"Say!" he said. "Any time you're in bad. Glad to 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 and
Mike, 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 few words myself. Comrade Jarvis's massive
silences appeal to me. He seems to have taken a fancy to you,
Comrade Windsor."

Billy Windsor laughed.

"I don't know that he's just the sort of side-partner I'd go out of
my way to choose, from what I've heard about him. Still, if one got
mixed up with any of that East-Side crowd, he would be a mighty
useful friend to have. I guess there's no harm done by getting him
grateful."

"Assuredly not," said Psmith. "We should not despise the humblest.
And now, Comrade Windsor," he said, taking up the paper again, "let
me concentrate 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's name
is a by-word in our English literary salons. His opinion will be
both of interest and of profit to you, Comrade Windsor."