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 cricket so
far had been rather of the picnic order, but it was very pleasant;
and there was no limit to the hospitality with which the visitors
were treated. It was this more than anything which had caused
Psmith's grave disapproval of things American. He was not a member
of the 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 and
adviser on some aspect of Life, that invaluable official was
generally absent at dinner with the 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 is never pleasant to be alone in any big city.

As they sat discussing New York's shortcomings over their coffee, a
young man passed them, carrying a basket, and seated himself at the
next table. He was a tall, loose-jointed young man, with unkempt
hair.

A waiter made an ingratiating gesture towards the basket, but the
young man stopped him. "Not on your life, sonny," he said. "This
stays right here." He placed it carefully on the floor beside his
chair, and proceeded to order dinner.

Psmith watched him thoughtfully.

"I have a suspicion, Comrade Jackson," he said, "that this will