He's sitting there looking absolutely fed up with things. I hope
there's nothing up. He's not a bad sort. It would be rot if anything
rotten's happened.'

Psmith began to display a gentle interest.

'So other people have troubles as well as myself,' he murmured
musingly. 'I had almost forgotten that. Comrade Waller's misfortunes
cannot but be trivial compared with mine, but possibly it will be as
well to ascertain their nature. I will reel round and make inquiries.'

'Good man,' said Mike. 'I'll wait here.'

Psmith departed, and returned, ten minutes later, looking more serious
than when he had left.

'His kid's ill, poor chap,' he said briefly. 'Pretty badly too, from
what I can gather. Pneumonia. Waller was up all night. He oughtn't to
be here at all today. He doesn't know what he's doing half the time.
He's absolutely fagged out. Look here, you'd better nip back and do as
much of the work as you can. I shouldn't talk to him much if I were
you. Buck along.'

Mike went. Mr Waller was still sitting staring out across the aisle.
There was something more than a little gruesome in the sight of him. He
wore a crushed, beaten look, as if all the life and fight had gone out
of him. A customer came to the desk to cash a cheque. The cashier
shovelled the money to him under the bars with the air of one whose
mind is elsewhere. Mike could guess what he was feeling, and what he
was thinking about. The fact that the snub-nosed Edward was, without