"More bright young careers than I care to think of," said Psmith, "have been ruined by the fatal practice of talking shop at dinner. But now that we are through, Comrade Windsor, by all means let us have it. What's the name which Comrade Gooch so eagerly divulged?" Billy leaned forward excitedly. "Stewart Waring," he whispered. "Stewart who?" asked Psmith. Billy stared. "Great Scott, man!" he said, "haven't you heard of Stewart Waring?" "The name seems vaguely familiar, like Isinglass or Post-toasties. I seem to know it, but it conveys nothing to me." "Don't you ever read the papers?" "I toy with my _American_ of a morning, but my interest is confined mainly to the sporting page which reminds me that Comrade Brady has been matched against one Eddie Wood a month from to-day. Gratifying as it is to find one of the staff getting on in life, I fear this will cause us a certain amount of inconvenience. Comrade Brady will have to leave the office temporarily in order to go into training, and what shall we do then for a fighting editor? However, possibly we may not need one now. _Cosy Moments_ should be able shortly to give its message to the world and ease up for a while. Which brings us back to the point. Who is Stewart Waring?" "Stewart Waring is running for City Alderman. He's one of the biggest men in New York!" "Do you mean in girth? If so, he seems to have selected the right career for himself." "He's one of the bosses. He used to be Commissioner of Buildings for the city." "Commissioner of Buildings? What exactly did that let him in for?" "It let him in for a lot of graft." "How was that?" "Oh, he took it off the contractors. Shut his eyes and held out his hands when they ran up rotten buildings that a strong breeze would have knocked down, and places like that Pleasant Street hole without any ventilation." "Why did he throw up the job?" inquired Psmith. "It seems to me that it was among the World's Softest. Certain drawbacks to it, perhaps, to the man with the Hair-Trigger Conscience; but I gather that Comrade Waring did not line up in that class. What was his trouble?" "His trouble," said Billy, "was that he stood in with a contractor who was putting up a music-hall, and the contractor put it up with material about as strong as a heap of meringues, and it collapsed on the third night and killed half the audience." "And then?" "The papers raised a howl, and they got after the contractor, and the contractor gave Waring away. It killed him for the time being." "I should have thought it would have had that excellent result permanently," said Psmith thoughtfully. "Do you mean to say he got back again after that?" "He had to quit being Commissioner, of course, and leave the town for a time; but affairs move so fast here that a thing like that blows over. He made a bit of a pile out of the job, and could afford to lie low for a year or two." "How long ago was that?"