Kid Brady, the chosen of _Cosy Moments_, was billed for a "ten-round exhibition contest," to be the main event of the evening's entertainment. No decisions are permitted at these clubs. Unless a regrettable accident occurs, and one of the sparrers is knocked out, the verdict is left to the newspapers next day. It is not uncommon to find a man win easily in the _World_, draw in the _American_, and be badly beaten in the _Evening Mail_. The system leads to a certain amount of confusion, but it has the merit of offering consolation to a much-smitten warrior. The best method of getting to the Highfield is by the Subway. To see the Subway in its most characteristic mood one must travel on it during the rush-hour, when its patrons are packed into the carriages in one solid jam by muscular guards and policemen, shoving in a manner reminiscent of a Rugby football scrum. When Psmith and Billy entered it on the Friday evening, it was comparatively empty. All the seats were occupied, but only a few of the straps and hardly any of the space reserved by law for the conductor alone. Conversation on the Subway is impossible. The ingenious gentlemen who constructed it started with the object of making it noisy. Not ordinarily noisy, like a ton of coal falling on to a sheet of tin, but really noisy. So they fashioned the pillars of thin steel, and the sleepers of thin wood, and loosened all the nuts, and now a Subway train in motion suggests a prolonged dynamite explosion blended with the voice of some great cataract. Psmith, forced into temporary silence by this combination of noises, started to make up for lost time on arriving in the street once more. "A thoroughly unpleasant neighbourhood," he said, critically surveying the dark streets. "I fear me, Comrade Windsor, that we have been somewhat rash in venturing as far into the middle west as this. If ever there was a blighted locality where low-browed desperadoes might be expected to spring with whoops of joy from every corner, this blighted locality is that blighted locality. But we must carry on. In which direction, should you say, does this arena lie?" It had begun to rain as they left Billy's lodgings. Psmith turned up the collar of his Burberry. "We suffer much in the cause of Literature," he said. "Let us inquire of this genial soul if he knows where the Highfield is." The pedestrian referred to proved to be going there himself. They went on together, Psmith courteously offering views on the weather and forecasts of the success of Kid Brady in the approaching contest. Rattling on, he was alluding to the prominent part _Cosy Moments_ had played in the affair, when a rough thrust from Windsor's elbow brought home to him his indiscretion.