doorway, just parting from a thick-set young man, who seemed to be
expressing his gratitude to the editor for some good turn. He was
shaking him warmly by the hand.

Psmith stood aside to let him pass.

"An old college chum, Comrade Windsor?" he asked.

"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 appears to 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
pottering about New York for a month without being able to get a
fight. It's always the way in this rotten East," continued Billy,
warming up as was his custom when discussing a case of oppression
and injustice. "It's all graft here. You've got to let half a dozen
brutes dip into every dollar you earn, or you don't get a chance.
If the kid had a manager, he'd get all the fights he wanted. And
the manager would get nearly all the money. I've told him that we
will back him up."