seated. Psmith recollected having seen this solitary diner looking in their direction once or twice during dinner, but the fact had not impressed him.     

       "What is happening, Comrade Windsor?" he inquired. "I was musing with a certain tenseness at the moment, and the rush of events has left me behind."     

       "Man at that table wanted to know if my name was Windsor," said Billy.     

       "Ah?" said Psmith, interested; "and was it?"     

       "Here he comes. I wonder what he wants. I don't know the man from Adam."     

       The stranger was threading his way between the tables.     

       "Can I have a word with you, Mr. Windsor?" he said.     

       Billy looked at him curiously. Recent events had made him wary of strangers.     

       "Won't you sit down?" he said.     

       A waiter was bringing a chair. The young man seated himself.     

       "By the way," added Billy; "my friend, Mr. Smith."     

       "Pleased to meet you," said the other.     

       "I don't know your name," Billy hesitated.     

       "Never mind about my name," said the stranger. "It won't be needed. Is Mr. Smith on your paper? Excuse my asking."     

       Psmith bowed. "That's all right, then. I can go ahead." He bent forward.     

       "Neither of you gentlemen are hard of hearing, eh?"     

       "In the old prairie days," said Psmith, "Comrade Windsor was known to the Indians as Boola-Ba-Na-Gosh, which, as you doubtless know, signifies Big-Chief-Who-Can-Hear-A-Fly-Clear-Its-Throat. I too can hear as well as the next man. Why?"     

       "That's all right, then. I don't want to have to shout it. There's some things it's better not to yell."     

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