Psmith Journalist

for Philadelphia. Psmith came down to the ferry to see hi

ner without me. Yet there is another side to the picture. To me there is something singularly impressive in our unhesitating reply to the calls of Duty. Your Duty summons you to Philadelphia, to knock the cover off the local bowling. Mine retains me here,

ions for a large flat near Thirtieth Street. It was immediately above a saloon, which was something of

e's desertion, he felt pleased with life. Psmith's was a nature which required a certain amount of stimulus in the way of gentle excitement; and it seemed to him

ere Pugsy Maloney spent his time reading tales of life in the prairies and heading off undesirable visitors; a small room, which wo

ough the front door,

id Master

ade Maloney,"

re in

prec

e bunch

you give me any particulars?" he asked patiently. "You are

the Rev. Philpotts and a gazebo what calls hi

appeared upon

sor in there, too, i

Windsor's o

ws his business. Why

ave saved me breat'. In he butts, and he's in der now. Well, in about t'ree minutes along comes another gazebo. 'Boy,' says he, 'is de editor in?' 'Nope,' I says. 'I'll wait,' says he lightin' out for de door. Wit dat I sees de proposition's too fierce for muh. I can't keep dese big hu

approvingly. "Tell me, Comrade Maloney, what was th

uh

they carol snatches of song as they went? Or did th

'-mad, de whole

d I may manage to pull through. It is as well, perhaps, that Comrade Windsor is out. The situation calls for the handling of a man of delicate culture and nice tact. Comrade Windsor would probably have endeavoured to clear the room with a chair.

aid Maste

nd flicked a speck of dust from his coat-sleeve,