"It did, sir. I've never set eyes on you before, but I've seen so many photographs of you that I reckon we're old friends. I know your father very well, Mr. Windsor. He showed me the photographs. You may have heard him speak of me--Jack Lake? How is the old man? Seen him lately?" "Not for some time. He was well when he last wrote." "Good for him. He would be. Tough as a plank, old Joe Windsor. We always called him Joe." "You'd have known him down in Missouri, of course?" said Billy. "That's right. In Missouri. We were side-partners for years. Now, see here, Mr. Windsor, it's early yet. Won't you and your friend come along with me and have a smoke and a chat? I live right here in Thirty-Third Street. I'd be right glad for you to come." "I don't doubt it," said Billy, "but I'm afraid you'll have to excuse us." "In a hurry, are you?" "Not in the least." "Then come right along." "No, thanks." "Say, why not? It's only a step." "Because we don't want to. Good night." He turned, and started to walk away. The other stood for a moment, staring; then crossed the road. Psmith broke the silence. "Correct me if I am wrong, Comrade Windsor," he said tentatively, "but were you not a trifle--shall we say abrupt?--with the old family friend?" Billy Windsor laughed. "If my father's name was Joseph," he said, "instead of being William, the same as mine, and if he'd ever been in Missouri in his life, which he hasn't, and if I'd been photographed since I was a kid, which I haven't been, I might have gone along. As it was, I thought it better not to." "These are deep waters, Comrade Windsor. Do you mean to intimate--?" "If they can't do any better than that, we shan't have much to worry us. What do they take us for, I wonder? Farmers? Playing off a comic-supplement bluff like that on us!" There was honest indignation in Billy's voice. "You think, then, that if we had accepted Comrade Lake's invitation, and gone along for a smoke and a chat, the chat would not have been of the pleasantest nature?" "We should have been put out of business." "I have heard so much," said Psmith, thoughtfully, "of the lavish hospitality of the American." "Taxi, sir?" A red taximeter cab was crawling down the road at their side. Billy shook his head. "Not that a taxi would be an unsound scheme," said Psmith. "Not that particular one, if you don't mind." "Something about it that offends your aesthetic taste?" queried Psmith sympathetically. "Something about it makes my aesthetic taste kick like a mule," said Billy. "Ah, we highly strung literary men do have these curious prejudices. We cannot help it. We are the slaves of our temperaments. Let us walk, then. After all, the night is fine, and we are young and strong." They had reached Twenty-Third Street when Billy stopped. "I don't know about walking," he said. "Suppose we take the Elevated?" "Anything you wish, Comrade Windsor. I am in your hands."