiatic bank, that there were other fields.for the moment it seems to me that i have found the job for which nature specially designedme. at last i have scope. and without scope, where are we? wedged tightly in among theribstons. there are some very fine passages in that editorial. the last paragraph, beginning'cosy moments cannot be muzzled,' in particular. i like it. it strikes the right note. it shouldstir the blood of a free and independent people

till they sit in platoons on the doorstepof our office, waiting for the next number to appear." "how about that next number?" asked mike."are you and windsor going to fill the whole paper yourselves?" "by no means. it seems that comrade windsorknows certain stout fellows, reporters on other papers, who will be delighted to weighin with stuff for a moderate fee." "how about luella what's-her-name and theothers? how have they taken it?" "up to the present we have no means of ascertaining.the letters giving them the miss-in-baulk in no uncertain voice were only despatchedyesterday. but it cannot affect us how they

writhe beneath the blow. there is no reprieve." mike roared with laughter. "it's the rummiest business i ever struck,"he said. "i'm jolly glad it's not my paper. it's pretty lucky for you two lunatics thatthe proprietor's in europe." psmith regarded him with pained surprise. "i do not understand you, comrade jackson.do you insinuate that we are not acting in the proprietor's best interests? when he seesthe receipts, after we have handled the paper for a while, he will go singing about hishotel. his beaming smile will be a by-word in carlsbad. visitors will be shown it asone of the sights. his only doubt will be

whether to send his money to the bank or keepit in tubs and roll in it. we are on to a big thing, comrade jackson. wait till yousee our first number." "and how about the editor? i should thinkthat first number would bring him back foaming at the mouth." "i have ascertained from comrade windsor thatthere is nothing to fear from that quarter. by a singular stroke of good fortune comradewilberfloss—his name is wilberfloss—has been ordered complete rest during his holiday.the kindly medico, realising the fearful strain inflicted by reading cosy moments in its oldform, specifically mentioned that the paper was to be withheld from him until he returned."

"and when he does return, what are you goingto do?" "by that time, doubtless, the paper will bein so flourishing a state that he will confess how wrong his own methods were and adopt ourswithout a murmur. in the meantime, comrade jackson, i would call your attention to thefact that we seem to have lost our way. in the exhilaration of this little chat, ourfootsteps have wandered. where we are, goodness only knows. i can only say that i shouldn'tcare to have to live here." "there's a name up on the other side of thatlamp-post." "let us wend in that direction. ah, pleasantstreet? i fancy that the master-mind who chose that name must have had the rudiments of asense of humour."

it was indeed a repellent neighbourhood inwhich they had arrived. the new york slum stands in a class of its own. it is unique.the height of the houses and the narrowness of the streets seem to condense its unpleasantness.all the smells and noises, which are many and varied, are penned up in a sort of canyon,and gain in vehemence from the fact. the masses of dirty clothes hanging from the fire-escapesincrease the depression. nowhere in the city does one realise so fully the disadvantagesof a lack of space. new york, being an island, has had no room to spread. it is a town ofhuman sardines. in the poorer quarters the congestion is unbelievable. psmith and mike picked their way through thegroups of ragged children who covered the

roadway. there seemed to be thousands of them. "poor kids!" said mike. "it must be awfulliving in a hole like this." psmith said nothing. he was looking thoughtful.he glanced up at the grimy buildings on each side. on the lower floors one could see intodark, bare rooms. these were the star apartments of the tenement-houses, for they opened onto the street, and so got a little light and air. the imagination jibbed at the thoughtof the back rooms. "i wonder who owns these places," said psmith."it seems to me that there's what you might call room for improvement. it wouldn't bea scaly idea to turn that cosy moments search-light we were talking about on to them."

they walked on a few steps. "look here," said psmith, stopping. "thisplace makes me sick. i'm going in to have a look round. i expect some muscular householderwill resent the intrusion and boot us out, but we'll risk it." followed by mike, he turned in at one of thedoors. a group of men leaning against the opposite wall looked atthem without curiosity. probably they took them for reporters huntingfor a story. reporters were the only tolerably well-dressedvisitors pleasant street ever entertained.it was almost pitch dark on the stairs. they

had to feel their way up. most of the doorswere shut but one on the second floor was ajar. through the opening they had a glimpseof a number of women sitting round on boxes. the floor was covered with little heaps oflinen. all the women were sewing. mike, stumbling in the darkness, almost fell against the door.none of the women looked up at the noise. time was evidently money in pleasant street. on the fourth floor there was an open door.the room was empty. it was a good representative pleasant street back room. the architect inthis case had given rein to a passion for originality. he had constructed the room withouta window of any sort whatsoever. there was a square opening in the door. through this,it was to be presumed, the entire stock of

air used by the occupants was supposed tocome. they stumbled downstairs again and out intothe street. by contrast with the conditions indoors the street seemed spacious and breezy. "this," said psmith, as they walked on, "iswhere cosy moments gets busy at a singularly early date." "what are you going to do?" asked mike. "i propose, comrade jackson," said psmith,"if comrade windsor is agreeable, to make things as warm for the owner of this placeas i jolly well know how. what he wants, of course," he proceeded in the tone of a familydoctor prescribing for a patient, "is disembowelling.

i fancy, however, that a mawkishly sentimentallegislature will prevent our performing that national service. we must endeavour to dowhat we can by means of kindly criticism in the paper. and now, having settled that importantpoint, let us try and get out of this place of wrath, and find fourth avenue." chapter viivisitors at the office on the following morning mike had to leavewith the team for philadelphia. psmith came down to the ferry to see him off, and hungabout moodily until the time of departure. "it is saddening me to a great extent, comradejackson," he said, "this perpetual parting of the ways. when i think of the happy momentswe have spent hand-in-hand across the seas,

it fills me with a certain melancholy to haveyou flitting off in this manner without me. yet there is another side to the picture.to me there is something singularly impressive in our unhesitating reply to the calls ofduty. your duty summons you to philadelphia, to knock the cover off the local bowling.mine retains me here, to play my part in the great work of making new york sit up. by thetime you return, with a century or two, i trust, in your bag, the good work should,i fancy, be getting something of a move on. i will complete the arrangements with regardto the flat." after leaving pleasant street they had foundfourth avenue by a devious route, and had opened negotiations for a large flat nearthirtieth street. it was immediately above

a saloon, which was something of a drawback,but the landlord had assured them that the voices of the revellers did not penetrateto it. when the ferry-boat had borne mike off acrossthe river, psmith turned to stroll to the office of cosy moments. the day was fine,and on the whole, despite mike's desertion, he felt pleased with life. psmith's was anature which required a certain amount of stimulus in the way of gentle excitement;and it seemed to him that the conduct of the remodelled cosy moments might supply this.he liked billy windsor, and looked forward to a not unenjoyable time till mike shouldreturn. the offices of cosy moments were in a largebuilding in the street off madison avenue.

they consisted of a sort of outer lair, wherepugsy maloney spent his time reading tales of life in the prairies and heading off undesirablevisitors; a small room, which would have belonged to the stenographer if cosy moments had possessedone; and a larger room beyond, which was the editorial sanctum. as psmith passed through the front door, pugsymaloney rose. "say!" said master maloney. "say on, comrade maloney," said psmith. "dey're in dere." "who, precisely?"

"a whole bunch of dem." psmith inspected master maloney through hiseye-glass. "can you give me any particulars?" he asked patiently. "you are well-meaning,but vague, comrade maloney. who are in there?" "de whole bunch of dem. dere's mr. asher andthe rev. philpotts and a gazebo what calls himself waterman and about 'steen more ofdem." a faint smile appeared upon psmith's face. "and is comrade windsor in there, too, inthe middle of them?" "nope. mr. windsor's out to lunch." "comrade windsor knows his business. why didyou let them in?"

"sure, dey just butted in," said master maloneycomplainingly. "i was sittin' here, readin' me book, when de foist of de guys blew in.'boy,' says he, 'is de editor in?' 'nope,' i says. 'i'll go in an' wait,' says he. 'nuttin'doin',' says i. 'nix on de goin' in act.' i might as well have saved me breat'. in hebutts, and he's in der now. well, in about t'ree minutes along comes another gazebo.'boy,' says he, 'is de editor in?' 'nope,' i says. 'i'll wait,' says he lightin' outfor de door. wit dat i sees de proposition's too fierce for muh. i can't keep dese bighusky guys out if dey's for buttin' in. so when de rest of de bunch comes along, i don'ttry to give dem de t'run down. i says, 'well, gents,' i says, 'it's up to youse. de editorain't in, but if youse wants to join de giddy

t'rong, push t'roo inter de inner room. ican't be boddered.'" "and what more could you have said?" agreedpsmith approvingly. "tell me, comrade maloney, what was the general average aspect of thesedetermined spirits?" "did they seem to you to be gay, lighthearted?did they carol snatches of song as they went? or did they appear to be looking for someone with a hatchet?" "dey was hoppin'-mad, de whole bunch of dem." "as i suspected. but we must not repine, comrademaloney. these trifling contretemps are the penalties we pay for our high journalisticaims. i will interview these merchants. i fancy that with the aid of the diplomaticsmile and the honeyed word i may manage to

pull through. it is as well, perhaps, thatcomrade windsor is out. the situation calls for the handling of a man of delicate cultureand nice tact. comrade windsor would probably have endeavoured to clear the room with achair. if he should arrive during the seance, comrade maloney, be so good as to inform himof the state of affairs, and tell him not to come in. give him my compliments, and tellhim to go out and watch the snowdrops growing in madison square garden." then psmith, having smoothed the nap of hishat and flicked a speck of dust from his coat-sleeve, walked to the door of the inner room and wentin. chapter viiithe

honeyed wordmaster maloney's statement that "about 'steen visitors" had arrived in addition to messrs.asher, waterman, and the rev. philpotts proved to have been due to a great extent to a somewhatfeverish imagination. there were only five men in the room. as psmith entered, every eye was turned uponhim. to an outside spectator he would have seemed rather like a very well-dressed danielintroduced into a den of singularly irritable lions. five pairs of eyes were smoulderingwith a long-nursed resentment. five brows were corrugated with wrathful lines. such,however, was the simple majesty of psmith's demeanour that for a moment there was deadsilence. not a word was spoken as he paced,

wrapped in thought, to the editorial chair.stillness brooded over the room as he carefully dusted that piece of furniture, and, havingdone so to his satisfaction, hitched up the knees of his trousers and sank gracefullyinto a sitting position. this accomplished, he looked up and started.he gazed round the room. "ha! i am observed!" he murmured. the words broke the spell. instantly, thefive visitors burst simultaneously into speech. "are you the acting editor of this paper?" "i wish to have a word with you, sir." "mr. windsor, i presume?"

"pardon me!" "i should like a few moments' conversation." the start was good and even; but the gentlemanwho said "pardon me!" necessarily finished first with the rest nowhere. psmith turned to him, bowed, and fixed himwith a benevolent gaze through his eye-glass. "are you mr. windsor, sir, may i ask?" inquiredthe favoured one. the others paused for the reply. "alas! no," said psmith with manly regret. "then who are you?"

"i am psmith." there was a pause. "where is mr. windsor?" "he is, i fancy, champing about forty cents'worth of lunch at some neighbouring hostelry." "when will he return?" "anon. but how much anon i fear i cannot say." the visitors looked at each other. "this is exceedingly annoying," said the manwho had said "pardon me!" "i came for the express purpose of seeing mr. windsor."

"so did i," chimed in the rest. "same here.so did i." psmith bowed courteously. "comrade windsor's loss is my gain. is thereanything i can do for you?" "are you on the editorial staff of this paper?" "i am acting sub-editor. the work is not light,"added psmith gratuitously. "sometimes the cry goes round, 'can psmith get through itall? will his strength support his unquenchable spirit?' but i stagger on. i do not repine." "then maybe you can tell me what all thismeans?" said a small round gentleman who so far had done only chorus work.

"if it is in my power to do so, it shall bedone, comrade—i have not the pleasure of your name." "my name is waterman, sir. i am here on behalfof my wife, whose name you doubtless know." "correct me if i am wrong," said psmith, "buti should say it, also, was waterman." "luella granville waterman, sir," said thelittle man proudly. psmith removed his eye-glass, polished it, and replaced it in his eye. hefelt that he must run no risk of not seeing clearly the husband of one who, in his opinion,stood alone in literary circles as a purveyor of sheer bilge. "my wife," continued the little man, producingan envelope and handing it to psmith, "has

received this extraordinary communicationfrom a man signing himself w. windsor. we are both at a loss to make head or tail ofit." psmith was reading the letter. "it seems reasonably clear to me," he said. "it is an outrage. my wife has been a contributorto this journal from its foundation. her work has given every satisfaction to mr. wilberfloss.and now, without the slightest warning, comes this peremptory dismissal from w. windsor.who is w. windsor? where is mr. wilberfloss?" the chorus burst forth. it seemed that thatwas what they all wanted to know: who was w. windsor? where was mr. wilberfloss?

"i am the reverend edwin t. philpotts, sir,"said a cadaverous-looking man with pale blue eyes and a melancholy face. "i have contributed'moments of meditation' to this journal for a very considerable period of time." "i have read your page with the keenest interest,"said psmith. "i may be wrong, but yours seems to me work which the world will not willinglylet die." the reverend edwin's frosty face thawed intoa bleak smile. "and yet," continued psmith, "i gather thatcomrade windsor, on the other hand, actually wishes to hurry on its decease. it is thesestrange contradictions, these clashings of personal taste, which make up what we calllife. here we have, on the one hand—"

a man with a face like a walnut, who had hithertolurked almost unseen behind a stout person in a serge suit, bobbed into the open, andspoke his piece. "where's this fellow windsor? w. windsor.that's the man we want to see. i've been working for this paper without a break, except wheni had the mumps, for four years, and i've reason to know that my page was as widelyread and appreciated as any in new york. and now up comes this windsor fellow, if you please,and tells me in so many words the paper's got no use for me." "these are life's tragedies," murmured psmith. "what's he mean by it? that's what i wantto know. and that's what these gentlemen want

to know—see here—" "i am addressing—?" said psmith. "asher's my name. b. henderson asher. i write'moments of mirth.'" a look almost of excitement came into psmith'sface, such a look as a visitor to a foreign land might wear when confronted with somegreat national monument. that he should be privileged to look upon the author of "momentsof mirth" in the flesh, face to face, was almost too much. "comrade asher," he said reverently, "mayi shake your hand?" the other extended his hand with some suspicion.

"your 'moments of mirth,'" said psmith, shakingit, "have frequently reconciled me to the toothache." he reseated himself. "gentlemen," he said, "this is a painful case.the circumstances, as you will readily admit when you have heard all, are peculiar. youhave asked me where mr. wilberfloss is. i do not know." "you don't know!" exclaimed mr. waterman. "i don't know. you don't know. they," saidpsmith, indicating the rest with a wave of the hand, "don't know. nobody knows. his localityis as hard to ascertain as that of a black

cat in a coal-cellar on a moonless night.shortly before i joined this journal, mr. wilberfloss, by his doctor's orders, startedout on a holiday, leaving no address. no letters were to be forwarded. he was to enjoy completerest. where is he now? who shall say? possibly legging it down some rugged slope in the rockies,with two bears and a wild cat in earnest pursuit. possibly in the midst of some florida everglade,making a noise like a piece of meat in order to snare crocodiles. possibly in canada, baitingmoose-traps. we have no data." silent consternation prevailed among the audience.finally the rev. edwin t. philpotts was struck with an idea."where is mr. white?" he asked. the point was well received.

"yes, where's mr. benjamin white?" chorusedthe rest. psmith shook his head. "in europe. i cannot say more." the audience's consternation deepened. "then, do you mean to say," demanded mr. asher,"that this fellow windsor's the boss here, that what he saysgoes?" psmith bowed. "with your customary clear-headedness, comradeasher, you have got home on the bull's-eye first pop. comrade windsor is indeed the boss.a man of intensely masterful character, he

will brook no opposition. i am powerless tosway him. suggestions from myself as to the conduct of the paper would infuriate him.he believes that radical changes are necessary in the programme of cosy moments, and he meansto put them through if it snows. doubtless he would gladly consider your work if it fittedin with his ideas. a snappy account of a glove-fight, a spine-shaking word-picture of a railwaysmash, or something on those lines, would be welcomed. but—" "i have never heard of such a thing," saidmr. waterman indignantly. psmith sighed. "some time ago," he said, "—how long itseems!—i remember saying to a young friend

of mine of the name of spiller, 'comrade spiller,never confuse the unusual with the impossible.' it is my guiding rule in life. it is unusualfor the substitute-editor of a weekly paper to do a captain kidd act and take entire commandof the journal on his own account; but is it impossible? alas no. comrade windsor hasdone it. that is where you, comrade asher, and you, gentlemen, have landed yourselvessquarely in the broth. you have confused the unusual with the impossible." "but what is to be done?" cried mr. asher. "i fear that there is nothing to be done,except wait. the present rã©gime is but an experiment. it may be that when comrade wilberfloss,having dodged the bears and eluded the wild

cat, returns to his post at the helm of thisjournal, he may decide not to continue on the lines at present mapped out. he shouldbe back in about ten weeks." "ten weeks!" "i fancy that was to be the duration of hisholiday. till then my advice to you gentlemen is to wait. you may rely on me to keep a watchfuleye upon your interests. when your thoughts tend to take a gloomy turn, say to yourselves,'all is well. psmith is keeping a watchful eye upon our interests.'" "all the same, i should like to see this w.windsor," said mr. asher.psmith shook his head.

"i shouldn't," he said. "i speak in your bestinterests. comrade windsor is a man of the fiercest passions. he cannot brook interference.were you to question the wisdom of his plans, there is no knowing what might not happen.he would be the first to regret any violent action, when once he had cooled off, but wouldthat be any consolation to his victim? i think not. of course, if you wish it, i could arrangea meeting—" mr. asher said no, he thought it didn't matter. "i guess i can wait," he said. "that," said psmith approvingly, "is the rightspirit. wait. that is the watch-word. and now," he added, rising, "i wonder if a bitof lunch somewhere might not be a good thing?

we have had an interesting but fatiguing littlechat. our tissues require restoring. if you gentlemen would care to join me—" ten minutes later the company was seated incomplete harmony round a table at the knickerbocker. psmith, with the dignified bonhomie of a seigneurof the old school, was ordering the wine; while b. henderson asher, brimming over withgood-humour, was relating to an attentive circle an anecdote which should have appearedin his next instalment of "moments of mirth." chapter ixfull steam ahead when psmith returned to the office, he foundbilly windsor in the doorway, just parting

from a thick-set young man, who seemed tobe expressing his gratitude to the editor for some good turn. he was shaking him warmlyby the hand. psmith stood aside to let him pass. "an old college chum, comrade windsor?" heasked. "that was kid brady." "the name is unfamiliar to me. another contributor?" "he's from my part of the country—wyoming.he wants to fight any one in the world at a hundred and thirty-three pounds." "we all have our hobbies. comrade brady appearsto have selected a somewhat exciting one.

he would find stamp-collecting less exacting." "it hasn't given him much excitement so far,poor chap," said billy windsor. "he's in the championship class, and here he has been potteringabout new york for a month without being able to get a fight. it's always the way in thisrotten east," continued billy, warming up as was his custom when discussing a case ofoppression and injustice. "it's all graft here. you've got to let half a dozen brutesdip into every dollar you earn, or you don't get a chance. if the kid had a manager, he'dget all the fights he wanted. and the manager would get nearly all the money. i've toldhim that we will back him up." "you have hit it, comrade windsor," said psmithwith enthusiasm. "cosy moments shall be comrade

brady's manager. we will give him a much-neededboost up in our columns. a sporting section is what the paper requires more than anything." "if things go on as they've started, whatit will require still more will be a fighting-editor. pugsy tells me you had visitors while i wasout." "a few," said psmith. "one or two very entertainingfellows. comrades asher, philpotts, and others. i have just been giving them a bite of lunchat the knickerbocker." "lunch!" "a most pleasant little lunch. we are nowas brothers. i fear i have made you perhaps a shade unpopular with our late contributors;but these things must be. we must clench our

teeth and face them manfully. if i were you,i think i should not drop in at the house of comrade asher and the rest to take pot-luckfor some little time to come. in order to soothe the squad i was compelled to curseyou to some extent." "don't mind me." "i think i may say i didn't." "say, look here, you must charge up the priceof that lunch to the office. necessary expenses, you know." "i could not dream of doing such a thing,comrade windsor. the whole affair was a great treat to me. i have few pleasures. comradeasher alone was worth the money. i found his

society intensely interesting. i have alwaysbelieved in the darwinian theory. comrade asher confirmed my views." they went into the inner office. psmith removedhis hat and coat. "and now once more to work," he said. "psmiththe flaneur of fifth avenue ceases to exist. in his place we findpsmith the hard-headed sub-editor. be so good as to indicate a jobof work for me, comrade windsor. i am champing at my bit."billy windsor sat down, and lit his pipe. "what we want most," he said thoughtfully,"is some big topic. that's the only way to get a paper going. look at everybody's magazine.they didn't amount to a row of beans till

lawson started his 'frenzied finance' articles.directly they began, the whole country was squealing for copies. everybody's put up theirprice from ten to fifteen cents, and now they lead the field." "the country must squeal for cosy moments,"said psmith firmly. "i fancy i have a scheme which may not prove wholly scaly. wanderingyesterday with comrade jackson in a search for fourth avenue, i happened upon a spotcalled pleasant street. do you know it?" billy windsor nodded. "i went down there once or twice when i wasa reporter. it's a beastly place." "it is a singularly beastly place. we wentinto one of the houses."

"they're pretty bad." "who owns them?" "i don't know. probably some millionaire.those tenement houses are about as paying an investment as you can have." "hasn't anybody ever tried to do anythingabout them?" "not so far as i know. it's pretty difficultto get at these fellows, you see. but they're fierce, aren't they, those houses!" "what," asked psmith, "is the precise difficultyof getting at these merchants?" "well, it's this way. there are all sortsof laws about the places, but any one who

wants can get round them as easy as fallingoff a log. the law says a tenement house is a building occupied by more than two families.well, when there's a fuss, all the man has to do is to clear out all the families buttwo. then, when the inspector fellow comes along, and says, let's say, 'where's yourrunning water on each floor? that's what the law says you've got to have, and here arethese people having to go downstairs and out of doors to fetch their water supplies,' thelandlord simply replies, 'nothing doing. this isn't a tenement house at all. there are onlytwo families here.' and when the fuss has blown over, back come the rest of the crowd,and things go on the same as before." "i see," said psmith. "a very cheery scheme."

"then there's another thing. you can't gethold of the man who's really responsible, unless you're prepared to spend thousandsferreting out evidence. the land belongs in the first place to some corporation or other.they lease it to a lessee. when there's a fuss, they say they aren't responsible, it'sup to the lessee. and he lies so low that you can't find out who he is. it's all justlike the east. everything in the east is as crooked as pearl street. if you want a squaredeal, you've got to come out wyoming way." "the main problem, then," said psmith, "appearsto be the discovery of the lessee, lad? surely a powerful organ like cosy moments, with itsvast ramifications, could bring off a thing like that?"

"i doubt it. we'll try, anyway. there's noknowing but what we may have luck." "precisely," said psmith. "full steam ahead,and trust to luck. the chances are that, if we go on long enough, we shall eventuallyarrive somewhere. after all, columbus didn't know that america existed when he set out.all he knew was some highly interesting fact about an egg. what that was, i do not at themoment recall, but it bucked columbus up like a tonic. it made him fizz ahead like a two-year-old.the facts which will nerve us to effort are two. in the first place, we know that theremust be some one at the bottom of the business. secondly, as there appears to be no law oflibel whatsoever in this great and free country, we shall be enabled to haul up our slackswith a considerable absence of restraint."

"sure," said billy windsor. "which of us isgoing to write the first article?" "you may leave it to me, comrade windsor.i am no hardened old journalist, i fear, but i have certain qualifications for the post.a young man once called at the office of a certain newspaper, and asked for a job. 'haveyou any special line?' asked the editor. 'yes,' said the bright lad, 'i am rather good atinvective.' 'any special kind of invective?' queried the man up top. 'no,' replied ourhero, 'just general invective.' such is my own case, comrade windsor. i am a very fairpurveyor of good, general invective. and as my visit to pleasant street is of such recentdate, i am tolerably full of my subject. taking full advantage of the benevolent laws of thiscountry governing libel, i fancy i will produce

a screed which will make this anonymous lesseefeel as if he had inadvertently seated himself upon a tin-tack. give me pen and paper, comradewindsor, instruct comrade maloney to suspend his whistling till such time as i am betterable to listen to it; and i think we have got a success." chapter xgoing some there was once an editor of a paper in thefar west who was sitting at his desk, musing pleasantly of life, when a bullet crashedthrough the window and embedded itself in the wall at the back of his head. a happysmile lit up the editor's face. "ah," he said complacently, "i knew that personal columnof ours was going to be a success!"

what the bullet was to the far west editor,the visit of mr. francis parker to the offices of cosy momentswas to billy windsor. it occurred in the third week of the new rã©gimeof the paper. cosy moments, under its new management, had bounded ahead like a motor-carwhen the throttle is opened. incessant work had been the order of the day. billy windsor'shair had become more dishevelled than ever, and even psmith had at moments lost a certainamount of his dignified calm. sandwiched in between the painful case of kid brady andthe matter of the tenements, which formed the star items of the paper's contents, wasa mass of bright reading dealing with the events of the day. billy windsor's newspaperfriends had turned in some fine, snappy stuff

in their best yellow journal manner, relatingto the more stirring happenings in the city. psmith, who had constituted himself guardianof the literary and dramatic interests of the paper, had employed his gift of generalinvective to considerable effect, as was shown by a conversation between master maloney anda visitor one morning, heard through the open door. "i wish to see the editor of this paper,"said the visitor. "editor not in," said master maloney, untruthfully. "ha! then when he returns i wish you to givehim a message." "i am aubrey bodkin, of the national theatre.give him my compliments, and tell him that

mr. bodkin does not lightly forget." an unsolicited testimonial which caused psmiththe keenest satisfaction. the section of the paper devoted to kid bradywas attractive to all those with sporting blood in them. each week there appeared inthe same place on the same page a portrait of the kid, looking moody and important, inan attitude of self-defence, and under the portrait the legend, "jimmy garvin must meetthis boy." jimmy was the present holder of the light-weight title. he had won it a yearbefore, and since then had confined himself to smoking cigars as long as walking-sticksand appearing nightly as the star in a music-hall sketch entitled "a fight for honour." hisreminiscences were appearing weekly in a sunday

paper. it was this that gave psmith the ideaof publishing kid brady's autobiography in cosy moments, an idea which made the kid hisdevoted adherent from then on. like most pugilists, the kid had a passion for bursting into print,and his life had been saddened up to the present by the refusal of the press to publish hisreminiscences. to appear in print is the fighter's accolade. it signifies that he has arrived.psmith extended the hospitality of page four of cosy moments to kid brady, and the latterleaped at the chance. he was grateful to psmith for not editing his contributions. other pugilists,contributing to other papers, groaned under the supervision of a member of the staff whocut out their best passages and altered the rest into addisonian english. the readersof cosy moments got kid brady raw.

"comrade brady," said psmith to billy, "hasa singularly pure and pleasing style. it is bound to appeal powerfully to the many-headed.listen to this bit. our hero is fighting battling jack benson in that eminent artist's nativetown of louisville, and the citizens have given their native son the approving hand,while receiving comrade brady with chilly silence. here is the kid on the subject: 'ilooked around that house, and i seen i hadn't a friend in it. and then the gong goes, andi says to myself how i has one friend, my poor old mother way out in wyoming, and igoes in and mixes it, and then i seen benson losing his goat, so i ups with an awful half-scissorhook to the plexus, and in the next round i seen benson has a chunk of yellow, and igets in with a hay-maker and i picks up another

sleep-producer from the floor and hands ithim, and he takes the count all right.' . . crisp, lucid, and to the point. that is what thepublic wants. if this does not bring comrade garvin up to the scratch, nothing will." but the feature of the paper was the "tenement"series. it was late summer now, and there was nothing much going on in new york. thepublic was consequently free to take notice. the sale of cosy moments proceeded briskly.as psmith had predicted, the change of policy had the effect of improving the sales to amarked extent. letters of complaint from old subscribers poured into the office daily.but, as billy windsor complacently remarked, they had paid their subscriptions, so thatthe money was safe whether they read the paper

or not. and, meanwhile, a large new publichad sprung up and was growing every week. advertisements came trooping in. cosy moments,in short, was passing through an era of prosperity undreamed of in its history. "young blood," said psmith nonchalantly, "youngblood. that is the secret. a paper must keep up to date, or it falls behind its competitorsin the race. comrade wilberfloss's methods were possibly sound, but too limited and archaic.they lacked ginger. we of the younger generation have our fingers more firmly on the publicpulse. we read off the public's unspoken wishes as if by intuition. we know the game froma to z." at this moment master maloney entered, bearingin his hand a card.

"'francis parker'?" said billy, taking it."don't know him." "nor i," said psmith. "we make new friendsdaily." "he's a guy with a tall-shaped hat," volunteeredmaster maloney, "an' he's wearin' a dude suit an' shiny shoes." "comrade parker," said psmith approvingly,"has evidently not been blind to the importance of a visit to cosy moments. he has dressedhimself in his best. he has felt, rightly, that this is no occasion for the old strawhat and the baggy flannels. i would not have it otherwise. it is the right spirit. shallwe give him audience, comrade windsor?" "i wonder what he wants."

"that," said psmith, "we shall ascertain moreclearly after a personal interview. comrade maloney, show the gentleman in. we can givehim three and a quarter minutes." pugsy withdrew. mr. francis parker proved to be a man whomight have been any age between twenty-five and thirty-five. he had a smooth, clean-shavenface, and a cat-like way of moving. as pugsy had stated in effect, he wore a tail-coat,trousers with a crease which brought a smile of kindly approval to psmith's face, and patent-leatherboots of pronounced shininess. gloves and a tall hat, which he carried, completed animpressive picture. he moved softly into the room.

"i wished to see the editor." psmith waved a hand towards billy. "the treat has not been denied you," he said."before you is comrade windsor, the wyoming cracker-jack. he is our editor. i myself—iam psmith—though but a subordinate, may also claim the title in a measure. technically,i am but a sub-editor; but such is the mutual esteem in which comrade windsor and i holdeach other that we may practically be said to be inseparable. we have no secrets fromeach other. you may address us both impartially. will you sit for a space?" he pushed a chair towards the visitor, whoseated himself with the care inspired by a

perfect trouser-crease. there was a momentarysilence while he selected a spot on the table on which to place his hat. "the style of the paper has changed greatly,has it not, during the past few weeks?" he said. "i have never been, shall i say, a constantreader of cosy moments, and i may be wrong. but is not its interest in current affairsa recent development?" "you are very right," responded psmith. "comradewindsor, a man of alert and restless temperament, felt that a change was essential if cosy momentswas to lead public thought. comrade wilberfloss's methods were good in their way. i have noquarrel with comrade wilberfloss. but he did not lead public thought. he catered exclusivelyfor children with water on the brain, and

men and women with solid ivory skulls. comradewindsor, with a broader view, feels that there are other and larger publics. he refuses tocontent himself with ladling out a weekly dole of mental predigested breakfast food.he provides meat. he—" "then—excuse me—" said mr. parker, turningto billy, "you, i take it, are responsible for this very vigorous attack on the tenement-houseowners?" "you can take it i am," said billy. psmith interposed. "we are both responsible, comrade parker.if any husky guy, as i fancy master maloney would phrase it, is anxious to aim a swiftkick at the man behind those articles, he

must distribute it evenly between comradewindsor and myself." "i see." mr. parker paused. "they are—er—veryoutspoken articles," he added. "warm stuff," agreed psmith. "distinctly warmstuff." "may i speak frankly?" said mr. parker. "assuredly, comrade parker. there must beno secrets, no restraint between us. we would not have you go away and say to yourself,'did i make my meaning clear? was i too elusive?' say on." "i am speaking in your best interests." "who would doubt it, comrade parker. nothinghas buoyed us up more strongly during the

hours of doubt through which we have passedthan the knowledge that you wish us well." billy windsor suddenly became militant. therewas a feline smoothness about the visitor which had been jarring upon him ever sincehe first spoke. billy was of the plains, the home of blunt speech, where you looked yourman in the eye and said it quick. mr. parker was too bland for human consumption. he offendedbilly's honest soul. "see here," cried he, leaning forward, "what'sit all about? let's have it. if you've anything to say about those articles, say it rightout. never mind our best interests. we can look after them. let's have what's worryingyou." psmith waved a deprecating hand.

"do not let us be abrupt on this happy occasion.to me it is enough simply to sit and chat with comrade parker, irrespective of the trendof his conversation. still, as time is money, and this is our busy day, possibly it mightbe as well, sir, if you unburdened yourself as soon as convenient. have you come to pointout some flaw in those articles? do they fall short in any way of your standard for suchwork?" mr. parker's smooth face did not change itsexpression, but he came to the point. "i should not go on with them if i were you,"he said. "why?" demanded billy. "there are reasons why you should not," saidmr. parker.

"and there are reasons why we should." "less powerful ones." there proceeded from billy a noise not describablein words. it was partly a snort, partly a growl. it resembled more than anything elsethe preliminary sniffing snarl a bull-dog emits before he joins battle. billy's cow-boyblood was up. he was rapidly approaching the state of mind in which the men of the plains,finding speech unequal to the expression of their thoughts, reach for their guns. psmith intervened. "we do not completely gather your meaning,comrade parker. i fear we must ask you to

hand it to us with still more breezy frankness.do you speak from purely friendly motives? are you advising us to discontinue the articlesmerely because you fear that they will damage our literary reputation? or are there otherreasons why you feel that they should cease? do you speak solely as a literary connoisseur?is it the style or the subject-matter of which you disapprove?" mr. parker leaned forward. "the gentleman whom i represent—" "then this is no matter of your own personaltaste? you are an emissary?" "these articles are causing a certain inconvenienceto the gentleman whom i represent. or, rather,

he feels that, if continued, they may do so." "you mean," broke in billy explosively, "thatif we kick up enough fuss to make somebody start a commission to inquire into this rottenbusiness, your friend who owns the private hades we're trying to get improved, will haveto get busy and lose some of his money by making the houses fit to live in? is thatit?" "it is not so much the money, mr. windsor,though, of course, the expense would be considerable. my employer is a wealthy man." "i bet he is," said billy disgustedly. "i'veno doubt he makes a mighty good pile out of pleasant street."

"it is not so much the money," repeated mr.parker, "as the publicity involved. i speak quite frankly. there are reasons why my employerwould prefer not to come before the public just now as the owner of the pleasant streetproperty. i need not go into those reasons. it is sufficient to say that they are strongones." "well, he knows what to do, i guess. the momenthe starts in to make those houses decent, the articles stop. it's up to him." psmith nodded. "comrade windsor is correct. he has hit themark and rung the bell. no conscientious judge would withhold from comrade windsor a cigaror a cocoanut, according as his private preference

might dictate. that is the matter in a nutshell.remove the reason for those very scholarly articles, and they cease." mr. parker shook his head. "i fear that is not feasible. the expenseof reconstructing the houses makes that impossible." "then there's no use in talking," said billy."the articles will go on." mr. parker coughed. a tentative cough, suggestingthat the situation was now about to enter upon a more delicate phase. billy and psmithwaited for him to begin. from their point of view the discussion was over. if it wasto be reopened on fresh lines, it was for their visitor to effect that reopening.

"now, i'm going to be frank, gentlemen," saidhe, as who should say, "we are all friends here. let us be hearty." "i'm going to putmy cards on the table, and see if we can't fix something up. now, see here: we don'twant unpleasantness. you aren't in this business for your healths, eh? you've got your livingto make, just like everybody else, i guess. well, see here. this is how it stands. toa certain extant, i don't mind admitting, seeing that we're being frank with one another,you two gentlemen have got us—that's to say, my employer—in a cleft stick. frankly,those articles are beginning to attract attention, and if they go on there's going to be a lotof inconvenience for my employer. that's clear, i reckon. well, now, here's a square proposition.how much do you want to stop those articles?

that's straight. i've been frank with you,and i want you to be frank with me. what's your figure? name it, and, if it's not toohigh, i guess we needn't quarrel." he looked expectantly at billy. billy's eyeswere bulging. he struggled for speech. he had got as far as "say!" when psmith interruptedhim. psmith, gazing sadly at mr. parker through his monocle, spoke quietly, with the restraineddignity of some old roman senator dealing with the enemies of the republic. "comrade parker," he said, "i fear that youhave allowed constant communication with the conscienceless commercialism of this worldlycity to undermine your moral sense. it is useless to dangle rich bribes before our eyes.cosy moments cannot be muzzled. you doubtless

mean well, according to your—if i may sayso—somewhat murky lights, but we are not for sale, except at ten cents weekly. fromthe hills of maine to the everglades of florida, from sandy hook to san francisco, from portland,oregon, to melonsquashville, tennessee, one sentence is in every man's mouth. and whatis that sentence? i give you three guesses. you give it up? it is this: 'cosy momentscannot be muzzled!'" mr. parker rose. "there's nothing more to be done then," hesaid. "nothing," agreed psmith, "except to makea noise like a hoop and roll away." "and do it quick," yelled billy, explodinglike a fire-cracker.

"speed," he admitted, "would be no bad thing.frankly—if i may borrow the expression—your square proposition has wounded us. i am aman of powerful self-restraint, one of those strong, silent men, and i can curb my emotions.but i fear that comrade windsor's generous temperament may at any moment prompt him tostart throwing ink-pots. and in wyoming his deadly aim with the ink-pot won him amongthe admiring cowboys the sobriquet of crack-shot cuthbert. as man to man, comrade parker, ishould advise you to bound swiftly away." "i'm going," said mr. parker, picking up hishat. "and i'll give you a piece of advice, too. those articles are going to be stopped,and if you've any sense between you, you'll stop them yourselves before you get hurt.that's all i've got to say, and that goes."

he went out, closing the door behind him witha bang that added emphasis to his words. "to men of nicely poised nervous organisationsuch as ourselves, comrade windsor," said psmith, smoothing his waistcoat thoughtfully,"these scenes are acutely painful. we wince before them. our ganglions quiver like cinematographs.gradually recovering command of ourselves, we review the situation. did our visitor'sfinal remarks convey anything definite to you? were they the mere casual badinage ofa parting guest, or was there something solid behind them?" billy windsor was looking serious. "i guess he meant it all right. he's evidentlyworking for somebody pretty big, and that

sort of man would have a pull with all kindsof thugs. we shall have to watch out. now that they find we can't be bought, they'lltry the other way. they mean business sure enough. but, by george, let 'em! we're upagainst a big thing, and i'm going to see it through if they put every gang in new yorkon to us." "precisely, comrade windsor. cosy moments,as i have had occasion to observe before, cannot be muzzled." "that's right," said billy windsor. "and,"he added, with the contented look the far west editor must have worn as the bullet camethrough the window, "we must have got them scared, or they wouldn't have shown theirhand that way. i guess we're making a hit.

cosy moments is going some now." chapter xithe man at the astorthe duties of master pugsy maloney at the offices of cosy moments were not heavy; andhe was accustomed to occupy his large store of leisure by reading narratives dealing withlife in the prairies, which he acquired at a neighbouring shop at cut rates in considerationof their being shop-soiled. it was while he was engrossed in one of these, on the morningfollowing the visit of mr. parker, that the seedy-looking man made his appearance. hewalked in from the street, and stood before master maloney.

"hey, kid," he said. pugsy looked up with some hauteur. he resentedbeing addressed as "kid" by perfect strangers. "editor in, tommy?" inquired the man. pugsy by this time had taken a thorough disliketo him. to be called "kid" was bad. the subtle insult of "tommy" was still worse. "nope," he said curtly, fixing his eyes againon his book. a movement on the part of the visitor attracted his attention. the seedyman was making for the door of the inner room. pugsy instantly ceased to be the student andbecame the man of action. he sprang from his seat and wriggled in between the man and thedoor.

"youse can't butt in dere," he said authoritatively."chase yerself." the man eyed him with displeasure. "fresh kid!" he observed disapprovingly. "fade away," urged master maloney. the visitor's reply was to extend a hand andgrasp pugsy's left ear between a long finger and thumb. since time began, small boys inevery country have had but one answer for this action. pugsy made it. he emitted a piercingsqueal in which pain, fear, and resentment strove for supremacy. the noise penetrated into the editorial sanctum,losing only a small part of its strength on

the way. psmith, who was at work on a reviewof a book of poetry, looked up with patient sadness. "if comrade maloney," he said, "is going totake to singing as well as whistling, i fear this journal must put up its shutters. concentratedthought will be out of the question." a second squeal rent the air. billy windsorjumped up. "somebody must be hurting the kid," he exclaimed. he hurried to the door and flung it open.psmith followed at a more leisurely pace. the seedy man, caught in the act, releasedmaster maloney, who stood rubbing his ear with resentment written on every feature.

on such occasions as this billy was a manof few words. he made a dive for the seedy man; but the latter, who during the precedingmoment had been eyeing the two editors as if he were committing their appearance tomemory, sprang back, and was off down the stairs with the agility of a marathon runner. "he blows in," said master maloney, aggrieved,"and asks is de editor dere. i tells him no, 'cos youse said youse wasn't, and he nipsme by the ear when i gets busy to stop him gettin' t'roo." "comrade maloney," said psmith, "you are amartyr. what would horatius have done if somebody had nipped him by the ear when he was holdingthe bridge? the story does not consider the

possibility. yet it might have made all thedifference. did the gentleman state his business?" "nope. just tried to butt t'roo." "another of these strong silent men. the worldis full of us. these are the perils of the journalistic life. you will be safer and happierwhen you are rounding up cows on your mustang." "i wonder what he wanted," said billy, whenthey were back again in the inner room. "who can say, comrade windsor? possibly ourautographs. possibly five minutes' chat on general subjects." "i don't like the look of him," said billy. "whereas what comrade maloney objected towas the feel of him. in what respect did his

look jar upon you? his clothes were poorlycut, but such things, i know, leave you unmoved." "it seems to me," said billy thoughtfully,"as if he came just to get a sight of us." "and he got it. ah, providence is good tothe poor." "whoever's behind those tenements isn't goingto stick at any odd trifle. we must watch out. that man was probably sent to mark usdown for one of the gangs. now they'll know what we look like, and they can get afterus." "these are the drawbacks to being public men,comrade windsor. we must bear them manfully, without wincing." billy turned again to his work.

"i'm not going to wince," he said, "so's youcould notice it with a microscope. what i'm going to do is to buy a good big stick. andi'd advise you to do the same." it was by psmith's suggestion that the editorialstaff of cosy moments dined that night in the roof-gardenat the top of the astor hotel."the tired brain," he said, "needs to recuperate. to feed on such a night as this in some low-downhostelry on the level of the street, with german waiters breathing heavily down theback of one's neck and two fiddles and a piano whacking out 'beautiful eyes' about threefeet from one's tympanum, would be false economy. here, fanned by cool breezes and surroundedby fair women and brave men, one may do a

bit of tissue-restoring. moreover, there islittle danger up here of being slugged by our moth-eaten acquaintance of this morning.a man with trousers like his would not be allowed in. we shall probably find him waitingfor us at the main entrance with a sand-bag, when we leave, but, till then—" he turned with gentle grace to his soup. it was a warm night, and the roof-garden wasfull. from where they sat they could see the million twinkling lights of the city. towardsthe end of the meal, psmith's gaze concentrated itself on the advertisement of a certain brandof ginger-ale in times square. it is a mass of electric light arranged in the shape ofa great bottle, and at regular intervals there

proceed from the bottle's mouth flashes offlame representing ginger-ale. the thing began to exercise a hypnotic effect on psmith. hecame to himself with a start, to find billy windsor in conversation with a waiter. "yes, my name's windsor," billy was saying. the waiter bowed and retired to one of thetables where a young man in evening clothes was seated. psmith recollected having seenthis solitary diner looking in their direction once or twice during dinner, but the facthad not impressed him. "what is happening, comrade windsor?" he inquired."i was musing with a certain tenseness at the moment, and the rush of events has leftme behind."

"man at that table wanted to know if my namewas windsor," said billy."ah?" said psmith, interested; "and was it?" "here he comes. i wonder what he wants. idon't know the man from adam."the stranger was threading his way between the tables. "can i have a word with you, mr. windsor?"he said. billy looked at him curiously. recent eventshad made him wary of strangers. "won't you sit down?" he said. a waiter was bringing a chair. the young manseated himself.

"by the way," added billy; "my friend, mr.smith." "pleased to meet you," said the other. "i don't know your name," billy hesitated. "never mind about my name," said the stranger."it won't be needed. is mr. smith on your paper? excuse my asking." psmith bowed. "that's all right, then. i cango ahead." he bent forward. "neither of you gentlemen are hard of hearing,eh?" "in the old prairie days," said psmith, "comradewindsor was known to the indians as boola-ba-na-gosh, which, as you doubtless know, signifies big-chief-who-can-hear-a-fly-clear-its-throat.i too can hear as well as the next man. why?"

"that's all right, then. i don't want to haveto shout it. there's some things it's better not to yell." he turned to billy, who had been looking athim all the while with a combination of interest and suspicion. the man might or might notbe friendly. in the meantime, there was no harm in being on one's guard. billy's experienceas a cub-reporter had given him the knowledge that is only given in its entirety to policeand newspaper men: that there are two new yorks. one is a modern, well-policed city,through which one may walk from end to end without encountering adventure. the otheris a city as full of sinister intrigue, of whisperings and conspiracies, of battle, murder,and sudden death in dark by-ways, as any town

of mediaeval italy. given certain conditions,anything may happen to any one in new york. and billy realised that these conditions nowprevailed in his own case. he had come into conflict with new york's underworld. circumstanceshad placed him below the surface, where only his wits could help him. "it's about that tenement business," saidthe stranger. billy bristled. "well, what about it?" hedemanded truculently. the stranger raised a long and curiously delicatelyshaped hand. "don't bite at me," he said. "this isn't my funeral. i've no kick coming.i'm a friend." "yet you don't tell us your name."

"never mind my name. if you were in my lineof business, you wouldn't be so durned stuck on this name thing. call me smith, if youlike." "you could select no nobler pseudonym," saidpsmith cordially. "eh? oh, i see. well, make it brown, then.anything you please. it don't signify. see here, let's get back. about this tenementthing. you understand certain parties have got it in against you?" "a charming conversationalist, one comradeparker, hinted at something of the sort," said psmith, "in a recent interview. cosymoments, however, cannot be muzzled." "well?" said billy.

"you're up against a big proposition." "we can look after ourselves." "gum! you'll need to. the man behind is abig bug." billy leaned forward eagerly. "who is he?" the other shrugged his shoulders. "i don't know. you wouldn't expect a man likethat to give himself away." "then how do you know he's a big bug?" "precisely," said psmith. "on what systemhave you estimated the size of the gentleman's

bughood?" the stranger lit a cigar. "by the number of dollars he was ready toput up to have you done in." billy's eyes snapped. "oh?" he said. "and which gang has he giventhe job to?" "i wish i could tell you. he—his agent,that is—came to bat jarvis.""the cat-expert?" said psmith. "a man of singularly winsome personality." "bat turned the job down."

"why was that?" inquired billy. "he said he needed the money as much as thenext man, but when he found out who he was supposed to lay for, he gave his job the frozenface. said you were a friend of his and none of his fellows were going to put a fingeron you. i don't know what you've been doing to bat, but he's certainly willie the long-lostbrother with you." "a powerful argument in favour of kindnessto animals!" said psmith. "comrade windsor came into possession of one of comrade jarvis'scelebrated stud of cats. what did he do? instead of having the animal made into a nourishingsoup, he restored it to its bereaved owner. observe the sequel. he is now as a prize tortoiseshellto comrade jarvis."

"so bat wouldn't stand for it?" said billy. "not on his life. turned it down without ablink. and he sent me along to find you and tell you so." "we are much obliged to comrade jarvis," saidpsmith. "he told me to tell you to watch out, becauseanother gang is dead sure to take on the job. but he said you were to know he wasn't mixedup in it. he also said that any time you were in bad, he'd do his best for you. you've certainlymade the biggest kind of hit with bat. i haven't seen him so worked up over a thing in years.well, that's all, i reckon. guess i'll be pushing along. i've a date to keep. glad tohave met you. glad to have met you, mr. smith.

pardon me, you have an insect on your coat." he flicked at psmith's coat with a quick movement.psmith thanked him gravely. "good night," concluded the stranger, movingoff. for a few moments after he had gone, psmith and billy sat smoking in silence. theyhad plenty to think about. "how's the time going?" asked billy at length.psmith felt for his watch, and looked at billy with some sadness. "i am sorry to say, comrade windsor—" "hullo," said billy, "here's that man comingback again." the stranger came up to their table, wearinga light overcoat over his dress clothes. from

the pocket of this he produced a gold watch. "force of habit," he said apologetically,handing it to psmith. "you'll pardon me. good night, gentlemen,again." chapter xiia red taximeter the astor hotel faces on to times square.a few paces to the right of the main entrance the times building towers to the sky; andat the foot of this the stream of traffic breaks, forming two channels. to the rightof the building is seventh avenue, quiet, dark, and dull. to the left is broadway, thegreat white way, the longest, straightest, brightest, wickedest street in the world.

psmith and billy, having left the astor, startedto walk down broadway to billy's lodgings in fourteenth street. the usual crowd wasdrifting slowly up and down in the glare of the white lights. they had reached herald square, when a voicebehind them exclaimed, "why, it's mr. windsor!"they wheeled round. a flashily dressed man was standing with outstetched hand. "i saw you come out of the astor," he saidcheerily. "i said to myself, 'i know that man.' darned if i could put a name to you,though. so i just followed you along, and right here it came to me."

"it did, did it?" said billy politely. "it did, sir. i've never set eyes on you before,but i've seen so many photographs of you that i reckon we're old friends. i know your fathervery well, mr. windsor. he showed me the photographs. you may have heard him speak of me—jacklake? how is the old man? seen him lately?" "not for some time. he was well when he lastwrote." "good for him. he would be. tough as a plank,old joe windsor. we always called him joe." "you'd have known him down in missouri, ofcourse?" said billy. "that's right. in missouri. we were side-partnersfor years. now, see here, mr. windsor, it's early yet. won't you and your friend comealong with me and have a smoke and a chat?

i live right here in thirty-third street.i'd be right glad for you to come." "i don't doubt it," said billy, "but i'm afraidyou'll have to excuse us." "in a hurry, are you?" "not in the least." "then come right along." "no, thanks." "say, why not? it's only a step." "because we don't want to. good night." he turned, and started to walk away. the otherstood for a moment, staring; then crossed

the road. psmith broke the silence. "correct me if i am wrong, comrade windsor,"he said tentatively, "but were you not a trifle—shall we say abrupt?—with the old family friend?" "if my father's name was joseph," he said,"instead of being william, the same as mine, and if he'd ever been in missouri in his life,which he hasn't, and if i'd been photographed since i was a kid, which i haven't been, imight have gone along. as it was, i thought it better not to." "these are deep waters, comrade windsor. doyou mean to intimate—?"

"if they can't do any better than that, weshan't have much to worry us. what do they take us for, i wonder? farmers? playing offa comic-supplement bluff like that on us!" there was honest indignation in billy's voice. "you think, then, that if we had acceptedcomrade lake's invitation, and gone along for a smoke and a chat, the chat would nothave been of the pleasantest nature?" "we should have been put out of business." "i have heard so much," said psmith, thoughtfully,"of the lavish hospitality of the american." "taxi, sir?" a red taximeter cab was crawling down theroad at their side. billy shook his head.

"not that a taxi would be an unsound scheme,"said psmith. "not that particular one, if you don't mind." "something about it that offends your aesthetictaste?" queried psmith sympathetically."something about it makes my aesthetic taste kick like a mule," said billy. "ah, we highly strung literary men do havethese curious prejudices. we cannot help it. we are the slaves of our temperaments. letus walk, then. after all, the night is fine, and we are young and strong." they had reached twenty-third street whenbilly stopped. "i don't know about walking,"

he said. "suppose we take the elevated?" "anything you wish, comrade windsor. i amin your hands." they cut across into sixth avenue, and walkedup the stairs to the station of the elevated railway. a train was just coming in. "has it escaped your notice, comrade windsor,"said psmith after a pause, "that, so far from speeding to your lodgings, we are going inprecisely the opposite direction? we are in an up-town train." "i noticed it," said billy briefly. "are we going anywhere in particular?"

"this train goes as far as hundred and tenthstreet. we'll go up to there." "and then?" "and then we'll come back." "and after that, i suppose, we'll make a tripto philadelphia, or chicago, or somewhere? well, well, i am in your hands, comrade windsor.the night is yet young. take me where you will. it is only five cents a go, and we havemoney in our purses. we are two young men out for reckless dissipation. by all meanslet us have it." at hundred and tenth street they left thetrain, went down the stairs, and crossed the street. half-way across billy stopped.

"what now, comrade windsor?" inquired psmithpatiently. "have you thought of some new form of entertainment?" billy was making for a spot some few yardsdown the road. looking in that direction, psmith saw his objective. in the shadow ofthe elevated there was standing a taximeter cab. "taxi, sir?" said the driver, as they approached. "we are giving you a great deal of trouble,"said billy. "you must be losing money over this job. all this while you might be gettingfares down-town." "these meetings, however," urged psmith, "arevery pleasant."

"i can save you worrying," said billy. "myaddress is 84 east fourteenth street. we are going back therenow." "search me," said the driver, "i don't knowwhat you're talking about." "i thought perhaps you did," replied billy."good night." "these things are very disturbing," said psmith,when they were in the train. "dignity is impossible when one is compelled to be the hunted fawn.when did you begin to suspect that yonder merchant was doing the sleuth-hound act?" "when i saw him in broadway having a heart-to-hearttalk with our friend from missouri." "he must be something of an expert at thegame to have kept on our track."

"not on your life. it's as easy as fallingoff a log. there are only certain places where you can get off an elevated train. all he'dgot to do was to get there before the train, and wait. i didn't expect to dodge him bytaking the elevated. i just wanted to make certain of his game." the train pulled up at the fourteenth streetstation. in the roadway at the foot of the opposite staircase was a red taximeter cab. chapter xiiireviewing the situation arriving at the bed-sitting-room, billy proceededto occupy the rocking-chair, and, as was his wont, began to rock himself rhythmically toand fro. psmith seated himself gracefully

on the couch-bed. there was a silence. the events of the evening had been a revelationto psmith. he had not realised before the extent of the ramifications of new york'sunderworld. that members of the gangs should crop up in the astor roof-garden and in gorgeousraiment in the middle of broadway was a surprise. when billy windsor had mentioned the gangs,he had formed a mental picture of low-browed hooligans, keeping carefully to their ownquarter of the town. this picture had been correct, as far as it went, but it had notgone far enough. the bulk of the gangs of new york are of the hooligan class, and arerarely met with outside their natural boundaries. but each gang has its more prosperous members;gentlemen, who, like the man of the astor

roof-garden, support life by more delicateand genteel methods than the rest. the main body rely for their incomes, except at election-time,on such primitive feats as robbing intoxicated pedestrians. the aristocracy of the gangssoar higher. it was a considerable time before billy spoke. "say," he said, "this thing wants talkingover." "by all means, comrade windsor." "it's this way. there's no doubt now thatwe're up against a mighty big proposition." "something of the sort would seem to be thecase." "it's like this. i'm going to see this through.it isn't only that i want to do a bit of good

to the poor cusses in those tenements, thoughi'd do it for that alone. but, as far as i'm concerned, there's something to it besidesthat. if we win out, i'm going to get a job out of one of the big dailies. it'll giveme just the chance i need. see what i mean? well, it's different with you. i don't seethat it's up to you to run the risk of getting yourself put out of business with a black-jack,and maybe shot. once you get mixed up with the gangs there's no saying what's going tobe doing. well, i don't see why you shouldn't quit. all this has got nothing to do withyou. you're over here on a vacation. you haven't got to make a living this side. you want togo about and have a good time, instead of getting mixed up with—"

he broke off. "well, that's what i wanted to say, anyway,"he concluded. psmith looked at him reproachfully. "are you trying to sack me, comrade windsor?" "how's that?" "in various treatises on 'how to succeed inliterature,'" said psmith sadly, "which i have read from time to time, i have alwaysfound it stated that what the novice chiefly needed was an editor who believed in him.in you, comrade windsor, i fancied that i had found such an editor."

"what's all this about?" demanded billy. "i'mmaking no kick about your work." "i gathered from your remarks that you wereanxious to receive my resignation." "well, i told you why. i didn't want you beblack-jacked." "was that the only reason?" "then all is well," said psmith, relieved."for the moment i fancied that my literary talents had been weighed in the balance andadjudged below par. if that is all—why, these are the mere everyday risks of the youngjournalist's life. without them we should be dull and dissatisfied. our work would loseits fire. men such as ourselves, comrade windsor, need a certain stimulus, a certain fillip,if they are to keep up their high standards.

the knowledge that a low-browed gentlemanis waiting round the corner with a sand-bag poised in air will just supply that stimulus.also that fillip. it will give our output precisely the edge it requires." "then you'll stay in this thing? you'll stickto the work?" "like a conscientious leech, comrade windsor." "bully for you," said billy. it was not psmith's habit, when he felt deeplyon any subject, to exhibit his feelings; and this matter of the tenements had hit him harderthan any one who did not know him intimately would have imagined. mike would have understoodhim, but billy windsor was too recent an acquaintance.

psmith was one of those people who are contentto accept most of the happenings of life in an airy spirit of tolerance. life had beenmore or less of a game with him up till now. in his previous encounters with those withwhom fate had brought him in contact there had been little at stake. the prize of victoryhad been merely a comfortable feeling of having had the best of a battle of wits; the penaltyof defeat nothing worse than the discomfort of having failed to score. but this tenementbusiness was different. here he had touched the realities. there was something worth fightingfor. his lot had been cast in pleasant places, and the sight of actual raw misery had comehome to him with an added force from that circumstance. he was fully aware of the risksthat he must run. the words of the man at

the astor, and still more the episodes ofthe family friend from missouri and the taximeter cab, had shown him that this thing was ona different plane from anything that had happened to him before. it was a fight without thegloves, and to a finish at that. but he meant to see it through. somehow or other thosetenement houses had got to be cleaned up. if it meant trouble, as it undoubtedly did,that trouble would have to be faced. "now that comrade jarvis," he said, "showinga spirit of forbearance which, i am bound to say, does him credit, has declined thecongenial task of fracturing our occiputs, who should you say, comrade windsor, wouldbe the chosen substitute?" billy shook his head. "now that bat has turnedup the job, it might be any one of three gangs.

there are four main gangs, you know. bat'sis the biggest. but the smallest of them's large enough to put us away, if we give themthe chance." "i don't quite grasp the nice points of thismatter. do you mean that we have an entire gang on our trail in one solid mass, or willit be merely a section?" "well, a section, i guess, if it comes tothat. parker, or whoever fixed this thing up, would go to the main boss of the gang.if it was the three points, he'd go to spider reilly. if it was the table hill lot, he'dlook up dude dawson. and so on." "and what then?" "and then the boss would talk it over withhis own special partners. every gang-leader

has about a dozen of them. a sort of innercircle. they'd fix it up among themselves. the rest of the gang wouldn't know anythingabout it. the fewer in the game, you see, the fewer to split up the dollars." "i see. then things are not so black. allwe have to do is to look out for about a dozen hooligans with a natural dignity in theirbearing, the result of intimacy with the main boss. carefully eluding these aristocrats,we shall win through. i fancy, comrade windsor, that all may yet be well. what steps do youpropose to take by way of self-defence?" "keep out in the middle of the street, andnot go off the broadway after dark. you're pretty safe on broadway. there's too muchlight for them there."

"now that our sleuth-hound friend in the taximeterhas ascertained your address, shall you change it?" "it wouldn't do any good. they'd soon findwhere i'd gone to. how about yours?" "i fancy i shall be tolerably all right. aparticularly massive policeman is on duty at my very doors. so much for our privatelives. but what of the day-time? suppose these sandbag-specialists drop in at the officeduring business hours. will comrade maloney's frank and manly statement that we are notin be sufficient to keep them out? i doubt it. all unused to the nice conventions ofpolite society, these rugged persons will charge through. in such circumstances goodwork will be hard to achieve. your literary

man must have complete quiet if he is to givethe public of his best. but stay. an idea!" "comrade brady. the peerless kid. the mancosy moments is running for the light-weight championship. we are his pugilistic sponsors.you may say that it is entirely owing to our efforts that he has obtained this match with—whoexactly is the gentleman comrade brady fights at the highfield club on friday night?" "cyclone al. wolmann, isn't it?" "you are right. as i was saying, but for usthe privilege of smiting comrade cyclone al. wolmann under the fifth rib on friday nightwould almost certainly have been denied to him."

it almost seemed as if he were right. fromthe moment the paper had taken up his cause, kid brady's star had undoubtedly been in theascendant. people began to talk about him as a likely man. edgren, in the evening world,had a paragraph about his chances for the light-weight title. tad, in the journal, drewa picture of him. finally, the management of the highfield club had signed him for aten-round bout with mr. wolmann. there were, therefore, reasons why cosy moments shouldfeel a claim on the kid's services. "he should," continued psmith, "if equippedin any degree with finer feelings, be bubbling over with gratitude towards us. 'but for cosymoments,' he should be saying to himself, 'where should i be? among the also-rans.'i imagine that he will do any little thing

we care to ask of him. i suggest that we approachcomrade brady, explain the facts of the case, and offer him at a comfortable salary thepost of fighting-editor of cosy moments. his duties will be to sit in the room openingout of ours, girded as to the loins and full of martial spirit, and apply some of thosehalf-scissor hooks of his to the persons of any who overcome the opposition of comrademaloney. we, meanwhile, will enjoy that leisure and freedom from interruption which is soessential to the artist." "it's not a bad idea," said billy. "it is about the soundest idea," said psmith,"that has ever been struck. one of your newspaper friends shall supply us with tickets, andfriday night shall see us at the highfield."

chapter xivthe highfieldfar up at the other end of the island, on the banks of the harlem river, there standsthe old warehouse which modern progress has converted into the highfield athletic andgymnastic club. the imagination, stimulated by the title, conjures up a sort of nationalsporting club, with pictures on the walls, padding on the chairs, and a sea of whiteshirt-fronts from roof to floor. but the highfield differs in some respects from this fancy picture.indeed, it would be hard to find a respect in which it does not differ. but these namesare so misleading. the title under which the highfield used to be known till a few yearsback was "swifty bob's." it was a good, honest

title. you knew what to expect; and if youattended sã©ances at swifty bob's you left your gold watch and your little savings athome. but a wave of anti-pugilistic feeling swept over the new york authorities. promotersof boxing contests found themselves, to their acute disgust, raided by the police. the industrybegan to languish. people avoided places where at any moment the festivities might be marredby an inrush of large men in blue uniforms armed with locust-sticks. and then some big-brained person suggestedthe club idea, which stands alone as an example of american dry humour. there are now no boxingcontests in new york. swifty bob and his fellows would be shocked at the idea of such a thing.all that happens now is exhibition sparring

bouts between members of the club. it is truethat next day the papers very tactlessly report the friendly exhibition spar as if it hadbeen quite a serious affair, but that is not the fault of swifty bob. kid brady, the chosen of cosy moments, wasbilled for a "ten-round exhibition contest," to be the main event of the evening's entertainment.no decisions are permitted at these clubs. unless a regrettable accident occurs, andone of the sparrers is knocked out, the verdict is left to the newspapers next day. it isnot uncommon to find a man win easily in the world, draw in the american, and be badlybeaten in the evening mail. the system leads to a certain amount of confusion, but it hasthe merit of offering consolation to a much-smitten

warrior. the best method of getting to the highfieldis by the subway. to see the subway in its most characteristic mood one must travel onit during the rush-hour, when its patrons are packed into the carriages in one solidjam by muscular guards and policemen, shoving in a manner reminiscent of a rugby footballscrum. when psmith and billy entered it on the friday evening, it was comparatively empty.all the seats were occupied, but only a few of the straps and hardly any of the spacereserved by law for the conductor alone. conversation on the subway is impossible.the ingenious gentlemen who constructed it started with the object of making it noisy.not ordinarily noisy, like a ton of coal falling

on to a sheet of tin, but really noisy. sothey fashioned the pillars of thin steel, and the sleepers of thin wood, and loosenedall the nuts, and now a subway train in motion suggests a prolonged dynamite explosion blendedwith the voice of some great cataract. psmith, forced into temporary silence by thiscombination of noises, started to make up for lost time on arriving in the street oncemore. "a thoroughly unpleasant neighbourhood," hesaid, critically surveying the dark streets. "i fear me, comrade windsor, that we havebeen somewhat rash in venturing as far into the middle west as this. if ever there wasa blighted locality where low-browed desperadoes might be expected to spring with whoops ofjoy from every corner, this blighted locality

is that blighted locality. but we must carryon. in which direction, should you say, does this arena lie?" it had begun to rain as they left billy'slodgings. psmith turned up the collar of his burberry. "we suffer much in the cause of literature,"he said. "let us inquire of this genial soul if he knows where the highfield is." the pedestrian referred to proved to be goingthere himself. they went on together, psmith courteously offering views on the weatherand forecasts of the success of kid brady in the approaching contest.

rattling on, he was alluding to the prominentpart cosy moments had played in the affair, when a rough thrust from windsor's elbow broughthome to him his indiscretion. he stopped suddenly, wishing he had not saidas much. their connection with that militant journal was not a thing even to be suggestedto casual acquaintances, especially in such a particularly ill-lighted neighbourhood asthat through which they were now passing. their companion, however, who seemed to bea man of small speech, made no comment. psmith deftly turned the conversation back to thesubject of the weather, and was deep in a comparison of the respective climates of englandand the united states, when they turned a corner and found themselves opposite a gloomy,barn-like building, over the door of which

it was just possible to decipher in the darknessthe words "highfield athletic and gymnastic club." the tickets which billy windsor had obtainedfrom his newspaper friend were for one of the boxes. these proved to be sort of sheep-pensof unpolished wood, each with four hard chairs in it. the interior of the highfield athleticand gymnastic club was severely free from anything in the shape of luxury and ornament.along the four walls were raised benches in tiers. on these were seated as tough-lookinga collection of citizens as one might wish to see. on chairs at the ring-side were thereporters, with tickers at their sides, by means of which they tapped details of eachround through to their down-town offices,

where write-up reporters were waiting to readoff and elaborate the messages. in the centre of the room, brilliantly lighted by half adozen electric chandeliers, was the ring. there were preliminary bouts before the mainevent. a burly gentleman in shirt-sleeves entered the ring, followed by two slim youthsin fighting costume and a massive person in a red jersey, blue serge trousers, and yellowbraces, who chewed gum with an abstracted air throughout the proceedings. the burly gentleman gave tongue in a voicethat cleft the air like a cannon-ball. "ex-hib-it-i-on four-round bout between patsymilligan and tommy goodley, members of this club. patsy on myright, tommy on my left.

gentlemen will kindly stop smokin'."the audience did nothing of the sort. possibly they did not apply the description to themselves.possibly they considered the appeal a mere formula. somewhere in the background a gongsounded, and patsy, from the right, stepped briskly forward to meet tommy, approachingfrom the left. the contest was short but energetic. at intervalsthe combatants would cling affectionately to one another, and on these occasions thered-jerseyed man, still chewing gum and still wearing the same air of being lost in abstractthought, would split up the mass by the simple method of ploughing his way between the pair.towards the end of the first round thomas, eluding a left swing, put patrick neatly tothe floor, where the latter remained for the

necessary ten seconds. the remaining preliminaries proved disappointing.so much so that in the last of the series a soured sportsman on one of the benches nearthe roof began in satirical mood to whistle the "merry widow waltz." it was here thatthe red-jerseyed thinker for the first and last time came out of his meditative trance.he leaned over the ropes, and spoke—without heat, but firmly. "if that guy whistling back up yonder thinkshe can do better than these boys, he can come right down into the ring." the whistling ceased.

there was a distinct air of relief when thelast preliminary was finished and preparations for the main bout began. it did not commenceat once. there were formalities to be gone through, introductions and the like. the burlygentleman reappeared from nowhere, ushering into the ring a sheepishly-grinning youthin a flannel suit. "in-ter-doo-cin' young leary," he bellowedimpressively, "a noo member of this chub, who will box some good boy here in september." he walked to the other side of the ring andrepeated the remark. a raucous welcome was accorded to the new member. two other notable performers were introducedin a similar manner, and then the building

became suddenly full of noise, for a tallyouth in a bath-robe, attended by a little army of assistants, had entered the ring.one of the army carried a bright green bucket, on which were painted in white letters thewords "cyclone al. wolmann." a moment later there was another, though a far lesser, uproar,as kid brady, his pleasant face wearing a self-conscious smirk, ducked under the ropesand sat down in the opposite corner. "ex-hib-it-i-on ten-round bout," thunderedthe burly gentleman, "between cyclone. al. wolmann—" loud applause. mr. wolmann was one of thefamous, a fighter with a reputation from new york to san francisco. he was generally consideredthe most likely man to give the hitherto invincible

jimmy garvin a hard battle for the light-weightchampionship. "oh, you al.!" roared the crowd. mr. wolmann bowed benevolently. "—and kid brady, members of this—" there was noticeably less applause for thekid. he was an unknown. a few of those present had heard of his victories in the west, butthese were but a small section of the crowd. when the faint applause had ceased, psmithrose to his feet. "oh, you kid!" he observed encouragingly. "i should not like comrade brady," he said,reseating himself, "to think that he has no

friend but his poor old mother, as, you willrecollect, occurred on a previous occasion." the burly gentleman, followed by the two armiesof assistants, dropped down from the ring, and the gong sounded. mr. wolmann sprang from his corner as if somebodyhad touched a spring. he seemed to be of the opinion that if you are a cyclone, it is nevertoo soon to begin behaving like one. he danced round the kid with an india-rubber agility.the cosy moments representative exhibited more stolidity. except for the fact that hewas in fighting attitude, with one gloved hand moving slowly in the neighbourhood ofhis stocky chest, and the other pawing the air on a line with his square jaw, one wouldhave said that he did not realise the position

of affairs. he wore the friendly smile ofthe good-natured guest who is led forward by his hostess to join in some round game. suddenly his opponent's long left shot out.the kid, who had been strolling forward, received it under the chin, and continued to strollforward as if nothing of note had happened. he gave the impression of being aware thatmr. wolmann had committed a breach of good taste and of being resolved to pass it offwith ready tact. the cyclone, having executed a backward leap,a forward leap, and a feint, landed heavily with both hands. the kid's genial smile didnot even quiver, but he continued to move forward. his opponent's left flashed out again,but this time, instead of ignoring the matter,

the kid replied with a heavy right swing;and mr. wolmann, leaping back, found himself against the ropes. by the time he had gotout of that uncongenial position, two more of the kid's swings had found their mark.mr. wolmann, somewhat perturbed, scuttered out into the middle of the ring, the kid followingin his self-contained, solid way. the cyclone now became still more cyclonic.he had a left arm which seemed to open out in joints like a telescope. several timeswhen the kid appeared well out of distance there was a thud as a brown glove ripped inover his guard and jerked his head back. but always he kept boring in, delivering an occasionalright to the body with the pleased smile of an infant destroying a noah's ark with a tack-hammer.despite these efforts, however, he was plainly

getting all the worst of it. energetic mr.wolmann, relying on his long left, was putting in three blows to his one. when the gong sounded,ending the first round, the house was practically solid for the cyclone. whoops and yells rosefrom everywhere. the building rang with shouts of, "oh, you al.!" psmith turned sadly to billy. "it seems to me, comrade windsor," he said,"that this merry meeting looks like doing comrade brady no good. i should not be surprisedat any moment to see his head bounce off on to the floor." "wait," said billy. "he'll win yet."

"you think so?" "sure. he comes from wyoming," said billywith simple confidence. rounds two and three were a repetition ofround one. the cyclone raged almost unchecked about the ring. in one lightning rally inthe third he brought his right across squarely on to the kid's jaw. it was a blow which shouldhave knocked any boxer out. the kid merely staggered slightly and returned to business,still smiling. "see!" roared billy enthusiastically in psmith'sear, above the uproar. "he doesn't mind it! he likes it! he comes from wyoming!" with the opening of round four there camea subtle change. the cyclone's fury was expending

itself. that long left shot out less sharply.instead of being knocked back by it, the cosy moments champion now took the hits in hisstride, and came shuffling in with his damaging body-blows. there were cheers and "oh, youal.'s!" at the sound of the gong, but there was an appealing note in them this time. thegallant sportsmen whose connection with boxing was confined to watching other men fight,and betting on what they considered a certainty, and who would have expired promptly if anyone had tapped them sharply on their well-filled waistcoats, were beginning to fear that theymight lose their money after all. in the fifth round the thing became a certainty.like the month of march, the cyclone, who had come in like a lion, was going out likea lamb. a slight decrease in the pleasantness

of the kid's smile was noticeable. his expressionbegan to resemble more nearly the gloomy importance of the cosy moments photographs. yells ofagony from panic-stricken speculators around the ring began to smite the rafters. the cyclone,now but a gentle breeze, clutched repeatedly, hanging on like a leech till removed by thered-jerseyed referee. suddenly a grisly silence fell upon the house.it was broken by a cow-boy yell from billy windsor. for the kid, battered, but obviouslycontent, was standing in the middle of the ring, while on the ropes the cyclone, droopinglike a wet sock, was sliding slowly to the floor. "cosy moments wins," said psmith. "an omen,i fancy, comrade windsor."

chapter xvan addition to the staff penetrating into the kid's dressing-room somemoments later, the editorial staff found the winner of the ten-round exhibition bout betweenmembers of the club seated on a chair, having his right leg rubbed by a shock-headed manin a sweater, who had been one of his seconds during the conflict. the kid beamed as theyentered. "gents," he said, "come right in. mighty gladto see you." "it is a relief to me, comrade brady," saidpsmith, "to find that you can see us. i had expected to find that comrade wolmann's purposefulbuffs had completely closed your star-likes." "sure, i never felt them. he's a good quickboy, is al., but," continued the kid with

powerful imagery, "he couldn't hit a holein a block of ice-cream, not if he was to use a hammer." "and yet at one period in the proceedings,comrade brady," said psmith, "i fancied that your head would come unglued at the neck.but the fear was merely transient. when you began to administer those—am i correct insaying?—half-scissor hooks to the body, why, then i felt like some watcher of theskies when a new planet swims into his ken; or like stout cortez when with eagle eyeshe stared at the pacific." the kid blinked. "how's that?" he inquired.

"and why did i feel like that, comrade brady?i will tell you. because my faith in you was justified. because there before me stood theideal fighting-editor of cosy moments. it is not a post that any weakling can fill.there charm of manner cannot qualify a man for the position. no one can hold down thejob simply by having a kind heart or being good at farmyard imitations. no. we want aman of thews and sinews, a man who would rather be hit on the head with a half-brick thannot. and you, comrade brady, are such a man." the kid turned appealingly to billy. "say, this gets past me, mr. windsor. putme wise." "can we have a couple of words with you alone,kid?" said billy.

"we want to talk over something with you.""sure. sit down, gents. jack'll be through in a minute." jack, who during this conversation had beenconcentrating himself on his subject's left leg, now announced that he guessed that wouldabout do, and having advised the kid not to stop and pick daisies, but to get into hisclothes at once before he caught a chill, bade the company good night and retired. billy shut the door. "kid," he said, "you know those articles aboutthe tenements we've been having in the paper?" "sure. i read 'em. they're to the good."

"you stimulate us, comrade brady. this ispraise from sir hubert stanley.""it was about time some strong josher came and put it across to 'em," added the kid. "so we thought. comrade parker, however, totallydisagreed with us." "parker?" "that's what i'm coming to," said billy. "theday before yesterday a man named parker called at the office and tried to buy us off." billy's voice grew indignant at the recollection. "you gave him the hook, i guess?" queriedthe interested kid.

"to such an extent, comrade brady," said psmith,"that he left breathing threatenings and slaughter. and it is for that reason that we have venturedto call upon you." "it's this way," said billy. "we're prettysure by this time that whoever the man is this fellow parker's working for has put oneof the gangs on to us." "you don't say!" exclaimed the kid. "gum!mr. windsor, they're tough propositions, those gangs." "we've been followed in the streets, and oncethey put up a bluff to get us where they could do us in. so we've come along to you. we canlook after ourselves out of the office, you see, but what we want is some one to helpin case they try to rush us there."

"in brief, a fighting-editor," said psmith."at all costs we must have privacy. no writer can prune and polish his sentences to hissatisfaction if he is compelled constantly to break off in order to eject boisteroushooligans. we therefore offer you the job of sitting in the outer room and interceptingthese bravoes before they can reach us. the salary we leave to you. there are doubloonsand to spare in the old oak chest. take what you need and put the rest—if any—back.how does the offer strike you, comrade brady?" "we don't want to get you in under false pretences,kid," said billy. "of course, they may not come anywhere near the office. but still,if they did, there would be something doing. what do you feel about it?"

"gents," said the kid, "it's this way." he stepped into his coat, and resumed. "now that i've made good by getting the decisionover al., they'll be giving me a chance of a big fight. maybe with jimmy garvin. well,if that happens, see what i mean? i'll have to be going away somewhere and getting intotraining. i shouldn't be able to come and sit with you. but, if you gents feel likeit, i'd be mighty glad to come in till i'm wanted to go into training-camp." "great," said billy; "that would suit us allthe way up. if you'd do that, kid, we'd be tickled to death."

"and touching salary—" put in psmith. "shucks!" said the kid with emphasis. "nixon the salary thing. i wouldn't take a dime. if it hadn't a-been for you gents, i'd havebeen waiting still for a chance of lining up in the championship class. that's goodenough for me. any old thing you gents want me to do, i'll do it. and glad, too." "comrade brady," said psmith warmly, "youare, if i may say so, the goods. you are, beyond a doubt, supremely the stuff. we three,then, hand-in-hand, will face the foe; and if the foe has good, sound sense, he willkeep right away. you appear to be ready. shall we meander forth?"

the building was empty and the lights wereout when they emerged from the dressing-room. they had to grope their way in darkness. itwas still raining when they reached the street, and the only signs of life were a moist policemanand the distant glare of public-house lights down the road. they turned off to the left, and, after walkingsome hundred yards, found themselves in a blind alley. "hullo!" said billy. "where have we come to?" "in my trusting way," he said, "i had imaginedthat either you or comrade brady was in charge of this expeditionand taking me by a

known route to the nearest subway station.i did not think to ask. i placed myself, without hesitation, whollyin your hands." "i thought the kid knew the way," said billy. "i was just taggin' along with you gents,"protested the light-weight, "i thought you was taking me right. this is the first timei been up here." "next time we three go on a little jaunt anywhere,"said psmith resignedly, "it would be as well to take a map and a corps of guides with us.otherwise we shall start for broadway and finish up at minneapolis." they emerged from the blind alley and stoodin the dark street, looking doubtfully up

and down it. "aha!" said psmith suddenly, "i perceive anative. several natives, in fact. quite a little covey of them. we will put our casebefore them, concealing nothing, and rely on their advice to take us to our goal." a little knot of men was approaching fromthe left. in the darkness it was impossible to say how many of them there were. psmithstepped forward, the kid at his side. "excuse me, sir," he said to the leader, "butif you can spare me a moment of your valuable time—" there was a sudden shuffle of feet on thepavement, a quick movement on the part of

the kid, a chunky sound as of wood strikingwood, and the man psmith had been addressing fell to the ground in a heap. as he fell, something dropped from his handon to the pavement with a bump and a rattle. stooping swiftly, the kid picked it up, andhanded it to psmith. his fingers closed upon it. it was a short, wicked-looking littlebludgeon, the black-jack of the new york tough. "get busy," advised the kid briefly. chapter xvithe first battle the promptitude and despatch with which thekid had attended to the gentleman with the black-jack had not been without its effecton the followers of the stricken one. physical

courage is not an outstanding quality of thenew york hooligan. his personal preference is for retreat when it is a question of unpleasantnesswith a stranger. and, in any case, even when warring among themselves, the gangs exhibita lively distaste for the hard knocks of hand-to-hand fighting. their chosen method of battlingis to lie down on the ground and shoot. this is more suited to their physique, which israrely great. the gangsman, as a rule, is stunted and slight of build. the kid's rapid work on the present occasioncreated a good deal of confusion. there was no doubt that much had been hoped for fromspeedy attack. also, the generalship of the expedition had been in the hands of the fallenwarrior. his removal from the sphere of active

influence had left the party without a head.and, to add to their discomfiture, they could not account for the kid. psmith they knew,and billy windsor they knew, but who was this stranger with the square shoulders and theupper-cut that landed like a cannon-ball? something approaching a panic prevailed amongthe gang. it was not lessened by the behaviour of theintended victims. billy windsor, armed with the big stick which he had bought after thevisit of mr. parker, was the first to join issue. he had been a few paces behind theothers during the black-jack incident; but, dark as it was, he had seen enough to showhim that the occasion was, as psmith would have said, one for the shrewd blow ratherthan the prolonged parley. with a whoop of

the purest wyoming brand, he sprang forwardinto the confused mass of the enemy. a moment later psmith and the kid followed, and thereraged over the body of the fallen leader a battle of homeric type. it was not a long affair. the rules and conditionsgoverning the encounter offended the delicate sensibilities of the gang. like artists whofeel themselves trammelled by distasteful conventions, they were damped and could notdo themselves justice. their forte was long-range fighting with pistols. with that they felten rapport. but this vulgar brawling in the darkness with muscular opponents who hit hardand often with sticks and hands was distasteful to them. they could not develop any enthusiasmfor it. they carried pistols, but it was too

dark and the combatants were too entangledto allow them to use these. besides, this was not the dear, homely old bowery, wherea gentleman may fire a pistol without exciting vulgar comment. it was up-town, where curiouscrowds might collect at the first shot. there was but one thing to be done. reluctantas they might be to abandon their fallen leader, they must tear themselves away. already theywere suffering grievously from the stick, the black-jack, and the lightning blows ofthe kid. for a moment they hung, wavering; then stampeded in half a dozen different directions,melting into the night whence they had come. billy, full of zeal, pursued one fugitivesome fifty yards down the street, but his quarry, exhibiting a rare turn of speed, easilyoutstripped him.

he came back, panting, to find psmith andthe kid examining the fallen leader of the departed ones with the aid of a match, whichwent out just as billy arrived. "it is our friend of the earlier part of theevening, comrade windsor," said psmith. "the merchant with whom we hob-nobbed on our wayto the highfield. in a moment of imprudence i mentioned cosy moments. i fancy that thiswas his first intimation that we were in the offing. his visit to the highfield was paid,i think, purely from sport-loving motives. he was not on our trail. he came merely tosee if comrade brady was proficient with his hands. subsequent events must have justifiedour fighting editor in his eyes. it seems to be a moot point whether he will ever recoverconsciousness."

"mighty good thing if he doesn't," said billyuncharitably. "from one point of view, comrade windsor,yes. such an event would undoubtedly be an excellent thing for the public good. but fromour point of view, it would be as well if he were to sit up and take notice. we couldascertain from him who he is and which particular collection of horny-handeds he represents.light another match, comrade brady." the kid did so. the head of it fell off anddropped upon the up-turned face. the hooligan stirred, shook himself, sat up, and beganto mutter something in a foggy voice. "he's still woozy," said the kid. "still—what exactly, comrade brady?"

"in the air," explained the kid. "bats inthe belfry. dizzy. see what i mean? it's often like that when a feller puts one in with abit of weight behind it just where that one landed. gum! i remember when i fought martinkelly; i was only starting to learn the game then. martin and me was mixing it good andhard all over the ring, when suddenly he puts over a stiff one right on the point. whatdo you think i done? fall down and take the count? not on your life. i just turns roundand walks straight out of the ring to my dressing-room. willie harvey, who was seconding me, comestearing in after me, and finds me getting into my clothes. 'what's doing, kid?' he asks.'i'm going fishin', willie,' i says. 'it's a lovely day.' 'you've lost the fight,' hesays. 'fight?' says i. 'what fight?' see what

i mean? i hadn't a notion of what had happened.it was a half an hour and more before i could remember a thing." during this reminiscence, the man on the groundhad contrived to clear his mind of the mistiness induced by the kid's upper-cut. the firstsign he showed of returning intelligence was a sudden dash for safety up the road. buthe had not gone five yards when he sat down limply. the kid was inspired to further reminiscence."guess he's feeling pretty poor," he said. "it's no good him trying to run for a whileafter he's put his chin in the way of a real live one. i remember when joe peterson putme out, way back when i was new to the game—it

was the same year i fought martin kelly. hehad an awful punch, had old joe, and he put me down and out in the eighth round. afterthe fight they found me on the fire-escape outside my dressing-room. 'come in, kid,'says they. 'it's all right, chaps,' i says, 'i'm dying.' like that. 'it's all right, chaps,i'm dying.' same with this guy. see what i mean?" they formed a group about the fallen black-jackexpert. "pardon us," said psmith courteously, "forbreaking in upon your reverie; but, if you could spare us a moment of your valuable time,there are one or two things which we should like to know."

"sure thing," agreed the kid. "in the first place," continued psmith, "wouldit be betraying professional secrets if you told us which particular bevy of energeticsandbaggers it is to which you are attached?" "gent," explained the kid, "wants to knowwhat's your gang." the man on the ground muttered something thatto psmith and billy was unintelligible. "it would be a charity," said the former,"if some philanthropist would give this blighter elocution lessons. can you interpret, comradebrady?" "says it's the three points," said the kid. "the three points? let me see, is that dudedawson, comrade

windsor, or the other gentleman?""it's spider reilly. dude dawson runs the table hill crowd." "perhaps this is spider reilly?" "nope," said the kid. "i know the spider.this ain't him. this is some other mutt." "which other mutt in particular?" asked psmith."try and find out, comrade brady. you seem to be able to understand what he says. tome, personally, his remarks sound like the output of a gramophone with a hot potato inits mouth." "says he's jack repetto," announced the interpreter. there was another interruption at this moment.the bashful mr. repetto, plainly a man who

was not happy in the society of strangers,made another attempt to withdraw. reaching out a pair of lean hands, he pulled the kid'slegs from under him with a swift jerk, and, wriggling to his feet, started off again downthe road. once more, however, desire outran performance. he got as far as the neareststreet-lamp, but no farther. the giddiness seemed to overcome him again, for he graspedthe lamp-post, and, sliding slowly to the ground, sat there motionless. the kid, whose fall had jolted and bruisedhim, was inclined to be wrathful and vindictive. he was the first of the three to reach theelusive mr. repetto, and if that worthy had happened to be standing instead of sittingit might have gone hard with him. but the

kid was not the man to attack a fallen foe.he contented himself with brushing the dust off his person and addressing a richly abusiveflow of remarks to mr. repetto. under the rays of the lamp it was possibleto discern more closely the features of the black-jack exponent. there was a subtle butnoticeable resemblance to those of mr. bat jarvis. apparently the latter's oiled forelock,worn low over the forehead, was more a concession to the general fashion prevailing in gangcircles than an expression of personal taste. mr. repetto had it, too. in his case it wasalmost white, for the fallen warrior was an albino. his eyes, which were closed, had whitelashes and were set as near together as nature had been able to manage without actually runningthem into one another. his under-lip protruded

and drooped. looking at him, one felt instinctivelythat no judging committee of a beauty contest would hesitate a moment before him. it soon became apparent that the light ofthe lamp, though bestowing the doubtful privilege of a clearer view of mr. repetto's face, heldcertain disadvantages. scarcely had the staff of cosy moments reached the faint yellow poolof light, in the centre of which mr. repetto reclined, than, with a suddenness which causedthem to leap into the air, there sounded from the darkness down the road the crack-crack-crackof a revolver. instantly from the opposite direction came other shots. three bulletsflicked grooves in the roadway almost at billy's feet. the kid gave a sudden howl. psmith'shat, suddenly imbued with life, sprang into

the air and vanished, whirling into the night. the thought did not come to them consciouslyat the moment, there being little time to think, but it was evident as soon as, divingout of the circle of light into the sheltering darkness, they crouched down and waited forthe next move, that a somewhat skilful ambush had been effected. the other members of thegang, who had fled with such remarkable speed, had by no means been eliminated altogetherfrom the game. while the questioning of mr. repetto had been in progress, they had creptback, unperceived except by mr. repetto himself. it being too dark for successful shooting,it had become mr. repetto's task to lure his captors into the light, which he had accomplishedwith considerable skill.

for some minutes the battle halted. therewas dead silence. the circle of light was empty now. mr. repetto had vanished. a tentativeshot from nowhere ripped through the air close to where psmith lay flattened on the pavement.and then the pavement began to vibrate and give out a curious resonant sound. to psmithit conveyed nothing, but to the opposing army it meant much. they knew it for what it was.somewhere—it might be near or far—a policeman had heard the shots, and was signalling forhelp to other policemen along the line by beating on the flag-stones with his night-stick,the new york constable's substitute for the london police-whistle. the noise grew, filling the still air. fromsomewhere down the road sounded the ring of

running feet. "de cops!" cried a voice. "beat it!" next moment the night was full of clatter.the gang was "beating it." psmith rose to his feet and dusted his clothesruefully. for the first time he realised the horrors of war. his hat had gone for ever.his trousers could never be the same again after their close acquaintance with the pavement. the rescue party was coming up at the gallop. the new york policeman may lack the quietdignity of his london rival, but he is a hustler. "what's doing?"

"nothing now," said the disgusted voice ofbilly windsor from the shadows. "they've beaten it." the circle of lamplight became as if by mutualconsent a general rendezvous. three grey-clad policemen, tough, clean-shaven men with keeneyes and square jaws, stood there, revolver in one hand, night-stick in the other. psmith,hatless and dusty, joined them. billy windsor and the kid, the latter bleeding freely fromhis left ear, the lobe of which had been chipped by a bullet, were the last to arrive. "what's bin the rough house?" inquired oneof the policemen, mildly interested. "do you know a sportsman of the name of repetto?"inquired psmith.

"jack repetto! sure." "he belongs to the three points," said anotherintelligent officer, as one naming some fashionable club. "when next you see him," said psmith, "i shouldbe obliged if you would use your authority to make him buy me a new hat. i could do withanother pair of trousers, too; but i will not press the trousers. a new hat, is, however,essential. mine has a six-inch hole in it." "shot at you, did they?" said one of the policemen,as who should say, "dash the lads, they're always up to some of their larks." "shot at us!" burst out the ruffled kid. "whatdo you think's bin happening? think an aeroplane

ran into my ear and took half of it off? thinkthe noise was somebody opening bottles of pop? think those guys that sneaked off downthe road was just training for a marathon?" "comrade brady," said psmith, "touches thespot. he—" "say, are you kid brady?" inquired one ofthe officers. for the first time the constabulary had begun to display any real animation. "reckoned i'd seen you somewhere!" said another."you licked cyclone al. all right, kid, i hear.""and who but a bone-head thought he wouldn't?" demanded the third warmly. "he could whipa dozen cyclone al.'s in the same evening with his eyes shut."

"he's the next champeen," admitted the firstspeaker. "if he puts it over jimmy garvin," arguedthe second. "jimmy garvin!" cried the third. "he can whiptwenty jimmy garvins with his feet tied. i tell you—" "i am loath," observed psmith, "to interruptthis very impressive brain-barbecue, but, trivial as it may seem to you, to me thereis a certain interest in this other little matter of my ruined hat. i know that it maystrike you as hypersensitive of us to protest against being riddled with bullets, but—" "well, what's bin doin'?" inquired the force.it was a nuisance, this perpetual harping

on trifles when the deep question of the light-weightchampionship of the world was under discussion, but the sooner it was attended to, the soonerit would be over. billy windsor undertook to explain. "the three points laid for us," he said. "jackrepetto was bossing the crowd. i don't know who the rest were. the kid put one over onto jack repetto's chin, and we were asking him a few questions when the rest came back,and started into shooting. then we got to cover quick, and you came up and they beatit." "that," said psmith, nodding, "is a very fairprã©cis of the evening's events. we should like you, if you will be so good, to corralthis comrade repetto, and see that he buys

me a new hat." "we'll round jack up," said one of the policemenindulgently. "do it nicely," urged psmith. "don't go hurtinghis feelings." the second policeman gave it as his opinionthat jack was getting too gay. the third policeman conceded this. jack, he said, had shown signsfor some time past of asking for it in the neck. it was an error on jack's part, he gavehis hearers to understand, to assume that the lid was completely off the great cityof new york. "too blamed fresh he's gettin'," the trioagreed. they could not have been more disapproving if they had been prefects at haileybury andmr. repetto a first-termer who had been detected

in the act of wearing his cap on the backof his head. they seemed to think it was too bad of jack. "the wrath of the law," said psmith, "is veryterrible. we will leave the matter, then, in your hands. in the meantime, we shouldbe glad if you would direct us to the nearest subway station. just at the moment, the cheerfullights of the great white way are what i seem to chiefly need." chapter xviiguerilla warfare thus ended the opening engagement of the campaign,seemingly in a victory for the cosy moments army. billy windsor, however, shook his head.

"we've got mighty little out of it," he said. "the victory," said psmith, "was not bloodless.comrade brady's ear, my hat—these are not slight casualties. on the other hand, surelywe are one up? surely we have gained ground? the elimination of comrade repetto from thescheme of things in itself is something. i know few men i would not rather meet in alonely road than comrade repetto. he is one of nature's sand-baggers. probably the thingcrept upon him slowly. he started, possibly, in a merely tentative way by slugging oneof the family circle. his nurse, let us say, or his young brother. but, once started, heis unable to resist the craving. the thing grips him like dram-drinking. he sandbagsnow not because he really wants to, but because

he cannot help himself. to me there is somethingconsoling in the thought that comrade repetto will no longer be among those present." "what makes you think that?" "i should imagine that a benevolent law willput him away in his little cell for at least a brief spell." "not on your life," said billy. "he'll provean alibi." psmith's eyeglass dropped out of his eye.he replaced it, and gazed, astonished, at billy. "an alibi? when three keen-eyed men actuallycaught him at it?"

"he can find thirty toughs to swear he wasfive miles away." "and get the court to believe it?" said psmith. "sure," said billy disgustedly. "you don'tcatch them hurting a gangsman unless they're pushed against the wall. the politicians don'twant the gangs in gaol, especially as the aldermanic elections will be on in a few weeks.did you ever hear of monk eastman?" "i fancy not, comrade windsor. if i did, thename has escaped me. who was this cleric?""he was the first boss of the east side gang, before kid twist took it on." "yes?"

"he was arrested dozens of times, but he alwaysgot off. do you know what he said once, when they pulled him for thugging a fellow outin new jersey?" "i fear not, comrade windsor. tell me all." "he said, 'you're arresting me, huh? say,you want to look where you're goin'; i cut some ice in this town. i made half the bigpoliticians in new york!' that was what he said." "his small-talk," said psmith, "seems to havebeen bright and well-expressed. what happened then? was he restored to his friends and hisrelations?" "sure, he was. what do you think? well, jackrepetto isn't monk eastman, but he's in with

spider reilly, and the spider's in with themen behind. jack'll get off." "it looks to me, comrade windsor," said psmiththoughtfully, "as if my stay in this great city were going to cost me a small fortunein hats." billy's prophecy proved absolutely correct.the police were as good as their word. in due season they rounded up the impulsive mr.repetto, and he was haled before a magistrate. and then, what a beautiful exhibition of brotherlylove and auld-lang-syne camaraderie was witnessed! one by one, smirking sheepishly, but givingout their evidence with unshaken earnestness, eleven greasy, wandering-eyed youths mountedthe witness-stand and affirmed on oath that at the time mentioned dear old jack had beenmaking merry in their company in a genial

and law-abiding fashion, many, many blocksbelow the scene of the regrettable assault. the magistrate discharged the prisoner, andthe prisoner, meeting billy and psmith in the street outside, leered triumphantly atthem. billy stepped up to him. "you may have wriggledout of this," he said furiously, "but if you don't get a move on and quit looking at melike that, i'll knock you over the singer building. hump yourself." mr. repetto humped himself. so was victory turned into defeat, and billy'sjaw became squarer and his eye more full of the light of battle than ever. and there wasneed of a square jaw and a battle-lit eye,

for now began a period of guerilla warfaresuch as no new york paper had ever had to fight against. it was wheeler, the gaunt manager of the businessside of the journal, who first brought it to the notice of the editorial staff. wheelerwas a man for whom in business hours nothing existed but his job; and his job was to lookafter the distribution of the paper. as to the contents of the paper he was absolutelyignorant. he had been with cosy moments from its start, but he had never read a line ofit. he handled it as if it were so much soap. the scholarly writings of mr. wilberfloss,the mirth-provoking sallies of mr. b. henderson asher, the tender outpourings of louella granvillewaterman—all these were things outside his

ken. he was a distributor, and he distributed. a few days after the restoration of mr. repettoto east side society, mr. wheeler came into the editorial room with information and desirefor information. he endeavoured to satisfy the latter first. "what's doing, anyway?" he asked. he thenproceeded to his information. "some one's got it in against the paper, sure," he said."i don't know what it's all about. i ha'n't never read the thing. don't see what any onecould have against a paper with a name like cosy moments, anyway. the way things havebeen going last few days, seems it might be the organ of a blamed mining-camp what theboys have took a dislike to."

"what's been happening?" asked billy withgleaming eyes. "why, nothing in the world to fuss about,only our carriers can't go out without being beaten up by gangs of toughs. pat harrigan'sin the hospital now. just been looking in on him. pat's a feller who likes to fight.rather fight he would than see a ball-game. but this was too much for him. know what happened?why, see here, just like this it was. pat goes out with his cart. passing through alow-down street on his way up-town he's held up by a bunch of toughs. he shows fight. halfa dozen of them attend to him, while the rest gets clean away with every copy of the paperthere was in the cart. when the cop comes along, there's pat in pieces on the groundand nobody in sight but a dago chewing gum.

cop asks the dago what's been doing, and thedago says he's only just come round the corner and ha'n't seen nothing of anybody. what iwant to know is, what's it all about? who's got it in for us and why?" mr. wheeler leaned back in his chair, whilebilly, his hair rumpled more than ever and his eyes glowing, explained the situation.mr. wheeler listened absolutely unmoved, and, when the narrative had come to an end, gaveit as his opinion that the editorial staff had sand. that was his sole comment. "it'sup to you," he said, rising. "you know your business. say, though, some one had betterget busy right quick and do something to stop these guys rough-housing like this. if weget a few more carriers beat up the way pat

was, there'll be a strike. it's not as ifthey were all irishmen. the most of them are dagoes and such, and they don't want any morefight than they can get by beating their wives and kicking kids off the sidewalk. i'll domy best to get this paper distributed right and it's a shame if it ain't, because it'sgoing big just now—but it's up to you. good day, gents." he went out. psmith looked at billy. "as comrade wheeler remarks," he said, "itis up to us. what do you propose to do about it? this is a move of the enemy which i havenot anticipated. i had fancied that their operations would be confined exclusively toour two selves. if they are going to strew

the street with our carriers, we are somewhatin the soup." billy said nothing. he was chewing the stemof an unlighted pipe. psmith went on."it means, of course, that we must buck up to a certain extent. if the campaign is tobe a long one, they have us where the hair is crisp. we cannot stand the strain. cosymoments cannot be muzzled, but it can undoubtedly be choked. what we want to do is to find outthe name of the man behind the tenements as soon as ever we can and publish it; and, then,if we perish, fall yelling the name." billy admitted the soundness of this scheme,but wished to know how it was to be done. "comrade windsor," said psmith. "i have beenthinking this thing over, and it seems to

me that we are on the wrong track, or ratherwe aren't on any track at all; we are simply marking time. what we want to do is to goout and hustle round till we stir up something. our line up to the present has been to sitat home and scream vigorously in the hope of some stout fellow hearing and rushing tohelp. in other words, we've been saying in the paper what an out-size in scugs the merchantmust be who owns those tenements, in the hope that somebody else will agree with us andbe sufficiently interested to get to work and find out who the blighter is. that's allwrong. what we must do now, comrade windsor, is put on our hats, such hats as comrade repettohas left us, and sally forth as sleuth-hounds on our own account."

"yes, but how?" demanded billy. "that's allright in theory, but how's it going to work in practice? the only thing that can cornerthe man is a commission." "far from it, comrade windsor. the job maybe worked more simply. i don't know how often the rents are collected in these places, buti should say at a venture once a week. my idea is to hang negligently round till therent-collector arrives, and when he has loomed up on the horizon, buttonhole him and askhim quite politely, as man to man, whether he is collecting those rents for himself orfor somebody else, and if somebody else, who that somebody else is. simple, i fancy? yetbrainy. do you take me, comrade windsor?" billy sat up, excited. "i believe you've hitit."

psmith shot his cuffs modestly. chapter xviiian episode by the wayit was pugsy maloney who, on the following morning, brought to the office the gist ofwhat is related in this chapter. pugsy's version was, however, brief and unadorned, as wasthe way with his narratives. such things as first causes and piquant details he avoided,as tending to prolong the telling excessively, thus keeping him from perusal of his cowboystories. the way pugsy put it was as follows. he gave the thing out merely as an item ofgeneral interest, a bubble on the surface of the life of a great city. he did not knowhow nearly interested were his employers in

any matter touching that gang which is knownas the three points. pugsy said: "dere's trouble down where i live. dude dawson's mad at spiderreilly, an' now de table hills are layin' for de t'ree points. sure." he had then retiredto his outer fastness, yielding further details jerkily and with the distrait air of one whosemind is elsewhere. skilfully extracted and pieced together, thesedetails formed themselves into the following typical narrative of east side life in newyork. the really important gangs of new york arefour. there are other less important institutions, but these are little more than mere friendlygatherings of old boyhood chums for purposes of mutual companionship. in time they maygrow, as did bat jarvis's coterie, into formidable

organisations, for the soil is undoubtedlypropitious to such growth. but at present the amount of ice which good judges declarethem to cut is but small. they "stick up" an occasional wayfarer for his "cush," andthey carry "canisters" and sometimes fire them off, but these things do not signifythe cutting of ice. in matters political there are only four gangs which count, the eastside, the groome street, the three points, and the table hill. greatest of these by virtueof their numbers are the east side and the groome street, the latter presided over atthe time of this story by mr. bat jarvis. these two are colossal, and, though they mayfight each other, are immune from attack at the hands of lesser gangs. but between theother gangs, and especially between the table

hill and the three points, which are muchof a size, warfare rages as briskly as among the republics of south america. there hasalways been bad blood between the table hill and the three points, and until they wipeeach other out after the manner of the kilkenny cats, it is probable that there always willbe. little events, trifling in themselves, have always occurred to shatter friendly relationsjust when there has seemed a chance of their being formed. thus, just as the table hilliteswere beginning to forgive the three points for shooting the redoubtable paul horgan downat coney island, a three pointer injudiciously wiped out another of the rival gang near canalstreet. he pleaded self-defence, and in any case it was probably mere thoughtlessness,but nevertheless the table hillites were ruffled.

that had been a month or so back. during thatmonth things had been simmering down, and peace was just preparing to brood when thereoccurred the incident to which pugsy had alluded, the regrettable falling out of dude dawsonand spider reilly at mr. maginnis's dancing saloon, shamrock hall, the same which batjarvis had been called in to protect in the days before the groome street gang began tobe. shamrock hall, being under the eyes of thegreat bat, was, of course, forbidden ground; and it was with no intention of spoiling theharmony of the evening that mr. dawson had looked in. he was there in a purely privateand peaceful character. as he sat smoking, sipping, and observingthe revels, there settled at the next table

mr. robert ("nigger") coston, an eminent memberof the three points. there being temporary peace between the twogangs, the great men exchanged a not unfriendly nod and, after a short pause, a word or two.mr. coston, alluding to an italian who had just pirouetted past, remarked that theresure was some class to the way that wop hit it up. mr. dawson said yup, there sure was.you would have said that all nature smiled. alas! the next moment the sky was coveredwith black clouds and the storm broke. for mr. dawson, continuing in this vein of criticism,rather injudiciously gave it as his opinion that one of the lady dancers had two leftfeet. for a moment mr. coston did not see whichlady was alluded to.

"de goil in de pink skoit," said mr. dawson,facilitating the other's search by pointing with a much-chewed cigarette. it was at thismoment that nature's smile was shut off as if by a tap. for the lady in the pink skirthad been in receipt of mr. coston's respectful devotion for the past eight days. from this point onwards the march of eventswas rapid. mr. coston, rising, asked mr. dawson who hethought he, mr. dawson, was. mr. dawson, extinguishing his cigarette andplacing it behind his ear, replied that he was the fellow who could bite his, mr. coston's,head off. mr. coston said: "huh?"

mr. dawson said: "sure." mr. coston called mr. dawson a pie-faced rubber-neckedfour-flusher. mr. dawson called mr. coston a coon. and that was where the trouble really started. it was secretly a great grief to mr. costonthat his skin was of so swarthy a hue. to be permitted to address mr. coston face toface by his nickname was a sign of the closest friendship, to which only spider reilly, jackrepetto, and one or two more of the gang could aspire. others spoke of him as nigger, or,more briefly, nig—strictly behind his back. for mr. coston had a wide reputation as afighter, and his particular mode of battling

was to descend on his antagonist and bitehim. into this action he flung himself with the passionate abandonment of the artist.when he bit he bit. he did not nibble. if a friend had called mr. coston "nig" hewould have been running grave risks. a stranger, and a leader of a rival gang, who addressedhim as "coon" was more than asking for trouble. he was pleading for it. great men seldom waste time. mr. coston, leaningtowards mr. dawson, promptly bit him on the cheek. mr. dawson bounded from his seat. suchwas the excitement of the moment that, instead of drawing his "canister," he forgot thathe had one on his person, and, seizing a mug which had held beer, bounced it vigorouslyon mr. coston's skull, which, being of solid

wood, merely gave out a resonant note andremained unbroken. so far the honours were comparatively even,with perhaps a slight balance in favour of mr. coston. but now occurred an incident whichturned the scale, and made war between the gangs inevitable. in the far corner of theroom, surrounded by a crowd of admiring friends, sat spider reilly, monarch of the three points.he had noticed that there was a slight disturbance at the other side of the hall, but had givenit little attention till, the dancing ceasing suddenly and the floor emptying itself ofits crowd, he had a plain view of mr. dawson and mr. coston squaring up at each other forthe second round. we must assume that mr. reilly was not thinking what he did, for hisaction was contrary to all rules of gang-etiquette.

in the street it would have been perfectlylegitimate, even praiseworthy, but in a dance-hall belonging to a neutral power it was unpardonable. what he did was to produce his "canister"and pick off the unsuspecting mr. dawson just as that exquisite was preparing to get insome more good work with the beer-mug. the leader of the table hillites fell with a crash,shot through the leg; and spider reilly, together with mr. coston and others of the three points,sped through the doorway for safety, fearing the wrath of bat jarvis, who, it was known,would countenance no such episodes at the dance-hall which he had undertaken to protect. mr. dawson, meanwhile, was attended to andhelped home. willing informants gave him the

name of his aggressor, and before morningthe table hill camp was in ferment. shooting broke out in three places, though there wereno casualties. when the day dawned there existed between the two gangs a state of war morebitter than any in their record; for this time it was no question of obscure nonentities.chieftain had assaulted chieftain; royal blood had been spilt. "comrade windsor," said psmith, when mastermaloney had spoken his last word, "we must take careful note of this little matter. irather fancy that sooner or later we may be able to turn it to our profit. i am sorryfor dude dawson, anyhow. though i have never met him, i have a sort of instinctive respectfor him. a man such as he would feel a bullet

through his trouser-leg more than one of commonclay who cared little how his clothes looked." chapter xixin pleasant street careful inquiries, conducted incognito bymaster maloney among the denizens of pleasant street, brought the information that rentsin the tenements were collected not weekly but monthly, a fact which must undoubtedlycause a troublesome hitch in the campaign. rent-day, announced pugsy, fell on the lastday of the month. "i rubbered around," he said, "and did desleut' act, and i finds t'ings out. dere's a feller comes round 'bout supper time datday, an' den it's up to de fam'lies what lives in de tenements to dig down into deir jeansfer de stuff, or out dey goes dat same night."

"evidently a hustler, our nameless friend,"said psmith. "i got dat from a kid what knows anuder kidwhat lives dere," explained master maloney. "say," he proceeded confidentially, "dat kid'sin bad, sure he is. dat second kid, de one what lives dere. he's a wop kid, an—" "a what, comrade maloney?" "a wop. a dago. why, don't you get next? why,an italian. sure, dat's right. well, dis kid, he is sure to de bad, 'cos his father comeover from italy to work on de subway." "i don't see why that puts him in bad," saidbilly windsor wonderingly. "nor i," agreed psmith. "your narratives,comrade maloney, always seem to me to suffer

from a certain lack of construction. you startat the end, and then you go back to any portion of the story which happens to appeal to youat the moment, eventually winding up at the beginning. why should the fact that this stripling'sfather has come over from italy to work on the subway be a misfortune?" "why, sure, because he got fired an' wentan' swatted de foreman one on de coco, an' de magistrate gives him t'oity days." "and then, comrade maloney? this thing isbeginning to get clearer. you are like sherlock holmes. after you've explained a thing fromstart to finish—or, as you prefer to do, from finish to start—it becomes quite simple."

"why, den dis kid's in bad for fair, 'cosder ain't nobody to pungle de bones." "pungle de what, comrade maloney?" "de bones. de stuff. dat's right. de dollars.he's all alone, dis kid, so when de rent-guy blows in, who's to slip him over de simoleons?it'll be outside for his, quick." billy warmed up at this tale of distress inhis usual way. "somebody ought to do something. it's a vile shame the kid being turned outlike that." "we will see to it, comrade windsor. cosymoments shall step in. we will combine business with pleasure, paying the stripling's rentand corralling the rent-collector at the same time. what is today? how long before the endof the month? another week! a murrain on it,

comrade windsor. two murrains. this delaymay undo us." but the days went by without any further movementon the part of the enemy. a strange quiet seemed to be brooding over the other camp.as a matter of fact, the sudden outbreak of active hostilities with the table hill contingenthad had the effect of taking the minds of spider reilly and his warriors off cosy momentsand its affairs, much as the unexpected appearance of a mad bull would make a man forget thathe had come out butterfly-hunting. psmith and billy could wait; they were not likelyto take the offensive; but the table hillites demanded instant attention. war had broken out, as was usual between thegangs, in a somewhat tentative fashion at

first sight. there had been sniping and skirmishesby the wayside, but as yet no pitched battle. the two armies were sparring for an opening. the end of the week arrived, and psmith andbilly, conducted by master maloney, made their way to pleasant street. to get there it wasnecessary to pass through a section of the enemy's country; but the perilous passagewas safely negotiated. the expedition reached its unsavoury goal intact. the wop kid, whose name, it appeared, wasgiuseppe orloni, inhabited a small room at the very top of the building next to the onepsmith and mike had visited on their first appearance in pleasant street. he was outwhen the party, led by pugsy up dark stairs,

arrived; and, on returning, seemed both surprisedand alarmed to see visitors. pugsy undertook to do the honours. pugsy as interpreter wasenergetic but not wholly successful. he appeared to have a fixed idea that the italian languagewas one easily mastered by the simple method of saying "da" instead of "the," and tackingon a final "a" to any word that seemed to him to need one. "say, kid," he began, "has da rent-a-man comeyet-a?" the black eyes of the wop kid clouded. hegesticulated, and said something in his native language. "he hasn't got next," reported master maloney."he can't git on to me curves. dese wop kids

is all boneheads. say, kid, look-a here."he walked out of the room and closed the door; then, rapping on it smartly from the outside,re-entered and, assuming a look of extreme ferocity, stretched out his hand and thundered:"unbelt-a! slip-a me da stuff!" the wop kid's puzzlement became pathetic. "this," said psmith, deeply interested, "isgetting about as tense as anything i ever struck. don't give in, comrade maloney. whoknows but that you may yet win through? i fancy the trouble is that your too perfectitalian accent is making the youth home-sick. once more to the breach, comrade maloney." master maloney made a gesture of disgust."i'm t'roo. dese dagoes makes me tired. dey

don't know enough to go upstairs to take deelevated. beat it, you mutt," he observed with moody displeasure to the wop kid, accompanyingthe words with a gesture which conveyed its own meaning. the wop kid, plainly glad toget away, slipped out of the door like a shadow. pugsy shrugged his shoulders. "gents," he said resignedly, "it's up to youse." "i fancy," said psmith, "that this is oneof those moments when it is necessary for me to unlimber my sherlock holmes system.as thus. if the rent collector had been here, it is certain, i think, that comrade spaghetti,or whatever you said his name was, wouldn't have been. that is to say, if the rent collectorhad called and found no money waiting for

him, surely comrade spaghetti would have beenout in the cold night instead of under his own roof-tree. do you follow me, comrade maloney?" "that's right," said billy windsor. "of course." "elementary, my dear watson, elementary,"murmured psmith. "so all we have to do is to sit here and wait." "all?" said psmith sadly. "surely it is enough.for of all the scaly localities i have struck this seems to me the scaliest. the architectof this stately home of america seems to have had a positive hatred for windows. his ideaof ventilation was to leave a hole in the wall about the size of a lima bean and letthe thing go at that. if our friend does not

arrive shortly, i shall pull down the roof.why, gadzooks! not to mention stap my vitals! isn't that a trap-door up there? make a long-arm,comrade windsor." billy got on a chair and pulled the bolt.the trap-door opened downwards. it fell, disclosing a square of deep blue sky. "gum!" he said. "fancy living in this atmospherewhen you don't have to. fancy these fellows keeping that shut all the time." "i expect it is an acquired taste," said psmith,"like limburger cheese. they don't begin to appreciate air till it is thick enough toscoop chunks out of with a spoon. then they get up on their hind legs and inflate theirchests and say, 'this is fine! this beats

ozone hollow!' leave it open, comrade windsor.and now, as to the problem of dispensing with comrade maloney's services?" "sure," said billy. "beat it, pugsy, my lad." pugsy looked up, indignant. "beat it?" he queried. "while your shoe leather's good," said billy."this is no place for a minister's son. there may be a rough house in here any minute, andyou would be in the way." "i want to stop and pipe de fun," objectedmaster maloney. "never mind. cut off. we'll tell you all aboutit to-morrow."

master maloney prepared reluctantly to depart.as he did so there was a sound of a well-shod foot on the stairs, and a man in a snuff-colouredsuit, wearing a brown homburg hat and carrying a small notebook in one hand, walked brisklyinto the room. it was not necessary for psmith to get his sherlock holmes system to work.his whole appearance proclaimed the new-comer to be the long-expected collector of rents. chapter xxcornered he stood in the doorway looking with some surpriseat the group inside. he was a smallish, pale-faced man with protruding eyes and teeth which gavehim a certain resemblance to a rabbit.

"hello," he said. "welcome to new york," said psmith. master maloney, who had taken advantage ofthe interruption to edge farther into the room, now appeared to consider the questionof his departure permanently shelved. he sidled to a corner and sat down on an empty soap-boxwith the air of a dramatic critic at the opening night of a new play. the scene looked goodto him. it promised interesting developments. master maloney was an earnest student of thedrama, as exhibited in the theatres of the east side, and few had ever applauded thehero of "escaped from sing-sing," or hissed the villain of "nellie, the beautiful cloak-model"with more fervour than he. he liked his drama

to have plenty of action, and to his practisedeye this one promised well. psmith he looked upon as a quite amiable lunatic, from whomlittle was to be expected; but there was a set expression on billy windsor's face whichsuggested great things. his pleasure was abruptly quenched. billywindsor, placing a firm hand on his collar, led him to the door and pushed him out, closingthe door behind him. the rent collector watched these things witha puzzled eye. he now turned to psmith. "say, seen anything of the wops that livehere?" he inquired. "i am addressing—?" said psmith courteously. "my name's gooch."

"touching these wops, comrade gooch," he said,"i fear there is little chance of your seeing them to-night, unless you wait some considerabletime. with one of them—the son and heir of the family, i should say—we have justbeen having a highly interesting and informative chat. comrade maloney, who has just left us,acted as interpreter. the father, i am told, is in the dungeon below the castle moat fora brief spell for punching his foreman in the eye. the result? the rent is not forthcoming." "then it's outside for theirs," said mr. goochdefinitely. "it's a big shame," broke in billy, "turningthe kid out. where's he to go?" "that's up to him. nothing to do with me.i'm only acting under orders from up top."

"whose orders, comrade gooch?" inquired psmith. "the gent who owns this joint." "who is he?" said billy. suspicion crept into the protruding eyes ofthe rent collector. he waxed wroth. "say!" he demanded. "who are you two guys, anyway,and what do you think you're doing here? that's what i'd like to know. what do you want withthe name of the owner of this place? what business is it of yours?" "the fact is, comrade gooch, we are newspapermen." "i guessed you were," said mr. gooch withtriumph. "you can't bluff me. well, it's no

good, boys. i've nothing for you. you'd betterchase off and try something else." he became more friendly. "say, though," he said, "i just guessed youwere from some paper. i wish i could give you a story, but i can't. i guess it's thiscosy moments business that's been and put your editor on to this joint, ain't it? say,though, that's a queer thing, that paper. why, only a few weeks ago it used to be asort of take-home-and-read-to-the-kids affair. a friend of mine used to buy it regular. andthen suddenly it comes out with a regular whoop, and started knocking these tenementsand boosting kid brady, and all that. i can't understand it. all i know is that it's begunto get this place talked about. why, you see

for yourselves how it is. here is your editorsending you down to get a story about it. but, say, those cosy moments guys are takingbig risks. i tell you straight they are, and that goes. i happen to know a thing or twoabout what's going on on the other side, and i tell you there's going to be something doingif they don't cut it out quick. mr.—" he stopped and chuckled, "mr. jones isn't theman to sit still and smile. he's going to get busy. say, what paper do you boys comefrom?" "cosy moments, comrade gooch," psmith replied."immediately behind you, between you and the door, is comrade windsor, our editor. i ampsmith. i sub-edit." for a moment the inwardness of the informationdid not seem to come home to mr. gooch. then

it hit him. he spun round. billy windsor wasstanding with his back against the door and a more than nasty look on his face. "what's all this?" demanded mr. gooch. "i will explain all," said psmith soothingly."in the first place, however, this matter of comrade spaghetti's rent. sooner than seethat friend of my boyhood slung out to do the wandering-child-in-the-snow act, i willbrass up for him." "confound his rent. let me out." "business before pleasure. how much is it?twelve dollars? for the privilege of suffocating in this compact little black hole? by my halidom,comrade gooch, that gentleman whose name you

are so shortly to tell us has a very fairidea of how to charge! but who am i that i should criticise? here are the simoleons,as our young friend, comrade maloney, would call them. push me over a receipt." "let me out." "anon, gossip, anon.—shakespeare. first,the receipt." mr. gooch scribbled a few words in his notebookand tore out the page. psmith thanked him. "i will see that it reaches comrade spaghetti,"he said. "and now to a more important matter. don't put away that notebook. turn to a cleanpage, moisten your pencil, and write as follows. are you ready? by the way, what is your christianname? . . . gooch, gooch, this is no way to

speak! well, if you are sensitive on the point,we will waive the christian name. it is my duty to tell you, however, that i suspectit to be percy. let us push on. are you ready, once more? pencil moistened? very well, then.'i'—comma—'being of sound mind and body'—comma—'and a bright little chap altogether'—comma—why,you're not writing." "let me out," bellowed mr. gooch. "i'll summonyou for assault and battery. playing a fool game like this! get away from that door." "there has been no assault and battery yet,comrade gooch, but who shall predict how long so happy a state of things will last? do notbe deceived by our gay and smiling faces, comrade gooch. we mean business. let me putthe whole position of affairs before you;

and i am sure a man of your perception willsee that there is only one thing to be done." he dusted the only chair in the room withinfinite care and sat down. billy windsor, who had not spoken a word or moved an inchsince the beginning of the interview, continued to stand and be silent. mr. gooch shuffledrestlessly in the middle of the room. "as you justly observed a moment ago," saidpsmith, "the staff of cosy moments is taking big risks. we do not rely on your unsupportedword for that. we have had practical demonstration of the fact from one j. repetto, who triedsome few nights ago to put us out of business. well, it struck us both that we had betterget hold of the name of the blighter who runs these tenements as quickly as possible, beforecomrade repetto's next night out. that is

what we should like you to give us, comradegooch. and we should like it in writing. and, on second thoughts, in ink. i have one ofthose patent non-leakable fountain pens in my pocket. the old journalist's best friend.most of the ink has come out and is permeating the lining of my coat, but i think there isstill sufficient for our needs. remind me later, comrade gooch, to continue on the subjectof fountain pens. i have much to say on the theme. meanwhile, however, business, business.that is the cry." he produced a pen and an old letter, the lastpage of which was blank, and began to write. "how does this strike you?" he said. "'i'—(ihave left a blank for the christian name: you can write it in yourself later)—'i,blank gooch, being a collector of rents in

pleasant street, new york, do hereby swear'—hush,comrade gooch, there is no need to do it yet—'that the name of the owner of the pleasant streettenements, who is responsible for the perfectly foul conditions there, is—' and that iswhere you come in, comrade gooch. that is where we need your specialised knowledge.who is he?" billy windsor reached out and grabbed therent collector by the collar. having done this, he proceeded to shake him. billy was muscular, and his heart was so muchin the business that mr. gooch behaved as if he had been caught in a high wind. it isprobable that in another moment the desired information might have been shaken out ofhim, but before this could happen there was

a banging at the door, followed by the entranceof master maloney. for the first time since psmith had known him, pugsy was openly excited. "say," he began, "youse had better beat itquick, you had. dey's coming!" "and now go back to the beginning, comrademaloney," said psmith patiently, "which in the exuberance of the moment you have skipped.who are coming?" "why, dem. de guys." "your habit of omitting essentials, comrademaloney, is going to undo you one of these days. when you get to that ranch of yours,you will probably start out to gallop after the cattle without remembering to mount yourmustang. there are four million guys in new

york. which section is it that is coming?" "gum! i don't know how many dere is ob dem.i seen spider reilly an' jack repetto an'—" "say no more," said psmith. "if comrade repettois there, that is enough for me. i am going to get on the roof and pull it up after me." billy released mr. gooch, who fell, puffing,on to the low bed, which stood in one corner of the room. "they must have spotted us as we were cominghere," he said, "and followed us. where did you see them, pugsy?" "on de street just outside. dere was a bunchof dem talkin' togedder, and i hears dem say

you was in here. one of dem seen you comein, an dere ain't no ways out but de front, so dey ain't hurryin'! dey just reckon topike along upstairs, lookin' into each room till dey finds you. an dere's a bunch of demgoin' to wait on de street in case youse beat it past down de stairs while de udder guysis rubberin' for youse. say, gents, it's pretty fierce, dis proposition. what are youse goin'to do?" mr. gooch, from the bed, laughed unpleasantly. "i guess you ain't the only assault-and-batteryartists in the business," he said. "looks to me as if some one else was going to getshaken up some." billy looked at psmith.

"well?" he said. "what shall we do? go downand try and rush through?" "not so, comrade windsor, but about as muchotherwise as you can jolly well imagine." "well, what then?" "we will stay here. or rather we will hopnimbly up on to the roof through that skylight. once there, we may engage these varlets onfairly equal terms. they can only get through one at a time. and while they are doing iti will give my celebrated imitation of horatius. we had better be moving. our luggage, fortunately,is small. merely comrade gooch. if you will get through the skylight, i will pass himup to you." mr. gooch, with much verbal embroidery, statedthat he would not go. psmith acted promptly.

gripping the struggling rent collector roundthe waist, and ignoring his frantic kicks as mere errors in taste, he lifted him tothe trap-door, whence the head, shoulders and arms of billy windsor protruded into theroom. billy collected the collector, and then psmith turned to pugsy. "comrade maloney." "have i your ear?" "are you listening till you feel that yourears are the size of footballs? then drink this in. for weeks you have been praying fora chance to show your devotion to the great cause; or if you haven't, you ought to havebeen. that chance has come. you alone can

save us. in a sense, of course, we do notneed to be saved. they will find it hard to get at us, i fancy, on the roof. but it illbefits the dignity of the editorial staff of a great new york weekly to roost like pigeonsfor any length of time; and consequently it is up to you." "shall i go for de cops, mr. smith?" "no, comrade maloney, i thank you. i haveseen the cops in action, and they did not impress me. we do not want allies who willmerely shake their heads at comrade repetto and the others, however sternly. we want someone who will swoop down upon these merry roisterers, and, as it were, soak to them good. do youknow where dude dawson lives?"

the light of intelligence began to shine inmaster maloney's face. his eye glistened with respectful approval. this was strategy ofthe right sort. "dude dawson? nope. but i can ask around." "do so, comrade maloney. and when found, tellhim that his old college chum, spider reilly, is here. he will not be able to come himself,i fear, but he can send representatives." "that's all, then. go downstairs with a gayand jaunty air, as if you had no connection with the old firm at all. whistle a few livelybars. make careless gestures. thus shall you win through. and now it would be no bad idea,i fancy, for me to join the rest of the brains of the paper up aloft. off you go, comrademaloney. and, in passing, don't take a week

about it. leg it with all the speed you possess." pugsy vanished, and psmith closed the doorbehind him. inspection revealed the fact that it possessed no lock. as a barrier it wasuseless. he left it ajar, and, jumping up, gripped the edge of the opening in the roofand pulled himself through. billy windsor was seated comfortably on mr.gooch's chest a few feet away. by his side was his big stick. psmith possessed himselfof this, and looked about him. the examination was satisfactory. the trap-door appeared tobe the only means of access to the roof, and between their roof and that of the next housethere was a broad gulf. "practically impregnable," he murmured. "onlyone thing can dish us, comrade windsor; and

that is if they have the sense to get on tothe roof next door and start shooting. even in that case, however, we have cover in theshape of the chimneys. i think we may fairly say that all is well. how are you gettingalong? has the patient responded at all?" "not yet," said billy. "but he's going to." "he will be in your charge. i must devotemyself exclusively to guarding the bridge. it is a pity that the trap has not got a boltthis side. if it had, the thing would be a perfect picnic. as it is, we must leave itopen. but we mustn't expect everything." billy was about to speak, but psmith suddenlyheld up his hand warningly. from the room below came a sound of feet.

for a moment the silence was tense. then frommr. gooch's lips there escaped a screech. "this way! they're up—" the words were cut short as billy banged hishand over the speaker's mouth. but the thing was done. "on top de roof," cried a voice. "dey've beatenit for de roof." the chair rasped over the floor. feet shuffled.and then, like a jack-in-the-box, there popped through the opening a head and shoulders. chapter xxithe battle of pleasant streetthe new arrival was a young man with a shock

of red hair, an ingrowing roman nose, anda mouth from which force or the passage of time had removed three front teeth. he heldon to the edges of the trap with his hands, and stared in a glassy manner into psmith'sface, which was within a foot of his own. there was a momentary pause, broken by anoath from mr. gooch, who was still undergoing treatment in the background. "aha!" said psmith genially. "historic picture.'doctor cook discovers the north pole.'" the red-headed young man blinked. the stronglight of the open air was trying to his eyes. "youse had better come down," he observedcoldly. "we've got youse." "and," continued psmith, unmoved, "is instantlyhanded a gum-drop by his faithful esquimaux."

as he spoke, he brought the stick down onthe knuckles which disfigured the edges of the trap. the intruder uttered a howl anddropped out of sight. in the room below there were whisperings and mutterings, growing graduallylouder till something resembling coherent conversation came to psmith's ears, as heknelt by the trap making meditative billiard-shots with the stick at a small pebble. "aw g'wan! don't be a quitter!" "who's a quitter?" "youse is a quitter. get on top de roof. hecan't hoit youse." "de guy's gotten a big stick." psmith noddedappreciatively. "i and roosevelt," he murmured.

a somewhat baffled silence on the part ofthe attacking force was followed by further conversation. "gum! some guy's got to go up." murmur ofassent from the audience. a voice, in inspired tones: "let sam do it!"this suggestion made a hit. there was no doubt about that. it was a success from the start.quite a little chorus of voices expressed sincere approval of the very happy solutionto what had seemed an insoluble problem. psmith, listening from above, failed to detect inthe choir of glad voices one that might belong to sam himself. probably gratification hadrendered the chosen one dumb. "yes, let sam do it!" cried the unseen chorus.the first speaker, unnecessarily, perhaps—for

the motion had been carried almost unanimously—butpossibly with the idea of convincing the one member of the party in whose bosom doubtsmight conceivably be harboured, went on to adduce reasons. "sam bein' a coon," he argued, "ain't goin'to git hoit by no stick. youse can't hoit a coon by soakin' him on de coco, can you,sam?" psmith waited with some interest for the reply,but it did not come. possibly sam did not wish to generalise on insufficient experience. "solvitur ambulando," said psmith softly,turning the stick round in his fingers. "comrade windsor!"

"hullo?" "is it possible to hurt a coloured gentlemanby hitting him on the head with a stick?" "if you hit him hard enough." "i knew there was some way out of the difficulty,"said psmith with satisfaction. "how are you getting on up at your end of the table, comradewindsor?" "fine." "any result yet?" "not at present." "don't give up."

"not me." "the right spirit, comrade win—" a report like a cannon in the room below interruptedhim. it was merely a revolver shot, but in the confined space it was deafening. the bulletsang up into the sky. "never hit me!" said psmith with dignifiedtriumph. the noise was succeeded by a shuffling offeet. psmith grasped his stick more firmly. this was evidently the real attack. the revolvershot had been a mere demonstration of artillery to cover the infantry's advance. sure enough, the next moment a woolly headpopped through the opening, and a pair of

rolling eyes gleamed up at the old etonian. "why, sam!" said psmith cordially, "this iswell met! i remember you. yes, indeed, i do. wasn't you the feller with the open umberellerthat i met one rainy morning on the av-en-ue? what, are you coming up? sam, i hate to doit, but—" a yell rang out. "what was that?" asked billy windsor overhis shoulder. "your statement, comrade windsor, has beentested and proved correct." by this time the affair had begun to drawa "gate." the noise of the revolver had proved a fine advertisement. the roof of the housenext door began to fill up. only a few of

the occupants could get a clear view of theproceedings, for a large chimney-stack intervened. there was considerable speculation as to whatwas passing between billy windsor and mr. gooch. psmith's share in the entertainmentwas more obvious. the early comers had seen his interview with sam, and were relatingit with gusto to their friends. their attitude towards psmith was that of a group of menwatching a terrier at a rat-hole. they looked to him to provide entertainment for them,but they realised that the first move must be with the attackers. they were fair-mindedmen, and they did not expect psmith to make any aggressive move. their indignation, when the proceedings beganto grow slow, was directed entirely at the

dilatory three pointers. with an aggrievedair, akin to that of a crowd at a cricket match when batsmen are playing for a draw,they began to "barrack." they hooted the three pointers. they begged them to go home andtuck themselves up in bed. the men on the roof were mostly irishmen, and it offendedthem to see what should have been a spirited fight so grossly bungled. "g'wan away home, ye quitters!" roared one. "call yersilves the three points, do ye? an'would ye know what i call ye? the young ladies' seminary!" bellowed another with witheringscorn. a third member of the audience alluded tothem as "stiffs."

"i fear, comrade windsor," said psmith, "thatour blithe friends below are beginning to grow a little unpopular with the many-headed.they must be up and doing if they wish to retain the esteem of pleasant street. aha!" another and a longer explosion from below,and more bullets wasted themselves on air. "they make me tired," he said. "this is notime for a feu de joie. action! that is the cry. action! get busy,you blighters!" the irish neighbours expressed the same sentimentin different and more forcible words. there was no doubt about it—as warriors, the threepointers had failed to give satisfaction. a voice from the room called up to psmith.

"say!" "you have our ear," said psmith. "what's that?" "i said you had our ear." "are youse stiffs comin' down off out of datroof?" "would you mind repeating that remark?" "are youse guys goin' to quit off out of datroof?" "your grammar is perfectly beastly," saidpsmith severely. "hey!"

"are youse guys—?" "no, my lad," said psmith, "since you ask,we are not. and why? because the air up here is refreshing, theview pleasant, and we are expecting at any moment an important communicationfrom comrade gooch.""we're goin' to wait here till youse come down." "if you wish it," said psmith courteously,"by all means do. who am i that i should dictate your movements? the most i aspire to is tocheck them when they take an upward direction." there was silence below. the time began topass slowly. the irishmen on the other roof,

now definitely abandoning hope of furtherentertainment, proceeded with hoots of scorn to climb down one by one into the recessesof their own house. suddenly from the street far below there camea fusillade of shots and a babel of shouts and counter-shouts. the roof of the housenext door, which had been emptying itself slowly and reluctantly, filled again witha magical swiftness, and the low wall facing into the street became black with the backsof those craning over. "what's that?" inquired billy. "i rather fancy," said psmith, "that our alliesof the table hill contingent must have arrived. i sent comrade maloney to explain mattersto dude dawson, and it seems as if that golden-hearted

sportsman had responded. there appear to begreat doings in the street." in the room below confusion had arisen. ascout, clattering upstairs, had brought the news of the table hillites' advent, and therewas doubt as to the proper course to pursue. certain voices urged going down to help themain body. others pointed out that that would mean abandoning the siege of the roof. thescout who had brought the news was eloquent in favour of the first course. "gum!" he cried, "don't i keep tellin' yousedat de table hills is here? sure, dere's a whole bunch of dem, and unless youse comeon down dey'll bite de hull head off of us lot. leave those stiffs on de roof. let samwait here with his canister, and den dey can't

get down, 'cos sam'll pump dem full of leadwhile dey're beatin' it t'roo de trap-door. sure." psmith nodded reflectively. "there is certainly something in what thebright boy says," he murmured. "it seems to me the grand rescue scene in the third acthas sprung a leak. this will want thinking over." in the street the disturbance had now becometerrific. both sides were hard at it, and the irishmen on the roof, rewarded at lastfor their long vigil, were yelling encouragement promiscuously and whooping with the unfetteredecstasy of men who are getting the treat of

their lives without having paid a penny forit. the behaviour of the new york policeman inaffairs of this kind is based on principles of the soundest practical wisdom. the unthinkingman would rush in and attempt to crush the combat in its earliest and fiercest stages.the new york policeman, knowing the importance of his own safety, and the insignificanceof the gangsman's, permits the opposing forces to hammer each other into a certain distastefor battle, and then, when both sides have begun to have enough of it, rushes in himselfand clubs everything in sight. it is an admirable process in its results, but it is sure ratherthan swift. proceedings in the affair below had not yetreached the police interference stage. the

noise, what with the shots and yells fromthe street and the ear-piercing approval of the roof-audience, was just working up toa climax. psmith rose. he was tired of kneeling by thetrap, and there was no likelihood of sam making another attempt to climb through. he walkedtowards billy. as he did so, billy got up and turned to him.his eyes were gleaming with excitement. his whole attitude was triumphant. in his handhe waved a strip of paper. "i've got it," he cried. "excellent, comrade windsor," said psmith."surely we must win through now. all we have to do is to get off this roof, and fate cannottouch us. are two mammoth minds such as ours

unequal to such a feat? it can hardly be.let us ponder." "why not go down through the trap? they'veall gone to the street." "all," he replied, "save sam. sam was thesubject of my late successful experiment, when i proved that coloured gentlemen's headscould be hurt with a stick. he is now waiting below, armed with a pistol, ready—even anxious—topick us off as we climb through the trap. how would it be to drop comrade gooch throughfirst, and so draw his fire? comrade gooch, i am sure, would be delighted to do a littlething like that for old friends of our standing or—but what's that!" "what's the matter?"

"is that a ladder that i see before me, itshandle to my hand? it is! comrade windsor, we win through. cosy moments' editorial staffmay be tree'd, but it cannot be put out of business. comrade windsor, take the otherend of that ladder and follow me." the ladder was lying against the farther wall.it was long, more than long enough for the purpose for which it was needed. psmith andbilly rested it on the coping, and pushed it till the other end reached across the gulfto the roof of the house next door, mr. gooch eyeing them in silence the while. psmith turned to him. "comrade gooch," he said, "do nothing to appriseour friend sam of these proceedings. i speak

in your best interests. sam is in no moodto make nice distinctions between friend and foe. if you bring him up here, he will probablymistake you for a member of the staff of cosy moments, and loose off in your direction withoutwaiting for explanations. i think you had better come with us. i will go first, comradewindsor, so that if the ladder breaks, the paper will lose merely a sub-editor, not aneditor." he went down on all-fours, and in this attitudewormed his way across to the opposite roof, whose occupants, engrossed in the fight inthe street, in which the police had now joined, had their backs turned and did not observehim. mr. gooch, pallid and obviously ill-attuned to such feats, followed him; and finally billywindsor reached the other side.

"neat," said psmith complacently. "uncommonlyneat. comrade gooch reminded me of the untamed chamois of the alps, leaping from crag tocrag." in the street there was now comparative silence.the police, with their clubs, had knocked the last remnant of fight out of the combatants.shooting had definitely ceased. "i think," said psmith, "that we might nowdescend. if you have no other engagements, comrade windsor, i will take you to the knickerbocker,and buy you a square meal. i would ask for the pleasure of your company also, comradegooch, were it not that matters of private moment, relating to the policy of the paper,must be discussed at the table. some other day, perhaps. we are infinitely obliged toyou for your sympathetic co-operation in this

little matter. and now good-bye. comrade windsor,let us debouch." chapter xxiiconcerning mr. waring psmith pushed back his chair slightly, stretchedout his legs, and lit a cigarette. the resources of the knickerbocker hotel had proved equalto supplying the fatigued staff of cosy moments with an excellent dinner, and psmith had stoutlydeclined to talk business until the coffee arrived. this had been hard on billy, whowas bursting with his news. beyond a hint that it was sensational he had not been permittedto go. "more bright young careers than i care tothink of," said psmith, "have been ruined by the fatal practice of talking shop at dinner.but now that we are through, comrade windsor,

by all means let us have it. what's the namewhich comrade gooch so eagerly divulged?" billy leaned forward excitedly. "stewart waring," he whispered. "stewart who?" asked psmith. billy stared. "great scott, man!" he said, "haven't youheard of stewart waring?" "the name seems vaguely familiar, like isinglassor post-toasties. i seem to know it, but it conveys nothingto me." "don't you ever read the papers?"

"i toy with my american of a morning, butmy interest is confined mainly to the sporting page which reminds me that comrade brady hasbeen matched against one eddie wood a month from to-day. gratifying as it is to find oneof the staff getting on in life, i fear this will cause us a certain amount of inconvenience.comrade brady will have to leave the office temporarily in order to go into training,and what shall we do then for a fighting editor? however, possibly we may not need one now.cosy moments should be able shortly to give its message to the world and ease up for awhile. which brings us back to the point. who is stewart waring?" "stewart waring is running for city alderman.he's one of the biggest men in new york!"

"do you mean in girth? if so, he seems tohave selected the right career for himself." "he's one of the bosses. he used to be commissionerof buildings for the city." "commissioner of buildings? what exactly didthat let him in for?" "it let him in for a lot of graft." "how was that?" "oh, he took it off the contractors. shuthis eyes and held out his hands when they ran up rotten buildings that a strong breezewould have knocked down, and places like that pleasant street hole without any ventilation." "why did he throw up the job?" inquired psmith."it seems to me that it was among the world's

softest. certain drawbacks to it, perhaps,to the man with the hair-trigger conscience; but i gather that comrade waring did not lineup in that class. what was his trouble?" "his trouble," said billy, "was that he stoodin with a contractor who was putting up a music-hall, and the contractor put it up withmaterial about as strong as a heap of meringues, and it collapsed on the third night and killedhalf the audience." "the papers raised a howl, and they got afterthe contractor, and the contractor gave waring away. it killed him for the time being." "i should have thought it would have had thatexcellent result permanently," said psmith thoughtfully. "do you mean to say he got backagain after that?"

"he had to quit being commissioner, of course,and leave the town for a time; but affairs move so fast here that a thing like that blowsover. he made a bit of a pile out of the job, and could afford to lie low for a year ortwo." "how long ago was that?" "five years. people don't remember a thinghere that happened five years back unless they're reminded of it." psmith lit another cigarette. "we will remind them," he said. billy nodded.

"of course," he said, "one or two of the papersagainst him in this aldermanic election business tried to bring the thing up, but they didn'tcut any ice. the other papers said it was a shame, hounding a man who was sorry forthe past and who was trying to make good now; so they dropped it. everybody thought thatwaring was on the level now. he's been shooting off a lot of hot air lately about philanthropyand so on. not that he has actually done a thing—not so much as given a supper to adozen news-boys; but he's talked, and talk gets over if you keep it up long enough." psmith nodded adhesion to this dictum. "so that naturally he wants to keep it darkabout these tenements.

it'll smash him at the election when it getsknown." "why is he so set on becoming an alderman,"inquired psmith. "there's a lot of graft to being an alderman,"explained billy. "i see. no wonder the poor gentleman was soenergetic in his methods. what is our move now, comrade windsor?" "why, publish the name, of course." "but before then? how are we going to ensurethe safety of our evidence? we stand or fall entirely by that slip of paper, because we'vegot the beggar's name in the writing of his own collector, and that's proof positive."

"that's all right," said billy, patting hisbreast-pocket. "nobody's going to get it from me."psmith dipped his hand into his trouser-pocket. "comrade windsor," he said, producing a pieceof paper, "how do we go?" he leaned back in his chair, surveying billyblandly through his eye-glass. billy's eyes were goggling. he looked from psmith to thepaper and from the paper to psmith. "what—what the—?" he stammered. "why,it's it!" "how on earth did you get it?" psmith knocked the ash off his cigarette. "comrade windsor," he said, "i do not wishto cavil or carp or rub it in in any way.

i will merely remark that you pretty nearlylanded us in the soup, and pass on to more congenial topics. didn't you know we werefollowed to this place?" "followed!" "by a merchant in what comrade maloney wouldcall a tall-shaped hat. i spotted him at an early date, somewhere down by twenty-ninthstreet. when we dived into sixth avenue for a space at thirty-third street, did he dive,too? he did. and when we turned into forty-second street, there he was. i tell you, comradewindsor, leeches were aloof, and burrs non-adhesive compared with that tall-shaped-hatted blighter." "do you remember, as you came to the entranceof this place, somebody knocking against you?"

"yes, there was a pretty big crush in theentrance." "there was; but not so big as all that. therewas plenty of room for this merchant to pass if he had wished. instead of which he buttedinto you. i happened to be waiting for just that, so i managed to attach myself to hiswrist with some vim and give it a fairly hefty wrench. the paper was inside his hand." billy was leaning forward with a pale face. "jove!" he muttered. "that about sums it up," said psmith. billy snatched the paper from the table andextended it towards him.

"here," he said feverishly, "you take it.gum, i never thought i was such a mutt! i'm not fit to take charge of a toothpick. fancyme not being on the watch for something of that sort. i guess i was so tickled with myselfat the thought of having got the thing, that it never struck me they might try for it.but i'm through. no more for me. you're the man in charge now." "these stately compliments," he said, "domy old heart good, but i fancy i know a better plan. it happened that i chanced to have myeye on the blighter in the tall-shaped hat, and so was enabled to land him among the ribstones;but who knows but that in the crowd on broadway there may not lurk other, unidentified blightersin equally tall-shaped hats, one of whom may

work the same sleight-of-hand speciality onme? it was not that you were not capable of taking care of that paper: it was simply thatyou didn't happen to spot the man. now observe me closely, for what follows is an exhibitionof brain." he paid the bill, and they went out into theentrance-hall of the hotel. psmith, sitting down at a table, placed the paper in an envelopeand addressed it to himself at the address of cosy moments. after which, he stamped theenvelope and dropped it into the letter-box at the back of the hall. "and now, comrade windsor," he said, "letus stroll gently homewards down the great white way. what matter though it be fairlystiff with low-browed bravoes in tall-shaped

hats? they cannot harm us. from me, if theysearch me thoroughly, they may scoop a matter of eleven dollars, a watch, two stamps, anda packet of chewing-gum. whether they would do any better with you i do not know. at anyrate, they wouldn't get that paper; and that's the main thing." "you're a genius," said billy windsor. "you think so?" said psmith diffidently. "well,well, perhaps you are right, perhaps you are right. did you notice the hired ruffian inthe flannel suit who just passed? he wore a baffled look, i fancy. and hark! wasn'tthat a muttered 'failed!' i heard? or was it the breeze moaning in the tree-tops? to-nightis a cold, disappointing night for hired ruffians,

comrade windsor." chapter xxiiireductions in the staff the first member of the staff of cosy momentsto arrive at the office on the following morning was master maloney. this sounds like the beginningof a "plod and punctuality," or "how great fortunes have been made" story; but, as amatter of fact, master maloney was no early bird. larks who rose in his neighbourhood,rose alone. he did not get up with them. he was supposed to be at the office at nine o'clock.it was a point of honour with him, a sort of daily declaration of independence, neverto put in an appearance before nine-thirty. on this particular morning he was punctualto the minute, or half an hour late, whichever

way you choose to look at it. he had only whistled a few bars of "my littleirish rose," and had barely got into the first page of his story of life on the prairie whenkid brady appeared. the kid, as was his habit when not in training, was smoking a big blackcigar. master maloney eyed him admiringly. the kid, unknown to that gentleman himself,was pugsy's ideal. he came from the plains; and had, indeed, once actually been a cowboy;he was a coming champion; and he could smoke black cigars. it was, therefore, without hisusual well-what-is-it-now? air that pugsy laid down his book, and prepared to converse. "say, mr. smith or mr. windsor about, pugsy?"asked the kid.

"naw, mr. brady, they ain't came yet," repliedmaster maloney respectfully. "late, ain't they?" "sure. mr. windsor generally blows in beforei do." "wonder what's keepin' them." "p'raps, dey've bin put out of business,"suggested pugsy nonchalantly. pugsy related the events of the previous day,relaxing something of his austere calm as he did so. when he came to the part wherethe table hill allies swooped down on the unsuspecting three pointers, he was almostanimated. "say," said the kid approvingly, "that smithguy's got more grey matter under his thatch

than you'd think to look at him. i—" "comrade brady," said a voice in the doorway,"you do me proud." "why, say," said the kid, turning, "i guessthe laugh's on me. i didn't see you, mr. smith. pugsy's been tellin' me how you sent him forthe table hills yesterday. that was cute. it was mighty smart. but say, those guys aregoin' some, ain't they now! seems as if they was dead set on puttin' you out of business." "their manner yesterday, comrade brady, certainlysuggested the presence of some sketchy outline of such an ideal in their minds. one sam,in particular, an ebony-hued sportsman, threw himself into the task with great vim. i ratherfancy he is waiting for us with his revolver

to this moment. but why worry? here we are,safe and sound, and comrade windsor may be expected to arrive at any moment. i see, comradebrady, that you have been matched against one eddie wood." "it's about that i wanted to see you, mr.smith. say, now that things have been and brushed up so, what with these gang guys layin'for you the way they're doin', i guess you'll be needin' me around here. isn't that right?say the word and i'll call off this eddie wood fight." "comrade brady," said psmith with some enthusiasm,"i call that a sporting offer. i'm very much obliged. but we mustn't stand in your way.if you eliminate this comrade wood, they will

have to give you a chance against jimmy garvin,won't they?" "i guess that's right, sir," said the kid."eddie stayed nineteen rounds against jimmy, and if i can put him away, it gets me intoline with jimmy, and he can't side-step me." "then go in and win, comrade brady. we shallmiss you. it will be as if a ray of sunshine had been removed from the office. but youmustn't throw a chance away. we shall be all right, i think." "i'll train at white plains," said the kid."that ain't far from here, so i'll be pretty near in case i'm wanted. hullo, who's here?" he pointed to the door. a small boy was standingthere, holding a note.

"mr. smith?" "sir to you," said psmith courteously. "p. smith?" "the same. this is your lucky day." "cop at jefferson market give me dis to taketo youse." "a cop in jefferson market?" repeated psmith."i did not know i had friends among the constabulary there. why, it's from comrade windsor." heopened the envelope and read the letter. "thanks," he said, giving the boy a quarter-dollar. it was apparent the kid was politely endeavouringto veil his curiosity. master maloney had

no such scruples. "what's in de letter, boss?" he inquired. "the letter, comrade maloney, is from ourmr. windsor, and relates in terse language the following facts, that our editor lastnight hit a policeman in the eye, and that he was sentenced this morning to thirty dayson blackwell's island." "he's de guy!" admitted master maloney approvingly. "what's that?" said the kid. "mr. windsorbin punchin' cops! what's he bin doin' that for?" "he gives no clue. i must go and find out.could you help comrade

maloney mind the shop for a few moments whilei push round to jefferson market and make inquiries?""sure. but say, fancy mr. windsor cuttin' loose that way!" said thekid admiringly. the jefferson market police court is a littleway down town, near washington square. it did not take psmith long to reach it, andby the judicious expenditure of a few dollars he was enabled to obtain an interview withbilly in a back room. the chief editor of cosy moments was seatedon a bench, looking upon the world through a pair of much blackened eyes. his generalappearance was dishevelled. he had the air of a man who has been caught in the machinery.

"hullo, smith," he said. "you got my noteall right then?" psmith looked at him, concerned. "comrade windsor," he said, "what on earthhas been happening to you?" "oh, that's all right," said billy. "that'snothing." "nothing! you look as if you had been runover by a motor-car." "the cops did that," said billy, without anyapparent resentment. "they always turn nasty if you put up a fight. i was a fool to doit, i suppose, but i got so mad. they knew perfectly well that i had nothing to do withany pool-room downstairs." psmith's eye-glass dropped from his eye.

"pool-room, comrade windsor?" "yes. the house where i live was raided latelast night. it seems that some gamblers have been running a pool-room on the ground floor.why the cops should have thought i had anything to do with it, when i was sleeping peacefullyupstairs, is more than i can understand. anyway, at about three in the morning there was thedickens of a banging at my door. i got up to see what was doing, and found a coupleof policemen there. they told me to come along with them to the station. i asked what onearth for. i might have known it was no use arguing with a new york cop. they said theyhad been tipped off that there was a pool-room being run in the house, and that they werecleaning up the house, and if i wanted to

say anything i'd better say it to the magistrate.i said, all right, i'd put on some clothes and come with them. they said they couldn'twait about while i put on clothes. i said i wasn't going to travel about new york inpyjamas, and started to get into my shirt. one of them gave me a shove in the ribs withhis night-stick, and told me to come along quick. and that made me so mad i hit out."a chuckle escaped billy. "he wasn't expecting it, and i got him fair. he went down overthe bookcase. the other cop took a swipe at me with his club, but by that time i was somad i'd have taken on jim jeffries, if he had shown up and got in my way. i just sailedin, and was beginning to make the man think that he had stumbled on stanley ketchel orkid brady or a dynamite explosion by mistake,

when the other fellow loosed himself fromthe bookcase, and they started in on me together, and there was a general rough house, in themiddle of which somebody seemed to let off about fifty thousand dollars' worth of fireworksall in a bunch; and i didn't remember anything more till i found myself in a cell, prettynearly knocked to pieces. that's my little life-history. i guess i was a fool to cutloose that way, but i was so mad i didn't stop to think." "you have told me your painful story," hesaid. "now hear mine. after parting with you last night, i went meditatively back to myfourth avenue address, and, with a courtly good night to the large policeman who, asi have mentioned in previous conversations,

is stationed almost at my very door, i passedon into my room, and had soon sunk into a dreamless slumber. at about three o'clockin the morning i was aroused by a somewhat hefty banging on the door." "what!" "a banging at the door," repeated psmith."there, standing on the mat, were three policemen. from their remarks i gathered that certainbright spirits had been running a gambling establishment in the lower regions of thebuilding—where, i think i told you, there is a saloon—and the law was now about toclean up the place. very cordially the honest fellows invited me to go with them. a conveyance,it seemed, waited in the street without. i

pointed out, even as you appear to have done,that sea-green pyjamas with old rose frogs were not the costume in which a shropshirepsmith should be seen abroad in one of the world's greatest cities; but they assuredme—more by their manner than their words—that my misgivings were out of place, so i yielded.these men, i told myself, have lived longer in new york than i. they know what is doneand what is not done. i will bow to their views. so i went with them, and after a verypleasant and cosy little ride in the patrol waggon, arrived at the police station. thismorning i chatted a while with the courteous magistrate, convinced him by means of argumentsand by silent evidence of my open, honest face and unwavering eye that i was not a professionalgambler, and came away without a stain on

my character." billy windsor listened to this narrative withgrowing interest. "gum! it's them!" he cried. "as comrade maloney would say," said psmith,"meaning what, comrade windsor?""why, the fellows who are after that paper. they tipped the police off about the pool-rooms,knowing that we should be hauled off without having time to take anything with us. i'llbet anything you like they have been in and searched our rooms by now." "as regards yours, comrade windsor, i cannotsay. but it is an undoubted fact that mine,

which i revisited before going to the office,in order to correct what seemed to me even on reflection certain drawbacks to my costume,looks as if two cyclones and a threshing machine had passed through it." "they've searched it?" "with a fine-toothed comb. not one of my objectsof vertu but has been displaced." billy windsor slapped his knee. "it was lucky you thought of sending thatpaper by post," he said. "we should have been done if you hadn't. but, say," he went onmiserably, "this is awful. things are just warming up for the final burst, and i'm outof it all."

"for thirty days," sighed psmith. "what cosymoments really needs is a sitz-redacteur." "a what?" "a sitz-redacteur, comrade windsor, is a gentlemanemployed by german newspapers with a taste for lã¨se majestã© to go to prison wheneverrequired in place of the real editor. the real editor hints in his bright and snappyeditorial, for instance, that the kaiser's moustache reminds him of a bad dream. thepolice force swoops down en masse on the office of the journal, and are met by the sitz-redacteur,who goes with them peaceably, allowing the editor to remain and sketch out plans forhis next week's article on the crown prince. we need a sitz-redacteur on cosy moments almostas much as a fighting editor; and we have

neither." "the kid has had to leave then?" "he wants to go into training at once. hevery sportingly offered to cancel his match, but of course that would never do. unlessyou consider comrade maloney equal to the job, i must look around me for some one else.i shall be too fully occupied with purely literary matters to be able to deal with chancecallers. but i have a scheme." "it seems to me that we are allowing muchexcellent material to lie unused in the shape of comrade jarvis." "bat jarvis."

"the same. the cat-specialist to whom youendeared yourself somewhat earlier in the proceedings by befriending one of his wanderinganimals. little deeds of kindness, little acts of love, as you have doubtless heard,help, etc. should we not give comrade jarvis an opportunity of proving the correctnessof this statement? i think so. shortly after you—if you will forgive me for touchingon a painful subject—have been haled to your dungeon, i will push round to comradejarvis's address, and sound him on the subject. unfortunately, his affection is confined,i fancy, to you. whether he will consent to put himself out on my behalf remains to beseen. however, there is no harm in trying. if nothing else comes of the visit, i shallat least have had the opportunity of chatting

with one of our most prominent citizens." a policeman appeared at the door. "say, pal," he remarked to psmith, "you'llhave to be fading away soon, i guess. give you three minutes more. say it quick." he retired. billy leaned forward to psmith. "i guess they won't give me much chance,"he whispered, "but if you see me around in the next day or two, don't be surprised." "i fail to follow you, comrade windsor." "men have escaped from blackwell's islandbefore now. not many, it's true; but it has

been done." "i shouldn't," he said. "they're bound tocatch you, and then you will be immersed in the soup beyond hope of recovery. i shouldn'twonder if they put you in your little cell for a year or so." "i don't care," said billy stoutly. "i'd givea year later on to be round and about now." "i shouldn't," urged psmith. "all will bewell with the paper. you have left a good man at the helm." "i guess i shan't get a chance, but i'll tryit if i do." the door opened and the policeman reappeared.

"time's up, i reckon." "well, good-bye, comrade windsor," said psmithregretfully. "abstain from undue worrying. it's a walk-over from now on, and there'sno earthly need for you to be around the office. once, i admit, this could not have been said.but now things have simplified themselves. have no fear. this act is going to be a screamfrom start to finish." chapter xxiva gathering of cat-specialists master maloney raised his eyes for a momentfrom his book as psmith re-entered the office. "dere's a guy in dere waitin' ter see youse,"he said briefly, jerking his head in the direction of the inner room.

"a guy waiting to see me, comrade maloney?with or without a sand-bag?" "says his name's jackson," said master maloney,turning a page. psmith moved quickly to the door of the innerroom. "why, comrade jackson," he said, with theair of a father welcoming home the prodigal son, "this is the maddest, merriest day ofall the glad new year. where did you come from?" mike, looking very brown and in excellentcondition, put down the paper he was reading. "hullo, psmith," he said. "i got back thismorning. we're playing a game over in brooklyn to-morrow."

"no engagements of any importance to-day?" "not a thing. why?" "because i propose to take you to visit comradejarvis, whom you will doubtless remember." "jarvis?" said mike, puzzled. "i don't rememberany jarvis." "let your mind wander back a little throughthe jungle of the past. do you recollect paying a visit to comradewindsor's room—" "by the way, where is windsor?" "in prison. well, on that evening—" "in prison?"

"for thirty days. for slugging a policeman.more of this, however, anon. let us return to that evening. don't you remember a certaingentleman with just about enough forehead to keep his front hair from getting all tangledup with his eye-brows?" "oh, the cat chap? i know." "as you very justly observe, comrade jackson,the cat chap. for going straight to the mark and seizing on the salient point of a situation,i know of no one who can last two minutes against you. comrade jarvis may have othersides to his character—possibly many—but it is as a cat chap that i wish to approachhim to-day." "what's the idea? what are you going to seehim for?"

"we," corrected psmith. "i will explain allat a little luncheon at which i trust that you will be my guest. already, such is thestress of this journalistic life, i hear my tissues crying out imperatively to be restored.an oyster and a glass of milk somewhere round the corner, comrade jackson? i think so, ithink so." "i was reading cosy moments in there," saidmike, as they lunched. "you certainly seem to have bucked it up rather. kid brady's reminiscencesare hot stuff." "somewhat sizzling, comrade jackson," admittedpsmith. "they have, however, unfortunately cost us a fighting editor." "such is the boost we have given comrade brady,that he is now never without a match. he has

had to leave us to-day to go to white plainsto train for an encounter with a certain mr. wood, a four-ounce-glove juggler of establishedfame." "i expect you need a fighting editor, don'tyou?" "he is indispensable, comrade jackson, indispensable." "no rotting. has anybody cut up rough aboutthe stuff you've printed?" "cut up rough? gadzooks! i need merely saythat one critical reader put a bullet through my hat—" "rot! not really?" "while others kept me tree'd on top of a rooffor the space of nearly an hour. assuredly

they have cut up rough, comrade jackson." "great scott! tell us." psmith briefly recounted the adventures ofthe past few weeks. "but, man," said mike, when he had finished"why on earth don't you call in the police?" "we have mentioned the matter to certain ofthe force. they appeared tolerably interested, but showed no tendency to leap excitedly toour assistance. the new york policeman, comrade jackson, like all great men, is somewhat peculiar.if you go to a new york policeman and exhibit a black eye, he will examine it and expresssome admiration for the abilities of the citizen responsible for the same. if you press thematter, he becomes bored, and says, 'ain't

youse satisfied with what youse got? g'wan!'his advice in such cases is good, and should be followed. no; since coming to this cityi have developed a habit of taking care of myself, or employing private help. that iswhy i should like you, if you will, to come with me to call upon comrade jarvis. he isa person of considerable influence among that section of the populace which is endeavouringto smash in our occiputs. indeed, i know of nobody who cuts a greater quantity of ice.if i can only enlist comrade jarvis's assistance, all will be well. if you are through withyour refreshment, shall we be moving in his direction? by the way, it will probably benecessary in the course of our interview to allude to you as one of our most eminent livingcat-fanciers. you do not object? remember

that you have in your english home seventy-fourfine cats, mostly angoras. are you on to that? then let us be going. comrade maloney hasgiven me the address. it is a goodish step down on the east side. i should like to takea taxi, but it might seem ostentatious. let us walk." they found mr. jarvis in his groome streetfancier's shop, engaged in the intellectual occupation of greasing a cat's paws with butter.he looked up as they entered, and began to breathe a melody with a certain coyness. "comrade jarvis," said psmith, "we meet again.you remember me?" "nope," said mr. jarvis, pausing for a momentin the middle of a bar, and then taking up

the air where he had left off. psmith wasnot discouraged. "ah," he said tolerantly, "the fierce rushof new york life. how it wipes from the retina of to-day the image impressed on it but yesterday.are you with me, comrade jarvis?" the cat-expert concentrated himself on thecat's paws without replying. "a fine animal," said psmith, adjusting hiseyeglass. "to which particular family of the felis domestica does that belong? in colourit resembles a neapolitan ice more than anything." mr. jarvis's manner became unfriendly. "say, what do youse want? that's straightain't it? if youse want to buy a boid or a snake why don't youse say so?"

"i stand corrected," said psmith. "i shouldhave remembered that time is money. i called in here partly on the strength of being acolleague and side-partner of comrade windsor—" "mr. windsor! de gent what caught my cat?" "the same—and partly in order that i mightmake two very eminent cat-fanciers acquainted. this," he said, with a wave of his hand inthe direction of the silently protesting mike, "is comrade jackson, possibly the best knownof our english cat-fanciers. comrade jackson's stud of angoras is celebrated wherever theking's english is spoken, and in hoxton." mr. jarvis rose, and, having inspected mikewith silent admiration for a while, extended a well-buttered hand towards him. psmith lookedon benevolently.

"what comrade jackson does not know aboutcats," he said, "is not knowledge. his information on angoras alone would fill a volume." "say,"—mr. jarvis was evidently touchingon a point which had weighed deeply upon him—"why's catnip called catnip?" mike looked at psmith helplessly. it soundedlike a riddle, but it was obvious that mr. jarvis's motive in putting the question wasnot frivolous. he really wished to know. "the word, as comrade jackson was just aboutto observe," said psmith, "is a corruption of cat-mint. why it should be so corruptedi 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 lightlyon from that—" "did youse ever have a cat dat ate beetles?"inquired mr. jarvis. "there was a time when many of comrade jackson'sfelidae supported life almost entirely on beetles." "did they git thin?" mike felt that it was time, if he was to preservehis reputation, to assert himself. "no," he replied firmly. mr. jarvis looked astonished. "english beetles," said psmith, "don't makecats thin. passing lightly—"

"i had a cat oncest," said mr. jarvis, ignoringthe remark and sticking to his point, "dat ate beetles and got thin and used to tie itselfinto knots." "a versatile animal," agreed psmith. "say," mr. jarvis went on, now plainly ona subject near to his heart, "dem beetles is fierce. sure. can't keep de cats off ofeatin' dem, i can't. first t'ing you know dey've swallowed dem, and den dey gits thinand ties theirselves into knots." "you should put them into strait-waistcoats,"said psmith. "passing, however, lightly—""say, ever have a cross-eyed cat?" "comrade jackson's cats," said psmith, "havehappily been almost free from strabismus."

"dey's lucky, cross-eyed cats is. you hasa cross-eyed cat, and not'in' don't never go wrong. but, say, was dere ever a cat witone blue eye and one yaller one in your bunch? gum, it's fierce when it's like dat. it'sa real skiddoo, is a cat wit one blue eye and one yaller one. puts you in bad, surestt'ing you know. oncest a guy give me a cat like dat, and first t'ing you know i'm inbad all round. it wasn't till i give him away to de cop on de corner and gets me one dat'scross-eyed dat i lifts de skiddoo off of me." "and what happened to the cop?" inquired psmith,interested. "oh, he got in bad, sure enough," said mr.jarvis without emotion. "one of de boys what he'd pinched and had sent to de island oncelays for him and puts one over him wit a black-jack.

sure. dat's what comes of havin' a cat witone blue eye and one yaller one." mr. jarvis relapsed into silence. he seemedto be meditating on the inscrutable workings of fate. psmith took advantage of the pauseto leave the cat topic and touch on matter of more vital import. "tense and exhilarating as is this discussionof the optical peculiarities of cats," he said, "there is another matter on which, ifyou will permit me, i should like to touch. i would hesitate to bore you with my own privatetroubles, but this is a matter which concerns comrade windsor as well as myself, and i knowthat your regard for comrade windsor is almost an obsession."

"i should say," said psmith, "that comradewindsor is a man to whom you give the glad hand." "sure. he's to the good, mr. windsor is. hecaught me cat." "he did. by the way, was that the one thatused to tie itself into knots?" "nope. dat was anudder." "ah! however, to resume. the fact is, comradejarvis, we are much persecuted by scoundrels. how sad it is in this world! we look to everyside. we look north, east, south, and west, and what do we see? mainly scoundrels. i fancyyou have heard a little about our troubles before this. in fact, i gather that the samescoundrels actually approached you with a

view to engaging your services to do us in,but that you very handsomely refused the contract." "sure," said mr. jarvis, dimly comprehending. "a guy comes to me and says he wants you andmr. windsor put through it, but i gives him de t'run down. 'nuttin' done,' i says. 'mr.windsor caught me cat.'" "so i was informed," said psmith. "well, failingyou, they went to a gentleman of the name of reilly." "spider reilly?" "you have hit it, comrade jarvis. spider reilly,the lessee and manager of the three points gang."

"dose t'ree points, dey're to de bad. dey'refresh." "it is too true, comrade jarvis." "say," went on mr. jarvis, waxing wrathfulat the recollection, "what do youse t'ink dem fresh stiffs done de udder night. startedsome rough woik in me own dance-joint." "shamrock hall?" said psmith. "dat's right. shamrock hall. got gay, deydid, wit some of de table hillers. say, i got it in for dem gazebos, sure i have. surestt'ing you know." psmith beamed approval. "that," he said, "is the right spirit. nothingcould be more admirable. we are bound together

by our common desire to check the ever-growingspirit of freshness among the members of the three points. add to that the fact that weare united by a sympathetic knowledge of the manners and customs of cats, and especiallythat comrade jackson, england's greatest fancier, is our mutual friend, and what more do wewant? nothing." "mr. jackson's to de good," assented mr. jarvis,eyeing mike in friendly fashion. "we are all to de good," said psmith. "nowthe thing i wished to ask you is this. the office of the paper on which i work was untilthis morning securely guarded by comrade brady, whose name will be familiar to you." "de kid?"

"on the bull's-eye, as usual, comrade jarvis.kid brady, the coming light-weight champion of the world. well, he has unfortunately beencompelled to leave us, and the way into the office is consequently clear to any sand-bagspecialist who cares to wander in. matters connected with the paper have become so poignantduring the last few days that an inrush of these same specialists is almost a certainty,unless—and this is where you come in." "me?" "will you take comrade brady's place for afew days?" "will you come in and sit in the office forthe next day or so and help hold the fort? i may mention that there is money attachedto the job. we will pay for your services.

how do we go, comrade jarvis?" mr. jarvis reflected but a brief moment. "why, sure," he said. "me fer dat. when doi start?" "excellent, comrade jarvis. nothing couldbe better. i am obliged. i rather fancy that the gay band of three pointers who will undoubtedlyvisit the offices of cosy moments in the next few days, probably to-morrow, are due to runup against the surprise of their lives. could you be there at ten to-morrow morning?" "sure t'ing. i'll bring me canister." "i should," said psmith. "in certain circumstancesone canister is worth a flood of rhetoric.

till to-morrow, then, comrade jarvis. i amvery much obliged to you." "not at all a bad hour's work," said psmithcomplacently, as they turned out of groome street. "a vote of thanks to you, comradejackson, for your invaluable assistance." "it strikes me i didn't do much," said mikewith a grin. "apparently, no. in reality, yes. your mannerwas exactly right. reserved, yet not haughty. just what an eminent cat-fancier's mannershould be. i could see that you made a pronounced hit with comrade jarvis. by the way, if youare going to show up at the office to-morrow, perhaps it would be as well if you were tolook up a few facts bearing on the feline world. there is no knowing what thirst forinformation a night's rest may not give comrade

jarvis. i do not presume to dictate, but ifyou were to make yourself a thorough master of the subject of catnip, for instance, itmight quite possibly come in useful." chapter xxvtrapped mr. jarvis was as good as his word. on thefollowing morning, at ten o'clock to the minute, he made his appearance at the office of cosymoments, his fore-lock more than usually well oiled in honour of the occasion, and his rightcoat-pocket bulging in a manner that betrayed to the initiated eye the presence of the faithful"canister." with him, in addition to his revolver, he brought a long, thin young man who woreunder his brown tweed coat a blue-and-red striped jersey. whether he brought him asan ally in case of need or merely as a kindred

soul with whom he might commune during hisvigil, was not ascertained. pugsy, startled out of his wonted calm bythe arrival of this distinguished company, observed the pair, as they passed throughinto the inner office, with protruding eyes, and sat speechless for a full five minutes.psmith received the new-corners in the editorial sanctum with courteous warmth. mr. jarvisintroduced his colleague. "thought i'd bring him along. long otto'shis monaker." "you did very rightly, comrade jarvis," psmithassured him. "your unerring instinct did not play you false when it told you that comradeotto would be as welcome as the flowers in may. with comrade otto i fancy we shall makea combination which will require a certain

amount of tackling." mr. jarvis confirmed this view. long otto,he affirmed, was no rube, but a scrapper from biffville-on-the-slosh. the hardiest hooliganwould shrink from introducing rough-house proceedings into a room graced by the combinedpresence of long otto and himself. "then," said psmith, "i can go about my professionalduties with a light heart. i may possibly sing a bar or two. you will find cigars inthat box. if you and comrade otto will select one apiece and group yourselves tastefullyabout the room in chairs, i will start in to hit up a slightly spicy editorial on thecoming election." mr. jarvis regarded the paraphernalia of literatureon the table with interest. so did long otto,

who, however, being a man of silent habit,made no comment. throughout the seance and the events which followed it he confined himselfto an occasional grunt. he seemed to lack other modes of expression. a charming chap,however. "is dis where youse writes up pieces fer depaper?" inquired mr. jarvis, eyeing the table."it is," said psmith. "in comrade windsor's pre-dungeon days he was wont to sit wherei am sitting now, while i bivouacked over there at the smaller table. on busy morningsyou could hear our brains buzzing in madison square garden. but wait! a thought strikesme." he called for pugsy. "comrade maloney," he said, "if the editorialstaff of this paper were to give you a day

off, could you employ it to profit?" "surest t'ing you know," replied pugsy withsome fervour. "i'd take me goil to de bronx zoo." "your girl?" said psmith inquiringly. "i hadheard no inkling of this, comrade maloney. i had always imagined you one of those strong,rugged, blood-and-iron men who were above the softer emotions. who is she?" "aw, she's a kid," said pugsy. "her pa runsa delicatessen shop down our street. she ain't a bad mutt," added the ardent swain. "i'mher steady." "see that i have a card for the wedding, comrademaloney," said psmith, "and in the meantime

take her to the bronx, as you suggest." "won't youse be wantin' me to-day." "not to-day. you need a holiday. unflaggingtoil is sapping your physique. go up and watch the animals, and remember me very kindly tothe peruvian llama, whom friends have sometimes told me i resemble in appearance. and if twodollars would in any way add to the gaiety of the jaunt . . ." "sure t'ing. t'anks, boss." "it occurred to me," said psmith, when hehad gone, "that the probable first move of any enterprising three pointer who invadedthis office would be to knock comrade maloney

on the head to prevent his announcing him.comrade maloney's services are too valuable to allow him to be exposed to unnecessaryperils. any visitors who call must find their way in for themselves. and now to work. work,the what's-its-name of the thingummy and the thing-um-a-bob of the what d'you-call-it." for about a quarter of an hour the only soundthat broke the silence of the room was the scratching of psmith's pen and the musicalexpectoration of messrs. otto and jarvis. finally psmith leaned back in his chair witha satisfied expression, and spoke. "while, as of course you know, comrade jarvis,"he said, "there is no agony like the agony of literary composition, such toil has itscompensations. the editorial i have just completed

contains its measure of balm. comrade ottowill bear me out in my statement that there is a subtle joy in the manufacture of thewell-formed phrase. am i not right, comrade otto?" the long one gazed appealingly at mr. jarvis,who spoke for him. "he's a bit shy on handin' out woids, is otto,"he said. "i understand. i am a man of few words myself.all great men are like that. von moltke, comrade otto, and myself. but what are words? actionis the thing. that is the cry. action. if that is comrade otto's forte, so much thebetter, for i fancy that action rather than words is what we may be needing in the spaceof about a quarter of a minute. at least,

if the footsteps i hear without are, as isuspect, those of our friends of the three points." jarvis and long otto turned towards the door.psmith was right. some one was moving stealthily in the outer office. judging from the sound,more than one person. "it is just as well," said psmith softly,"that comrade maloney is not at his customary post. now, in about a quarter of a minute,as i said—aha!" the handle of the door began to revolve slowlyand quietly. the next moment three figures tumbled into the room. it was evident thatthey had not expected to find the door unlocked, and the absence of resistance when they appliedtheir weight had had surprising effects. two

of the three did not pause in their careertill they cannoned against the table. the third, who was holding the handle, was morefortunate. psmith rose with a kindly smile to welcomehis guests. "why, surely!" he said in a pleased voice."i thought i knew the face. comrade repetto, this is a treat. have you come bringing mea new hat?" the white-haired leader's face, as he spoke,was within a few inches of his own. psmith's observant eye noted that the bruise stilllingered on the chin where kid brady's upper-cut had landed at their previous meeting. "i cannot offer you all seats," he went on,"unless you care to dispose yourselves upon

the tables. i wonder if you know my friend,mr. bat jarvis? and my friend, mr. l. otto? let us all get acquainted on this merry occasion." the three invaders had been aware of the presenceof the great bat and his colleague for some moments, and the meeting seemed to be causingthem embarrassment. this may have been due to the fact that both mr. jarvis and mr. ottohad produced and were toying meditatively with distinctly ugly-looking pistols. mr. jarvis spoke. "well," he said, "what's doin'?" mr. repetto, to whom the remark was directlyaddressed, appeared to have some difficulty

in finding a reply. he shuffled his feet,and looked at the floor. his two companions seemed equally at a loss. "goin' to start any rough stuff?" inquiredmr. jarvis casually. "the cigars are on the table," said psmithhospitably. "draw up your chairs, and let's all be jolly. i will open the proceedingswith a song." in a rich baritone, with his eyeglass fixedthe while on mr. repetto, he proceeded to relieve himself ofthe first verse of "i only know i love thee.""chorus, please," he added, as he finished. "come along, comrade repetto. why this shrinkingcoyness? fling out your chest, and cut loose."

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 recitethat pathetic little poem 'baby's sock is now a blue-bag.' pray, gentlemen, silencefor comrade otto." he looked inquiringly at the long youth, whoremained mute. psmith clicked his tongue regretfully. "comrade jarvis," he said, "i fear that asa smoking-concert this is not going to be a success. i understand, however. comraderepetto and his colleagues have come here

on business, and nothing will make them forgetit. typical new york men of affairs, they close their minds to all influences that mightlure 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. "and youse had better go back to spider reilly,"continued mr. jarvis, "and tell him that there's nothin' doin' in the way of rough house witdis gent here." he indicated psmith, who bowed.

"and you can tell de spider," went on batwith growing ferocity, "dat next time he gits gay and starts in to shoot guys in me dance-jointi'll bite de head off'n him. see? does dat go? if he t'inks his little two-by-four gangcan put it across de groome street, he can try. dat's right. an' don't fergit dis genthere and me is pals, and any one dat starts anyt'ing wit dis gent is going to have togit busy wit me. does dat go?" psmith coughed, and shot his cuffs. "i do not know," he said, in the manner ofa chairman addressing a meeting, "that i have anything to add to the very well-expressedremarks of my friend, comrade jarvis. he has, in my opinion, covered the ground very thoroughlyand satisfactorily. it now only remains for

me to pass a vote of thanks to comrade jarvisand to declare this meeting at an end." "beat it," said mr. jarvis, pointing to thedoor. the delegation then withdrew. "i am very much obliged," said psmith, "foryour courtly assistance, comrade jarvis. but for you i do not care to think with what asplash i might not have been immersed in the gumbo. thank you, comrade jarvis. and you,comrade otto." "aw chee!" said mr. jarvis, handsomely dismissingthe matter. mr. otto kicked the leg of the table, and grunted.* * * for half an hour after the departure of thethree pointers psmith chatted amiably to his

two assistants on matters of general interest.the exchange of ideas was somewhat one-sided, though mr. jarvis had one or two strikingitems of information to impart, notably some hints on the treatment of fits in kittens. at the end of this period the conversationwas once more interrupted by the sound of movements in the outer office. "if dat's dose stiffs come back—" beganmr. jarvis, reaching for his revolver. "stay your hand, comrade jarvis," said asa sharp knock sounded on the door. "i do not think it can be our latefriends. comrade repetto's knowledge of the usages of politesociety is too limited,

i fancy, to prompt him to knock on doors.come in." the door opened. it was not mr. repetto orhis colleagues, but another old friend. no other, in fact, than mr. francis parker, hewho had come as an embassy from the man up top in the very beginning of affairs, andhad departed, wrathful, mouthing declarations of war. as on his previous visit, he worethe dude suit, the shiny shoes, and the tall-shaped hat. "welcome, comrade parker," said psmith. "itis too long since we met. comrade jarvis i think you know. if i am right, that is tosay, in supposing that it was you who approached him at an earlier stage in the proceedingswith a view to engaging his sympathetic aid

in the great work of putting comrade windsorand myself out of business. the gentleman on your left is comrade otto." mr. parker was looking at bat in bewilderment.it was plain that he had not expected to find psmith entertaining such company. "did you come purely for friendly chit-chat,comrade parker," inquired psmith, "or was there, woven into the social motives of yourcall, a desire to talk business of any kind?" "my business is private. i didn't expect acrowd." "especially of ancient friends such as comradejarvis. well, well, you are breaking up a most interesting little symposium. comradejarvis, i think i shall be forced to postpone

our very entertaining discussion of fits inkittens till a more opportune moment. meanwhile, as comrade parker wishes to talk over someprivate business—" bat jarvis rose. "i'll beat it," he said. "reluctantly, i hope, comrade jarvis. as reluctantlyas i hint that i would be alone. if i might drop in some time at your private residence?" "sure," said mr. jarvis warmly. "excellent. well, for the present, good-bye.and many thanks for your invaluable co-operation." "aw chee!" said mr. jarvis.

"and now, comrade parker," said psmith, whenthe door had closed, "let her rip. what can i do for you?" "you seem to be all to the merry with batjarvis," observed mr. parker."the phrase exactly expresses it, comrade parker. i am as a tortoiseshell kitten tohim. but, touching your business?" mr. parker was silent for a moment. "see here," he said at last, "aren't you goingto be good? say, what's the use of keeping on at this fool game? why not quit it beforeyou get hurt?" psmith smoothed his waistcoat reflectively.

"i may be wrong, comrade parker," he said,"but it seems to me that the chances of my getting hurt are not so great as you appearto imagine. the person who is in danger of getting hurt seems to me to be the gentlemanwhose name is on that paper which is now in my possession." "where is it?" demanded mr. parker quickly. psmith eyed him benevolently. "if you will pardon the expression, comradeparker," he said, "'aha!' meaning that i propose to keep thatinformation to myself." mr. parker shrugged his shoulders.

"you know your own business, i guess." "you are absolutely correct, comrade parker.i do. now that cosy moments has our excellent friend comrade jarvis on its side, are younot to a certain extent among the blenheim oranges? i think so. i think so." as he spoke there was a rap at the door. asmall boy entered. in his hand was a scrap of paper. "guy asks me give dis to gazebo named smiff,"he said. "there are many gazebos of that name, my lad.one of whom i am which, as artemus ward was wont to observe. possibly the missive is forme."

he took the paper. it was dated from an addresson the east side. "dear smith," it ran. "come here as quickas you can, and bring some money. explain when i see you." it was signed "w. w." so billy windsor had fulfilled his promise.he had escaped. a feeling of regret for the futility of thething was psmith's first emotion. billy could be of no possible help in the campaign atits present point. all the work that remained to be done could easily be carried throughwithout his assistance. and by breaking out from the island he had committed an offencewhich was bound to carry with it serious penalties.

for the first time since his connection withcosy moments began psmith was really disturbed. he turned to mr. parker. "comrade parker," he said, "i regret to statethat this office is now closing for the day. but for this, i should be delighted to sitchatting with you. as it is—" "very well," said mr. parker. "then you meanto go on with this business?" "though it snows, comrade parker." they went out into the street, psmith thoughtfuland hardly realising the other's presence. by the side of the pavement a few yards downthe road a taximeter-cab was standing. psmith hailed it.

mr. parker was still beside him. it occurredto psmith that it would not do to let him hear the address billy windsor had given inhis note. "turn and go on down the street," he saidto the driver. he had taken his seat and was closing thedoor, when it was snatched from his grasp and mr. parker darted on to the seat opposite.the next moment the cab had started up the street instead of down and the hard muzzleof a revolver was pressing against psmith's waistcoat. "now what?" said mr. parker smoothly, leaningback with the pistol resting easily on his knee.

chapter xxvia friend in need "the point is well taken," said psmith thoughtfully. "you think so?" said mr. parker. "i am convinced of it." "good. but don't move. put that hand backwhere it was." "you think of everything, comrade parker." he dropped his hand on to the seat, and remainedsilent for a few moments. the taxi-cab was buzzing along up fifth avenue now. lookingtowards the window, psmith saw that they were nearing the park. the great white mass ofthe plaza hotel showed up on the left.

"did you ever stop at the plaza, comrade parker?" "no," said mr. parker shortly. "don't bite at me, comrade parker. why bebrusque on so joyous an occasion? better men than us have stoppedat the plaza. ah, the park! how fresh the leaves, comrade parker,how green the herbage! fling your eye at yonder grassy knoll."he raised his hand to point. instantly the revolver was against his waistcoat, makingan unwelcome crease in that immaculate garment. "i told you to keep that hand where it was." "you did, comrade parker, you did. the fault,"said psmith handsomely, "was entirely mine.

carried away by my love of nature, i forgot.it shall not occur again." "it had better not," said mr. parker unpleasantly."if it does, i'll blow a hole through you." psmith raised his eyebrows. "that, comrade parker," he said, "is whereyou make your error. you would no more shoot me in the heart of the metropolis than, itrust, you would wear a made-up tie with evening dress. your skin, however unhealthy to theeye of the casual observer, is doubtless precious to yourself, and you are not the man i takeyou for if you would risk it purely for the momentary pleasure of plugging me with a revolver.the cry goes round criminal circles in new york, 'comrade parker is not such a fool ashe looks.' think for a moment what would happen.

the shot would ring out, and instantly bicycle-policemenwould be pursuing this taxi-cab with the purposeful speed of greyhounds trying to win the waterloocup. you would be headed off and stopped. ha! what is this? psmith, the people's pet,weltering in his gore? death to the assassin! i fear nothing could save you from the furyof the mob, comrade parker. i seem to see them meditatively plucking you limb from limb.'she loves me!' off comes an arm. 'she loves me not.' a leg joins the little heap of limbson the ground. that is how it would be. and what would you have left out of it? merely,as i say, the momentary pleasure of potting me. and it isn't as if such a feat could giveyou the thrill of successful marksmanship. anybody could hit a man with a pistol at aninch and a quarter. i fear you have not thought

this matter out with sufficient care, comradeparker. you said to yourself, 'happy thought, i will kidnap psmith!' and all your friendssaid, 'parker is the man with the big brain!' but now, while it is true that i can't getout, you are moaning, 'what on earth shall i do with him, now that i have got him?'" "you think so, do you?" "i am convinced of it. your face is contortedwith the anguish of mental stress. let this be a lesson to you, comrade parker, neverto embark on any enterprise of which you do not see the end." "i guess i see the end of this all right."

"you have the advantage of me then, comradeparker. it seems to me that we have nothing before us but to go on riding about new yorktill you feel that my society begins to pall." "you figure you're clever, i guess." "there are few brighter brains in this city,comrade parker. but why this sudden tribute?" "you reckon you've thought it all out, eh?" "there may be a flaw in my reasoning, buti confess i do not at the moment see where it lies. have you detected one?" "i guess so." "ah! and what is it?"

"you seem to think new york's the only placeon the map." "meaning what, comrade parker?" "it might be a fool trick to shoot you inthe city as you say, but, you see, we aren't due to stay in the city. this cab is movingon." "like john brown's soul," said psmith, nodding."i see. then you propose to make quite a little tour in this cab?" "you've got it." "and when we are out in the open country,where there are no witnesses, things may begin to move."

"that's it." "then," said psmith heartily, "till that momentarrives what we must do is to entertain each other with conversation. you can take no stepof any sort for a full half-hour, possibly more, so let us give ourselves up to the merrimentof the passing instant. are you good at riddles, comrade parker? how much wood would a wood-chuckchuck, assuming for purposes of argument that it was in the power of a wood-chuck to chuckwood?" mr. parker did not attempt to solve this problem.he was sitting in the same attitude of watchfulness, the revolver resting on his knee. he seemedmistrustful of psmith's right hand, which was hanging limply at his side. it was fromthis quarter that he seemed to expect attack.

the cab was bowling easily up the broad street,past rows on rows of high houses, all looking exactly the same. occasionally, to the right,through a break in the line of buildings, a glimpse of the river could be seen. psmith resumed the conversation. "you are not interested in wood-chucks, comradeparker? well, well, many people are not. a passion for the flora and fauna of our forestsis innate rather than acquired. let us talk of something else. tell me about your home-life,comrade parker. are you married? are there any little parkers running about the house?when you return from this very pleasant excursion will baby voices crow gleefully, 'fahzer'scome home'?"

mr. parker said nothing. "i see," said psmith with ready sympathy."i understand. say no more. you are unmarried. she wouldn't have you. alas, comrade parker!however, thus it is! we look around us, and what do we see? a solid phalanx of the girlswe have loved and lost. tell me about her, comrade parker. was it your face or your mannersat which she drew the line?" mr. parker leaned forward with a scowl. psmithdid not move, but his right hand, as it hung, closed. another moment and mr. parker's chinwould be in just the right position for a swift upper-cut. . . this fact appeared suddenly to dawn on mr.parker himself. he drew back quickly, and

half raised the revolver. psmith's hand resumedits normal attitude. "leaving more painful topics," said psmith,"let us turn to another point. that note which the grubby stripling brought to me at theoffice purported to come from comrade windsor, and stated that he had escaped from blackwell'sisland, and was awaiting my arrival at some address in the bowery. would you mind tellingme, purely to satisfy my curiosity, if that note was genuine? i have never made a closestudy of comrade windsor's handwriting, and in an unguarded moment i may have assumedtoo much." mr. parker permitted himself a smile. "i guess you aren't so clever after all,"he said. "the note was a fake all right."

"and you had this cab waiting for me on thechance?" mr. parker nodded. "sherlock holmes was right," said psmith regretfully."you may remember that he advised doctor watson never to take the first cab, or the second.he should have gone further, and urged him not to take cabs at all. walking is far healthier." "you'll find it so," said mr. parker. psmith eyed him curiously. "what are you going to do with me, comradeparker?" he asked. mr. parker did not reply. psmith's eye turnedagain to the window. they had covered much

ground since last he had looked at the view.they were off manhattan island now, and the houses were beginning to thin out. soon, travellingat their present rate, they must come into the open country. psmith relapsed into silence.it was necessary for him to think. he had been talking in the hope of getting the otheroff his guard; but mr. parker was evidently too keenly on the look-out. the hand thatheld the revolver never wavered. the muzzle, pointing in an upward direction, was aimedat psmith's waist. there was no doubt that a move on his part would be fatal. if thepistol went off, it must hit him. if it had been pointed at his head in the orthodox wayhe might have risked a sudden blow to knock it aside, but in the present circumstancesthat would be useless. there was nothing to

do but wait. the cab moved swiftly on. now they had reachedthe open country. an occasional wooden shack was passed, but that was all. at any momentthe climax of the drama might be reached. psmith's muscles stiffened for a spring. therewas little chance of its being effective, but at least it would be better to put upsome kind of a fight. and he had a faint hope that the suddenness of his movement mightupset the other's aim. he was bound to be hit somewhere. that was certain. but quicknessmight save him to some extent. he braced his leg against the back of thecab. in another moment he would have sprung; but just then the smooth speed of the cabchanged to a series of jarring bumps, each

more emphatic than the last. it slowed down,then came to a halt. one of the tyres had burst. there was a thud, as the chauffeur jumpeddown. they heard him fumbling in the tool-box. presently the body of the machine was raisedslightly as he got to work with the jack. it was about a minute later that somebodyin the road outside spoke. "had a breakdown?" inquired the voice. psmithrecognised it. it was the voice of kid brady. chapter xxviipsmith concludes his ride the kid, as he had stated to psmith at theirlast interview that he intended to do, had begun his training for his match with eddiewood, at white plains, a village distant but

a few miles from new york. it was his practiceto open a course of training with a little gentle road-work; and it was while joggingalong the highway a couple of miles from his training-camp, in company with the two thick-neckedgentlemen who acted as his sparring-partners, that he had come upon the broken-down taxi-cab. if this had happened after his training hadbegun in real earnest, he would have averted his eyes from the spectacle, however alluring,and continued on his way without a pause. but now, as he had not yet settled down togenuine hard work, he felt justified in turning aside and looking into the matter. the factthat the chauffeur, who seemed to be a taciturn man, lacking the conversational graces, manifestlyobjected to an audience, deterred him not

at all. one cannot have everything in thisworld, and the kid and his attendant thick-necks were content to watch the process of mendingthe tyre, without demanding the additional joy of sparkling small-talk from the man incharge of the operations. "guy's had a breakdown, sure," said the firstof the thick-necks. "surest thing you know," agreed his colleague. "seems to me the tyre's punctured," said thekid. all three concentrated their gaze on the machine "kid's right," said thick-neck number one."guy's been an' bust a tyre." "surest thing you know," said thick-neck numbertwo.

they observed the perspiring chauffeur insilence for a while. "wonder how he did that, now?" speculatedthe kid. "guy ran over a nail, i guess," said thick-necknumber one. "surest thing you know," said the other, who,while perhaps somewhat lacking in the matter of original thought, was a most useful fellowto have by one. a sort of boswell. "did you run over a nail?" the kid inquiredof the chauffeur. the chauffeur ignored the question. "this is his busy day," said the first thick-neckwith satire. "guy's too full of work to talk to us.""deaf, shouldn't wonder," surmised the kid.

"say, wonder what he's doin' with a taxi sofar out of the city." "some guy tells him to drive him out here,i guess. say, it'll cost him something, too. he'll have to strip off a few from his rollto pay for this." psmith, in the interior of the cab, glancedat mr. parker. "you heard, comrade parker? he is right, ifancy. the bill—" mr. parker dug viciously at him with the revolver. "keep quiet," he whispered, "or you'll gethurt." psmith suspended his remarks. outside, the conversation had begun again.

"pretty rich guy inside," said the kid, followingup his companion's train of thought. "i'm goin' to rubber in at the window." psmith, meeting mr. parker's eye, smiled pleasantly.there was no answering smile on the other's face. there came the sound of the kid's feet gratingon the road as he turned; and as he heard it mr. parker, that eminent tactician, forthe first time lost his head. with a vague idea of screening psmith from the eyes ofthe man in the road he half rose. for an instant the muzzle of the pistol ceased to point atpsmith's waistcoat. it was the very chance psmith had been waiting for. his left handshot out, grasped the other's wrist, and gave

it a sharp wrench. the revolver went off witha deafening report, the bullet passing through the back of the cab; then fell to the floor,as the fingers lost their hold. the next moment psmith's right fist, darting upwards, tookmr. parker neatly under the angle of the jaw. the effect was instantaneous. psmith had risenfrom his seat as he delivered the blow, and it consequently got the full benefit of hisweight, which was not small. mr. parker literally crumpled up. his head jerked back, then felllimply on his chest. he would have slipped to the floor had not psmith pushed him onto the seat. the interested face of the kid appeared atthe window. behind him could be seen portions of the faces of the two thick-necks.

"ah, comrade brady!" said psmith genially."i heard your voice, and was hoping you might look in for a chat." "what's doin', mr. smith?" queried the excitedkid. "much, comrade brady, much. i will tell youall anon. meanwhile, however, kindly knock that chauffeur down and sit on his head. he'sa bad person." "de guy's beat it," volunteered the firstthick-neck. "surest thing you know," said the other. "what's been doin', mr. smith?" asked thekid. "i'll tell you about it as we go, comradebrady," said psmith, stepping into the road.

"riding in a taxi is pleasant provided itis not overdone. for the moment i have had sufficient. a bit of walking will do me good." "what are you going to do with this guy, mr.smith?" asked the kid, pointing to parker, who had begun tostir slightly. psmith inspected the stricken one gravely. "i have no use for him, comrade brady," hesaid. "our ride together gave me as much of his society as i desire for to-day. unlessyou or either of your friends are collecting parkers, i propose that we leave him wherehe is. we may as well take the gun, however. in my opinion, comrade parker is not the properman to have such a weapon. he is too prone

to go firing it off in any direction at amoment's notice, causing inconvenience to all." he groped on the floor of the cab forthe revolver. "now, comrade brady," he said, straightening himself up, "i am at your disposal.shall we be pushing on?" it was late in the evening when psmith returnedto the metropolis, after a pleasant afternoon at the brady training-camp. the kid, havingheard the details of the ride, offered once more to abandon his match with eddie wood,but psmith would not hear of it. he was fairly satisfied that the opposition had fired theirlast shot, and that their next move would be to endeavour to come to terms. they couldnot hope to catch him off his guard a second time, and, as far as hired assault and batterywere concerned, he was as safe in new york,

now that bat jarvis had declared himself onhis side, as he would have been in the middle of a desert. what bat said was law on theeast side. no hooligan, however eager to make money, would dare to act against a protã©gã©of the groome street leader. the only flaw in psmith's contentment wasthe absence of billy windsor. on this night of all nights the editorial staff of cosymoments should have been together to celebrate the successful outcome of their campaign.psmith dined alone, his enjoyment of the rather special dinner which he felt justified inordering in honour of the occasion somewhat diminished by the thought of billy's hardcase. he had seen mr william collier in the man from mexico, and that had given him anunderstanding of what a term of imprisonment

on blackwell's island meant. billy, duringthese lean days, must be supporting life on bread, bean soup, and water. psmith, toyingwith the hors d'oeuvre, was somewhat saddened by the thought. all was quiet at the office on the followingday. bat jarvis, again accompanied by the faithful otto, took up his position in theinner room, prepared to repel all invaders; but none arrived. no sounds broke the peaceof the outer office except the whistling of things were almost dull when the telephonebell rang. psmith took down the receiver. "hullo?" he said. "i'm parker," said a moody voice.

psmith uttered a cry of welcome. "why, comrade parker, this is splendid! howgoes it? did you get back all right yesterday? i was sorry to have to tear myself away, buti had other engagements. but why use the telephone? why not come here in person? you know howwelcome you are. hire a taxi-cab and come right round." mr. parker made no reply to the invitation. "mr. waring would like to see you." "who, comrade parker?" "mr. stewart waring."

"the celebrated tenement house-owner?" silence from the other end of the wire. "well,"said psmith, "what step does he propose to take towards it?" "he tells me to say that he will be in hisoffice at twelve o'clock to-morrow morning. his office is in the morton building, nassaustreet." psmith clicked his tongue regretfully. "then i do not see how we can meet," he said."i shall be here." "he wishes to see you at his office." "i am sorry, comrade parker. it is impossible.i am very busy just now, as you may know,

preparing the next number, the one in whichwe publish the name of the owner of the pleasant street tenements. otherwise, i should be delighted.perhaps later, when the rush of work has diminished somewhat." "am i to tell mr. waring that you refuse?" "if you are seeing him at any time and feelat a loss for something to say, perhaps you might mention it. is there anything else ican do for you, comrade parker?" "see here—" "nothing? then good-bye. look in when you'rethis way." he hung up the receiver.

as he did so, he was aware of master maloneystanding beside the table. "yes, comrade maloney?" "telegram," said pugsy. "for mr. windsor." psmith ripped open the envelope. the message ran: "returning to-day. will be at office to-morrowmorning," and it was signed "wilberfloss." "see who's here!" said psmith softly. chapter xxviiistanding room only in the light of subsequent events it was perhapsthe least bit unfortunate that mr. jarvis

should have seen fit to bring with him tothe office of cosy moments on the following morning two of his celebrated squad of cats,and that long otto, who, as usual, accompanied him, should have been fired by his exampleto the extent of introducing a large and rather boisterous yellow dog. they were not to beblamed, of course. they could not know that before the morning was over space in the officewould be at a premium. still, it was unfortunate. mr. jarvis was slightly apologetic. "t'ought i'd bring de kits along," he said."dey started in scrappin' yesterday when i was here, so to-day i says i'll keep my eyeon dem." psmith inspected the menagerie without resentment.

"assuredly, comrade jarvis," he said. "theyadd a pleasantly cosy and domestic touch to the scene. the only possible criticism i canfind to make has to do with their probable brawling with the dog." "oh, dey won't scrap wit de dawg. dey knowshim." "but is he aware of that? he looks to me asomewhat impulsive animal. well, well, the matter's in your hands. if you will undertaketo look after the refereeing of any pogrom that may arise, i say no more." mr. jarvis's statement as to the friendlyrelations between the animals proved to be correct. the dog made no attempt to annihilatethe cats. after an inquisitive journey round

the room he lay down and went to sleep, andan era of peace set in. the cats had settled themselves comfortably, one on each of mr.jarvis's knees, and long otto, surveying the ceiling with his customary glassy stare, smokeda long cigar in silence. bat breathed a tune, and scratched one of the cats under the ear.it was a soothing scene. but it did not last. ten minutes had barelyelapsed when the yellow dog, sitting up with a start, uttered a whine. in the outer officecould be heard a stir and movement. the next moment the door burst open and a little mandashed in. he had a peeled nose and showed other evidences of having been living in theopen air. behind him was a crowd of uncertain numbers. psmith recognised the leaders ofthis crowd. they were the reverend edwin t.

philpotts and mr. b. henderson asher. "why, comrade asher," he said, "this is indeeda moment of mirth. i have been wondering for weeks where you could have got to. and comradephilpotts! am i wrong in saying that this is the maddest, merriest day of all the gladnew year?" the rest of the crowd had entered the room. "comrade waterman, too!" cried psmith. "whywe have all met before. except—" he glanced inquiringly at the little man withthe peeled nose. "my name is wilberfloss," said the other withausterity. "will you be so good as to tell me where mr. windsor is?"

a murmur of approval from his followers. "in one moment," said psmith. "first, however,let me introduce two important members of our staff. on your right, mr. bat jarvis.on your left, mr. long otto. both of groome street." the two bowery boys rose awkwardly. the catsfell in an avalanche to the floor. long otto, in his haste, trod on the dog, which beganbarking, a process which it kept up almost without a pause during the rest of the interview. "mr. wilberfloss," said psmith in an asideto bat, "is widely known as a cat fancier in brooklyn circles."

"honest?" said mr. jarvis. he tapped mr. wilberflossin friendly fashion on the chest. "say," he asked, "did youse ever have a cat wit oneblue and one yellow eye?" mr. wilberfloss side-stepped and turned oncemore to psmith, who was offering b. henderson asher a cigarette. "who are you?" he demanded. "who am i?" repeated psmith in an astonishedtone. "who are you?" "i am psmith," said the old etonian reverently."there is a preliminary p before the name. this, however, is silent. like the tomb. comparesuch words as ptarmigan, psalm, and phthisis."

"these gentlemen tell me you're acting editor.who appointed you?" psmith reflected. "it is rather a nice point," he said. "itmight be claimed that i appointed myself. you may say, however, that comrade windsorappointed me." "ah! and where is mr. windsor?" "in prison," said psmith sorrowfully. "in prison!" "it is too true. such is the generous impulsivenessof comrade windsor's nature that he hit a policeman, was promptly gathered in, and isnow serving a sentence of thirty days on blackwell's

island." mr. wilberfloss looked at mr. philpotts. mr.asher looked at mr. wilberfloss. mr. waterman started, and stumbledover a cat. "i never heard of such a thing," said mr.wilberfloss. a faint, sad smile played across psmith'sface. "do you remember, comrade waterman—i fancyit was to you that i made the remark—my commenting at our previous interview on therashness of confusing the unusual with the improbable? here we see comrade wilberfloss,big-brained though he is, falling into error." "i shall dismiss mr. windsor immediately,"said the big-brained one.

"from blackwell's island?" said psmith. "iam sure you will earn his gratitude if you do. they live on bean soup there. bean soupand bread, and not much of either." he broke off, to turn his attention to mr.jarvis and mr. waterman, between whom bad blood seemed to have arisen. mr. jarvis, holdinga cat in his arms, was glowering at mr. waterman, who had backed away and seemed nervous. "what is the trouble, comrade jarvis?" "dat guy dere wit two left feet," said batquerulously, "goes and treads on de kit. i—" "i assure you it was a pure accident. theanimal—" mr. wilberfloss, eyeing bat and the silentotto with disgust, intervened.

"who are these persons, mr. smith?" he inquired. "poisson yourself," rejoined bat, justly incensed."who's de little guy wit de peeled breezer, mr. smith?" psmith waved his hands. "gentlemen, gentlemen," he said, "let us notdescend to mere personalities. i thought i had introduced you. this, comrade jarvis,is mr. wilberfloss, the editor of this journal. these, comrade wilberfloss—zam-buk wouldput your nose right in a day—are, respectively, bat jarvis and long otto, our acting fighting-editors,vice kid brady, absent on unavoidable business." "kid brady!" shrilled mr. wilberfloss. "iinsist that you give me a full explanation

of this matter. i go away by my doctor's ordersfor ten weeks, leaving mr. windsor to conduct the paper on certain well-defined lines. ireturn yesterday, and, getting into communication with mr. philpotts, what do i find? why, thatin my absence the paper has been ruined." "ruined?" said psmith. "on the contrary. examinethe returns, and you will see that the circulation has gone up every week. cosy moments was neverso prosperous and flourishing. comrade otto, do you think you could use your personal influencewith that dog to induce it to suspend its barking for a while? it is musical, but rendersconversation difficult." long otto raised a massive boot and aimedit at the animal, which, dodging with a yelp, cannoned against the second cat and had itsnose scratched. piercing shrieks cleft the

air. "i demand an explanation," roared mr. wilberflossabove the din. "i think, comrade otto," said psmith, "itwould make things a little easier if you removed that dog." he opened the door. the dog shot out. theycould hear it being ejected from the outer office by master maloney. when there was silence,psmith turned courteously to the editor. "you were saying, comrade wilberfloss?" "who is this person brady? with mr. philpottsi have been going carefully over the numbers which have been issued since my departure—"

"an intellectual treat," murmured psmith. "—and in each there is a picture of thisyoung man in a costume which i will not particularise—" "there is hardly enough of it to particularise." "—together with a page of disgusting autobiographicalmatter." psmith held up his hand. "i protest," he said. "we court criticism,but this is mere abuse. i appeal to these gentlemen to say whether this, for instance,is not bright and interesting." he picked up the current number of cosy moments,and turned to the kid's page."this," he said. "describing a certain ten-round

unpleasantness with one mexican joe. 'joecomes up for the second round and he gives me a nasty look, but i thinks of my motherand swats him one in the lower ribs. he hollers foul, but nix on that. referee says, "fighton." joe gives me another nasty look. "all right, kid," he says; "now i'll knock youup into the gallery." and with that he cuts loose with a right swing, but i falls intothe clinch, and then—-!'" "bah!" exclaimed mr. wilberfloss. "go on, boss," urged mr. jarvis approvingly."it's to de good, dat stuff." "there!" said psmith triumphantly. "you heard?comrade jarvis, one of the most firmly established critics east of fifth avenue, stamps kid brady'sreminiscences with the hall-mark of his approval."

"i falls fer de kid every time," assentedmr. jarvis. "assuredly, comrade jarvis. you know a goodthing when you see one. why," he went on warmly, "there is stuff in these reminiscences whichwould stir the blood of a jelly-fish. let me quote you another passage to show thatthey are not only enthralling, but helpful as well. let me see, where is it? ah, i haveit. 'a bully good way of putting a guy out of business is this. you don't want to useit in the ring, because by queensberry rules it's a foul; but you will find it mighty usefulif any thick-neck comes up to you in the street and tries to start anything. it's this way.while he's setting himself for a punch, just place the tips of the fingers of your lefthand on the right side of his chest. then

bring down the heel of your left hand. thereisn't a guy living that could stand up against that. the fingers give you a leverage to beatthe band. the guy doubles up, and you upper-cut him with your right, and out he goes.' now,i bet you never knew that before, comrade philpotts. try it on your parishioners." "cosy moments," said mr. wilberfloss irately,"is no medium for exploiting low prize-fighters." "low prize-fighters! comrade wilberfloss,you have been misinformed. the kid is as decent a little chap as you'd meet anywhere. youdo not seem to appreciate the philanthropic motives of the paper in adopting comrade brady'scause. think of it, comrade wilberfloss. there was that unfortunate stripling with only twopleasures in life, to love his mother and

to knock the heads off other youths whoseweight coincided with his own; and misfortune, until we took him up, had barred him almostcompletely from the second pastime. our editorial heart was melted. we adopted comrade brady.and look at him now! matched against eddie wood! and comrade waterman will support mein my statement that a victory over eddie wood means that he gets a legitimate claimto meet jimmy garvin for the championship." "it is abominable," burst forth mr. wilberfloss."it is disgraceful. i never heard of such a thing. the paper is ruined." "you keep reverting to that statement, comradewilberfloss. can nothing reassure you? the returns are excellent. prosperity beams onus like a sun. the proprietor is more than

satisfied." "the proprietor?" gasped mr. wilberfloss."does he know how you have treated the paper?" "he is cognisant of our every move." "and he approves?" "he more than approves." mr. wilberfloss snorted. "i don't believe it," he said. the assembled ex-contributors backed up thisstatement with a united murmur. b. henderson asher snorted satirically.

"they don't believe it," sighed psmith. "nevertheless,it is true." "it is not true," thundered mr. wilberfloss,hopping to avoid a perambulating cat. "nothing will convince me of it. mr. benjamin whiteis not a maniac." "i trust not," said psmith. "i sincerely trustnot. i have every reason to believe in his complete sanity. what makes you fancy thatthere is even a possibility of his being—er—?" "nobody but a lunatic would approve of seeinghis paper ruined." "again!" said psmith. "i fear that the notionthat this journal is ruined has become an obsession with you, comrade wilberfloss. onceagain i assure you that it is more than prosperous." "if," said mr. wilberfloss, "you imagine thati intend to take your word in this matter,

you are mistaken. i shall cable mr. whiteto-day, and inquire whether these alterations in the paper meet with his approval." "i shouldn't, comrade wilberfloss. cablesare expensive, and in these hard times a penny saved is a penny earned. why worry comradewhite? he is so far away, so out of touch with our new york literary life. i think itis practically a certainty that he has not the slightest inkling of any changes in thepaper." mr. wilberfloss uttered a cry of triumph. "i knew it," he said, "i knew it. i knew youwould give up when it came to the point, and you were driven into a corner. now, perhaps,you will admit that mr. white has given no

sanction for the alterations in the paper?" a puzzled look crept into psmith's face. "i think, comrade wilberfloss," he said, "weare talking at cross-purposes. you keep harping on comrade white and his views and tastes.one would almost imagine that you fancied that comrade white was the proprietor of thispaper." mr. wilberfloss stared. b. henderson asherstared. every one stared, except mr. jarvis, who, since the readings from the kid's reminiscenceshad ceased, had lost interest in the discussion, and was now entertaining the cats with a ballof paper tied to a string. "fancied that mr. white . . .?" repeated mr.wilberfloss. "i don't follow you. who is,

if he isn't?" psmith removed his monocle, polished it thoughtfully,and put it back in its place. "i am," he said. chapter xxixthe knock-out for mr. waring "you!" cried mr. wilberfloss. "the same," said psmith. "you!" exclaimed messrs. waterman, asher,and the reverend edwin philpotts."on the spot!" said psmith. mr. wilberfloss groped for a chair and satdown.

"am i going mad?" he demanded feebly. "not so, comrade wilberfloss," said psmithencouragingly. "all is well. the cry goes round new york, 'comrade wilberfloss is tothe good. he does not gibber.'" "do i understand you to say that you own thispaper?" "i do." "since when?" "roughly speaking, about a month." among his audience (still excepting mr. jarvis,who was tickling one of the cats and whistling a plaintive melody) there was a tendency towardawkward silence. to start bally-ragging a

seeming nonentity and then to discover heis the proprietor of the paper to which you wish to contribute is like kicking an apparentlyempty hat and finding your rich uncle inside it. mr. wilberfloss in particular was disturbed.editorships of the kind which he aspired to are not easy to get. if he were to be removedfrom cosy moments he would find it hard to place himself anywhere else. editors, likemanuscripts, are rejected from want of space. "very early in my connection with this journal,"said psmith, "i saw that i was on to a good thing. i had long been convinced that aboutthe nearest approach to the perfect job in this world, where good jobs are so hard toacquire, was to own a paper. all you had to do, once you had secured your paper, was tosit back and watch the other fellows work,

and from time to time forward big chequesto the bank. nothing could be more nicely attuned to the tastes of a shropshire psmith.the glimpses i was enabled to get of the workings of this little journal gave me the impressionthat comrade white was not attached with any paternal fervour to cosy moments. he regardedit, i deduced, not so much as a life-work as in the light of an investment. i assumedthat comrade white had his price, and wrote to my father, who was visiting carlsbad atthe moment, to ascertain what that price might be. he cabled it to me. it was reasonable.now it so happens that an uncle of mine some years ago left me a considerable number ofsimoleons, and though i shall not be legally entitled actually to close in on the opulencefor a matter of nine months or so, i anticipated

that my father would have no objection tostaking me to the necessary amount on the security of my little bit of money. my fatherhas spent some time of late hurling me at various professions, and we had agreed sometime ago that the law was to be my long suit. paper-owning, however, may be combined withbeing lord chancellor, and i knew he would have no objection to my being a napoleon ofthe press on this side. so we closed with comrade white, and—" there was a knock at the door, and mastermaloney entered with a card. "guy's waiting outside," he said. "mr. stewart waring," read psmith. "comrademaloney, do you know what mahomet did when

the mountain would not come to him?" "search me," said the office-boy indifferently. "he went to the mountain. it was a wise thingto do. as a general rule in life you can't beat it. remember that, comrade maloney." "sure," said pugsy. "shall i send the guyin?" "surest thing you know, comrade maloney." he turned to the assembled company. "gentlemen," he said, "you know how i hateto have to send you away, but would you mind withdrawing in good order? a somewhat delicateand private interview is in the offing. comrade

jarvis, we will meet anon. your services tothe paper have been greatly appreciated. if i might drop in some afternoon and inspectthe remainder of your zoo—?" "any time you're down groome street way. glad." "i will make a point of it. comrade wilberfloss,would you mind remaining? as editor of this journal, you should be present. if the restof you would look in about this time to-morrow—show mr. waring in, comrade maloney." he took a seat. "we are now, comrade wilberfloss," he said,"at a crisis in the affairs of this journal, but i fancy we shall win through."

the door opened, and pugsy announced mr. waring. the owner of the pleasant street tenementswas of what is usually called commanding presence. he was tall and broad, and more than a littlestout. his face was clean-shaven and curiously expressionless. bushy eyebrows topped a pairof cold grey eyes. he walked into the room with the air of one who is not wont to apologisefor existing. there are some men who seem to fill any room in which they may be. mr.waring was one of these. he set his hat down on the table without speaking.after which he looked at mr. wilberfloss, who shrank a little beneath his gaze. psmith had risen to greet him.

"i prefer to stand." "just as you wish. this is liberty hall." mr. waring again glanced at mr. wilberfloss. "what i have to say is private," he said. "all is well," said psmith reassuringly. "itis no stranger that you see before you, no mere irresponsible lounger who has buttedin by chance. that is comrade j. fillken wilberfloss, the editor of this journal." "the editor? i understood—" "i know what you would say. you have comradewindsor in your mind. he was merely acting

as editor while the chief was away huntingsand-eels in the jungles of texas. in his absence comrade windsor and i did our bestto keep the old journal booming along, but it lacked the master-hand. but now all iswell: comrade wilberfloss is once more doing stunts at the old stand. you may speak asfreely before him as you would before well, let us say comrade parker." "who are you, then, if this gentleman is theeditor?" "i am the proprietor." "i understood that a mr. white was the proprietor." "not so," said psmith. "there was a time whenthat was the case, but not now. things move

so swiftly in new york journalistic mattersthat a man may well be excused for not keeping abreast of the times, especially one who,like yourself, is interested in politics and house-ownership rather than in literature.are you sure you won't sit down?" mr. waring brought his hand down with a bangon the table, causing mr. wilberfloss to leap a clear two inchesfrom his chair. "what are you doing it for?" he demanded explosively."i tell you, you had better quit it. it isn't healthy." "you are merely stating in other—and, ifi may say so, inferior—words what comrade parker said to us. i did not object to givingup valuable time to listen to comrade parker.

he is a fascinating conversationalist, andit was a privilege to hob-nob with him. but if you are merely intending to cover the groundcovered by him, i fear i must remind you that this is one of our busy days. have you nonew light to fling upon the subject?" mr. waring wiped his forehead. he was playinga lost game, and he was not the sort of man who plays lost games well. the waring typeis dangerous when it is winning, but it is apt to crumple up against strong defence. his next words proved his demoralisation. "i'll sue you for libel," said he. psmith looked at him admiringly.

"say no more," he said, "for you will neverbeat that. for pure richness and whimsical humour it stands alone. during the past sevenweeks you have been endeavouring in your cheery fashion to blot the editorial staff of thispaper off the face of the earth in a variety of ingenious and entertaining ways; and nowyou propose to sue us for libel! i wish comrade windsor could have heard you say that. itwould have hit him right." mr. waring accepted the invitation he hadrefused before. he sat down. "what are you going to do?" he said. it was the white flag. the fight had goneout of him. psmith leaned back in his chair.

"i'll tell you," he said. "i've thought thewhole thing out. the right plan would be to put the complete kybosh (if i may use theexpression) on your chances of becoming an alderman. on the other hand, i have been studyingthe papers of late, and it seems to me that it doesn't much matter who gets elected. ofcourse the opposition papers may have allowed their zeal to run away with them, but evenassuming that to be the case, the other candidates appear to be a pretty fair contingent of blighters.if i were a native of new york, perhaps i might take a more fervid interest in the matter,but as i am merely passing through your beautiful little city, it doesn't seem to me to makeany very substantial difference who gets in. to be absolutely candid, my view of the thingis this. if the people are chumps enough to

elect you, then they deserve you. i hope idon't hurt your feelings in any way. i am merely stating my own individual opinion." mr. waring made no remark. "the only thing that really interests me,"resumed psmith, "is the matter of these tenements. i shall shortly be leaving this country toresume the strangle-hold on learning which i relinquished at the beginning of the longvacation. if i were to depart without bringing off improvements down pleasant street way,i shouldn't be able to enjoy my meals. the startled cry would go round cambridge: 'somethingis the matter with psmith. he is off his feed. he should try blenkinsop's balm for the bilious.'but no balm would do me any good. i should

simply droop and fade slowly away like a neglectedlily. and you wouldn't like that, comrade wilberfloss, would you?" mr. wilberfloss, thus suddenly pulled intothe conversation, again leaped in his seat. "what i propose to do," continued psmith,without waiting for an answer, "is to touch you for the good round sum of five thousandand three dollars." mr. waring half rose. "five thousand dollars!" "five thousand and three dollars," said psmith."it may possibly have escaped your memory, but a certain minion of yours, one j. repetto,utterly ruined a practically new hat of mine.

if you think that i can afford to come tonew york and scatter hats about as if they were mere dross, you are making the culminatingerror of a misspent life. three dollars are what i need for a new one. the balance ofyour cheque, the five thousand, i propose to apply to making those tenements fit fora tolerably fastidious pig to live in." "five thousand!" cried mr. waring. "it's monstrous." "it isn't," said psmith. "it's more or lessof a minimum. i have made inquiries. so out with the good old cheque-book, and let's allbe jolly." "i have no cheque-book with me." "i have," said psmith, producing one froma drawer. "cross out the name of my bank,

substitute yours, and fate cannot touch us." mr. waring hesitated for a moment, then capitulated.psmith watched, as he wrote, with an indulgent and fatherly eye. "finished?" he said. "comrade maloney." "youse hollering fer me?" asked that youth,appearing at the door. "bet your life i am, comrade maloney. haveyou ever seen an untamed mustang of the prairie?" "nope. but i've read about dem." "well, run like one down to wall street withthis cheque, and pay it in to my account at the international bank."

pugsy disappeared. "cheques," said psmith, "have been known tobe stopped. who knows but what, on reflection, you might not have changed your mind?" "what guarantee have i," asked mr. waring,"that these attacks on me in your paper will stop?" "if you like," said psmith, "i will writeyou a note to that effect. but it will not be necessary. i propose, with comrade wilberfloss'sassistance, to restore cosy moments to its old style. some days ago the editor of comradewindsor's late daily paper called up on the telephone and asked to speak to him. i explainedthe painful circumstances, and, later, went

round and hob-nobbed with the great man. avery pleasant fellow. he asks to re-engage comrade windsor's services at a pretty sizeablesalary, so, as far as our prison expert is concerned, all may be said to be well. hehas got where he wanted. cosy moments may therefore ease up a bit. if, at about thebeginning of next month, you should hear a deafening squeal of joy ring through thiscity, it will be the infants of new york and their parents receiving the news that cosymoments stands where it did. may i count on your services, comrade wilberfloss? excellent.i see i may. then perhaps you would not mind passing the word round among comrades asher,waterman, and the rest of the squad, and telling them to burnish their brains and be readyto wade in at a moment's notice. i fear you

will have a pretty tough job roping in theold subscribers again, but it can be done. i look to you, comrade wilberfloss. are youon?" mr. wilberfloss, wriggling in his chair, intimatedthat he was. conclusionit was a drizzly november evening. the streets of cambridge were a compound of mud, mist,and melancholy. but in psmith's rooms the fire burned brightly, the kettle droned, andall, as the proprietor had just observed, was joy, jollity, and song. psmith, in pyjamasand a college blazer, was lying on the sofa. mike, who had been playing football, was recliningin a comatose state in an arm-chair by the fire.

"how pleasant it would be," said psmith dreamily,"if all our friends on the other side of the atlantic could share this very peaceful momentwith us! or perhaps not quite all. let us say, comrade windsor in the chair over there,comrades brady and maloney on the table, and our old pal wilberfloss sharing the floorwith b. henderson asher, bat jarvis, and the cats. by the way, i think it would be a gracefulact if you were to write to comrade jarvis from time to time telling him how your angorasare getting on. he regards you as the world's most prominent citizen. a line from you everynow and then would sweeten the lad's existence." mike stirred sleepily in his chair. "what?" he said drowsily.

"never mind, comrade jackson. let us passlightly on. i am filled with a strange content to-night. i may be wrong, but it seems tome that all is singularly to de good, as comrade maloney would put it. advices from comradewindsor inform me that that prince of blighters, waring, was rejected by an intelligent electorate.those keen, clear-sighted citizens refused to vote for him to an extent that you couldnotice without a microscope. still, he has one consolation. he owns what, when the improvementsare completed, will be the finest and most commodious tenement houses in new york. millionaireswill stop at them instead of going to the plaza. are you asleep, comrade jackson?" "um-m," said mike.

"that is excellent. you could not be betteremployed. keep listening. comrade windsor also stated—as indeed did the sporting papers—thatcomrade brady put it all over friend eddie wood, administering the sleep-producer inthe eighth round. my authorities are silent as to whether or not the lethal blow was ahalf-scissor hook, but i presume such to have been the case. the kid is now definitely matchedagainst comrade garvin for the championship, and the experts seem to think that he shouldwin. he is a stout fellow, is comrade brady, and i hope he wins through. he will probablycome to england later on. when he does, we must show him round. i don't think you evermet him, did you, comrade jackson?" "ur-r," said mike.

"say no more," said psmith. "i take you." he reached out for a cigarette. "these," he said, comfortably, "are the momentsin life to which we look back with that wistful pleasure. what of my boyhood at eton? do iremember with the keenest joy the brain-tourneys in the old form-room, and the bally rot whichused to take place on the fourth of june? no. burned deeply into my memory is a certainhot bath i took after one of the foulest cross-country runs that ever occurred outside dante's inferno.so with the present moment. this peaceful scene, comrade jackson, will remain with mewhen i have forgotten that such a person as comrade repetto ever existed. these are thereal cosy moments. and while on that subject

you will be glad to hear that the little sheetis going strong. the man wilberfloss is a marvel in his way. he appears to have gatheredin the majority of the old subscribers again. hopping mad but a brief while ago, they noweat out of his hand. you've really no notion what a feeling of quiet pride it gives youowning a paper. i try not to show it, but i seem to myself to be looking down on theworld from some lofty peak. yesterday night, when i was looking down from the peak withouta cap and gown, a proctor slid up. to-day i had to dig down into my jeans for a matterof two plunks. but what of it? life must inevitably be dotted with these minor tragedies. i donot repine. the whisper goes round, 'psmith bites the bullet, and wears a brave smile.'comrade jackson—"

a snore came from the chair. psmith sighed. but he did not repine. he bitthe bullet. his eyes closed. five minutes later a slight snore came fromthe sofa, too. the man behind cosy moments slept.

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