human sardines. In the poorer quarters the congestion is
unbelievable.

Psmith and Mike picked their way through the groups of ragged
children who covered the roadway. There seemed to be thousands of
them.

"Poor kids!" said Mike. "It must be awful living 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 into dark, bare rooms. These were the star apartments of the
tenement-houses, for they opened on to the street, and so got a
little light and air. The imagination jibbed at the thought of 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
be a 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. "This place makes me sick. I'm
going in to have a look round. I expect some muscular householder
will resent the intrusion and boot us out, but we'll risk it."

Followed by Mike, he turned in at one of the doors. A group of men
leaning against the opposite wall looked at them without curiosity.