took place.

Having completed his business with the Inward Bills, Mr Waller made his
way back by a circuitous route, taking in the Postage desk.

He found Psmith with a pale, set face, inscribing figures in a ledger.
The Old Etonian greeted him with the faint smile of a persecuted saint
who is determined to be cheerful even at the stake.

'Comrade Bristow,' he said.

'Hullo, Smithy?' said the other, turning.

Psmith sadly directed Mr Waller's attention to the waistcoat, which was
certainly definite in its colouring.

'Nothing,' said Psmith. 'I only wanted to look at you.'

'Funny ass,' said Bristow, resuming his work. Psmith glanced at Mr
Waller, as who should say, 'See what I have to put up with. And yet I
do not give way.'

'Oh--er--Smith,' said Mr Waller, 'when you were talking to Jackson just
now--'

'Say no more,' said Psmith. 'It shall not occur again. Why should I
dislocate the work of your department in my efforts to win a
sympathetic word? I will bear Comrade Bristow like a man here. After
all, there are worse things at the Zoo.'