The conditions of life in New York are so different from those of London that a story of this kind calls for a little explanation. There are several million inhabitants of New York. Not all of them ek...

The man in the street would not have known it, but a great crisis was imminent in New York journalism. Everything seemed much as usual in the city. The cars ran blithely on Broadway. Newsboys shouted ...

Billy Windsor had started life twenty-five years before this story opens on his father’s ranch in Wyoming. From there he had gone to a local paper of the type whose Society column consists of such ite...

“It would ill beseem me, Comrade Jackson,” said Psmith, thoughtfully sipping his coffee, “to run down the metropolis of a great and friendly nation, but candour compels me to state that New York is in...

Billy Windsor lived in a single room on East Fourteenth Street. Space in New York is valuable, and the average bachelor’s apartments consist of one room with a bathroom opening off it. During the dayt...

“By the way,” said Psmith, “what is your exact position on this paper? Practically, we know well, you are its backbone, its lifeblood; but what is your technical position? When your proprietor is cong...

To alter the scheme of a weekly from cover to cover is not a task that is completed without work. The dismissal of Cosy Moments’ entire staff of contributors left a gap in the paper which had to be fi...

On the following morning Mike had to leave with the team for Philadelphia. Psmith came down to the ferry to see him off, and hung about moodily until the time of departure. “It is saddening me to a gr...

Master Maloney’s statement that “about ’steen visitors” had arrived in addition to Messrs. Asher, Waterman, and the Rev. Philpotts proved to have been due to a great extent to a somewhat feverish imag...

When Psmith returned to the office, he found Billy Windsor in the doorway, just parting from a thickset young man, who seemed to be expressing his gratitude to the editor for some good turn. He was sh...

There was once an editor of a paper in the Far West who was sitting at his desk, musing pleasantly of life, when a bullet crashed through the window and embedded itself in the wall at the back of his ...

The duties of Master Pugsy Maloney at the offices of Cosy Moments were not heavy; and he was accustomed to occupy his large store of leisure by reading narratives dealing with life in the prairies, wh...

The Astor Hotel faces on to Times Square. A few paces to the right of the main entrance the Times Building towers to the sky; and at the foot of this the stream of traffic breaks, forming two channels...

Arriving at the bed-sitting-room, Billy proceeded to occupy the rocking chair, and, as was his wont, began to rock himself rhythmically to and fro. Psmith seated himself gracefully on the couch-bed. T...

Far up at the other end of the island, on the banks of the Harlem River, there stands the old warehouse which modern progress has converted into the Highfield Athletic and Gymnastic Club. The imaginat...

Penetrating into the Kid’s dressing room some moments later, the editorial staff found the winner of the ten-round exhibition bout between members of the club seated on a chair, having his right leg r...

The promptitude and despatch with which the Kid had attended to the gentleman with the blackjack had not been without its effect on the followers of the stricken one. Physical courage is not an outsta...

Thus ended the opening engagement of the campaign, seemingly in a victory for the Cosy Moments army. Billy Windsor, however, shook his head. “We’ve got mighty little out of it,” he said. “The victory,...

It was Pugsy Maloney who, on the following morning, brought to the office the gist of what is related in this chapter. Pugsy’s version was, however, brief and unadorned, as was the way with his narrat...

Careful inquiries, conducted incognito by Master Maloney among the denizens of Pleasant Street, brought the information that rents in the tenements were collected not weekly but monthly, a fact which ...

He stood in the doorway looking with some surprise at the group inside. He was a smallish, pale-faced man with protruding eyes and teeth which gave him a certain resemblance to a rabbit. “Hello,” he s...

The new arrival was a young man with a shock of red hair, an ingrowing Roman nose, and a mouth from which force or the passage of time had removed three front teeth. He held on to the edges of the tra...

Psmith pushed back his chair slightly, stretched out his legs, and lit a cigarette. The resources of the Knickerbocker Hotel had proved equal to supplying the fatigued staff of Cosy Moments with an ex...

The first member of the staff of Cosy Moments to arrive at the office on the following morning was Master Maloney. This sounds like the beginning of a “Plod and Punctuality,” or “How Great Fortunes ha...

Master Maloney raised his eyes for a moment from his book as Psmith reentered the office. “Dere’s a guy in dere waitin’ ter see youse,” he said briefly, jerking his head in the direction of the inner ...

Mr. Jarvis was as good as his word. On the following morning, at ten o’clock to the minute, he made his appearance at the office of Cosy Moments, his forelock more than usually well oiled in honour of...

“The point is well taken,” said Psmith thoughtfully. “You think so?” said Mr. Parker. “I am convinced of it.” “Good. But don’t move. Put that hand back where it was.” “You think of everything, Comrade...

The Kid, as he had stated to Psmith at their last interview that he intended to do, had begun his training for his match with Eddie Wood, at White Plains, a village distant but a few miles from New Yo...

In the light of subsequent events it was perhaps the least bit unfortunate that Mr. Jarvis should have seen fit to bring with him to the office of Cosy Moments on the following morning two of his cele...

“You!” cried Mr. Wilberfloss. “The same,” said Psmith. “You!” exclaimed Messrs. Waterman, Asher, and the Reverend Edwin Philpotts. “On the spot!” said Psmith. Mr. Wilberfloss groped for a chair and sa...

It was a drizzly November evening. The streets of Cambridge were a compound of mud, mist, and melancholy. But in Psmith’s rooms the fire burned brightly, the kettle droned, and all, as the proprietor ...