As Psmith entered, every eye was turned upon him. To an outside spectator he would have seemed rather like a very well-dressed Daniel introduced into a den of singularly irritable lions. Five pairs of eyes were smouldering with a long-nursed resentment. Five brows were corrugated with wrathful lines. Such, however, was the simple majesty of Psmith's demeanour that for a moment there was dead silence. Not a word was spoken as he paced, wrapped in thought, to the editorial chair. Stillness brooded over the room as he carefully dusted that piece of furniture, and, having done so to his satisfaction, hitched up the knees of his trousers and sank gracefully into a sitting position. This accomplished, he looked up and started. He gazed round the room. "Ha! I am observed!" he murmured. The words broke the spell. Instantly, the five visitors burst simultaneously into speech. "Are you the acting editor of this paper?" "I wish to have a word with you, sir." "Mr. Windsor, I presume?" "Pardon me!" "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." "Then maybe you can tell me what all this means?" said a small round gentleman who so far had done only chorus work. "If it is in my power to do so, it shall be done, Comrade--I have not the pleasure of your name." "My name is Waterman, sir. I am here on behalf of my wife, whose name you doubtless know." "Correct me if I am wrong," said Psmith, "but I should say it, also, was Waterman." "Luella Granville Waterman, sir," said the little man proudly. Psmith removed his eye-glass, polished it, and replaced it in his eye. He felt that he must run no risk of not seeing clearly the husband of one who, in his opinion, stood alone in literary circles as a purveyor of sheer bilge.