"I should like a few moments' conversation."     

       The start was good and even; but the gentleman who said "Pardon me!"       necessarily finished first with the rest nowhere.     

       Psmith turned to him, bowed, and fixed him with a benevolent gaze through his eye-glass.     

       "Are you Mr. Windsor, sir, may I ask?" inquired the favoured one.     

       The others paused for the reply.     

       "Alas! no," said Psmith with manly regret.     

       "Then who are you?"     

       "I am Psmith."     

       There was a pause.     

       "Where is Mr. Windsor?"     

       "He is, I fancy, champing about forty cents' worth of lunch at some neighbouring hostelry."     

       "When will he return?"     

       "Anon. But how much anon I fear I cannot say."     

       The visitors looked at each other.     

       "This is exceedingly annoying," said the man who had said "Pardon me!" "I came for the express purpose of seeing Mr. Windsor."     

       "So did I," chimed in the rest. "Same here. So did I."     

       Psmith bowed courteously.     

       "Comrade Windsor's loss is my gain. Is there anything I can do for you?"     

       "Are you on the editorial staff of this paper?"     

       "I am acting sub-editor. The work is not light," added Psmith gratuitously. "Sometimes the cry goes round, 'Can Psmith get through it all? Will his strength support his unquenchable spirit?' But I stagger on. I do not repine."     

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