"That," said Psmith, "we shall ascertain more clearly after a
personal interview. Comrade Maloney, show the gentleman in. We can
give him three and a quarter minutes."

Pugsy withdrew.

Mr. Francis Parker proved to be a man who might have been any age
between twenty-five and thirty-five. He had a smooth, clean-shaven
face, 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-leather boots of
pronounced shininess. Gloves and a tall hat, which he carried,
completed an impressive 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--I am 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 hold each other
that we may practically be said to be inseparable. We have no
secrets from each other. You may address us both impartially. Will
you sit for a space?"

He pushed a chair towards the visitor, who seated himself with the