Psmith, Journalist Page 2

  CHAPTER II

  BILLY WINDSOR

  Billy Windsor had started life twenty-five years before this storyopens on his father's ranch in Wyoming. From there he had gone to alocal paper of the type whose Society column consists of such itemsas "Pawnee Jim Williams was to town yesterday with a bunch of othercheap skates. We take this opportunity of once more informing Jimthat he is a liar and a skunk," and whose editor works with arevolver on his desk and another in his hip-pocket. Graduating fromthis, he had proceeded to a reporter's post on a daily paper in aKentucky town, where there were blood feuds and other Southerndevices for preventing life from becoming dull. All this time NewYork, the magnet, had been tugging at him. All reporters dream ofreaching New York. At last, after four years on the Kentucky paper,he had come East, minus the lobe of one ear and plus a long scarthat ran diagonally across his left shoulder, and had workedwithout much success as a free-lance. He was tough and ready foranything that might come his way, but these things are a great deala matter of luck. The cub-reporter cannot make a name for himselfunless he is favoured by fortune. Things had not come BillyWindsor's way. His work had been confined to turning in reports offires and small street accidents, which the various papers towhich he supplied them cut down to a couple of inches.

  Billy had been in a bad way when he had happened upon thesub-editorship of _Cosy Moments_. He despised the work with all hisheart, and the salary was infinitesimal. But it was regular, andfor a while Billy felt that a regular salary was the greatest thingon earth. But he still dreamed of winning through to a post on oneof the big New York dailies, where there was something doing and aman would have a chance of showing what was in him.

  The unfortunate thing, however, was that _Cosy Moments_ took up histime so completely. He had no chance of attracting the notice ofbig editors by his present work, and he had no leisure for doingany other.

  All of which may go to explain why his normal aspect was that of acaged eagle.

  To him, brooding over the outpourings of Luella Granville Waterman,there entered Pugsy Maloney, the office-boy, bearing a strugglingcat.

  "Say!" said Pugsy.

  He was a nonchalant youth, with a freckled, mask-like face, theexpression of which never varied. He appeared unconscious of thecat. Its existence did not seem to occur to him.

  "Well?" said Billy, looking up. "Hello, what have you got there?"

  Master Maloney eyed the cat, as if he were seeing it for the firsttime.

  "It's a kitty what I got in de street," he said.

  "Don't hurt the poor brute. Put her down."

  Master Maloney obediently dropped the cat, which sprang nimbly onto an upper shelf of the book-case.

  "I wasn't hoitin' her," he said, without emotion. "Dere was twofellers in de street sickin' a dawg on to her. An' I comes up an'says, 'G'wan! What do youse t'ink you're doin', fussin' de poordumb animal?' An' one of de guys, he says, 'G'wan! Who do youset'ink youse is?' An' I says, 'I'm de guy what's goin' to swat youseone on de coco if youse don't quit fussin' de poor dumb animal.' Sowit dat he makes a break at swattin' me one, but I swats him one,an' I swats de odder feller one, an' den I swats dem bote somemore, an' I gets de kitty, an' I brings her in here, cos I t'inksmaybe youse'll look after her."

  And having finished this Homeric narrative, Master Maloney fixed anexpressionless eye on the ceiling, and was silent.

  Billy Windsor, like most men of the plains, combined the toughestof muscle with the softest of hearts. He was always ready at anymoment to become the champion of the oppressed on the slightestprovocation. His alliance with Pugsy Maloney had begun on theoccasion when he had rescued that youth from the clutches of alarge negro, who, probably from the soundest of motives, wasendeavouring to slay him. Billy had not inquired into the rightsand wrongs of the matter: he had merely sailed in and rescued theoffice-boy. And Pugsy, though he had made no verbal comment on theaffair, had shown in many ways that he was not ungrateful.

  "Bully for you, Pugsy!" he cried. "You're a little sport. Here"--heproduced a dollar-bill--"go out and get some milk for thepoor brute. She's probably starving. Keep the change."

  "Sure thing," assented Master Maloney. He strolled slowly out,while Billy Windsor, mounting a chair, proceeded to chirrup andsnap his fingers in the effort to establish the foundations of an_entente cordiale_ with the rescued cat.

  By the time that Pugsy returned, carrying a five-cent bottle ofmilk, the animal had vacated the book-shelf, and was sitting on thetable, washing her face. The milk having been poured into the lidof a tobacco-tin, in lieu of a saucer, she suspended her operationsand adjourned for refreshments. Billy, business being business,turned again to Luella Granville Waterman, but Pugsy, having noimmediate duties on hand, concentrated himself on the cat.

  "Say!" he said.

  "Well?"

  "Dat kitty."

  "What about her?"

  "Pipe de leather collar she's wearing."

  Billy had noticed earlier in the proceedings that a narrow leathercollar encircled the cat's neck. He had not paid any particularattention to it. "What about it?" he said.

  "Guess I know where dat kitty belongs. Dey all have dose collars. Iguess she's one of Bat Jarvis's kitties. He's got a lot of dem forfair, and every one wit one of dem collars round deir neck."

  "Who's Bat Jarvis? Do you mean the gang-leader?"

  "Sure. He's a cousin of mine," said Master Maloney with pride.

  "Is he?" said Billy. "Nice sort of fellow to have in the family. Soyou think that's his cat?"

  "Sure. He's got twenty-t'ree of dem, and dey all has dose collars."

  "Are you on speaking terms with the gentleman?"

  "Huh?"

  "Do you know Bat Jarvis to speak to?"

  "Sure. He's me cousin."

  "Well, tell him I've got the cat, and that if he wants it he'dbetter come round to my place. You know where I live?"

  "Sure."

  "Fancy you being a cousin of Bat's, Pugsy. Why did you never tellus? Are you going to join the gang some day?"

  "Nope. Nothin' doin'. I'm goin' to be a cow-boy."

  "Good for you. Well, you tell him when you see him. And now, mylad, out you get, because if I'm interrupted any more I shan't getthrough to-night."

  "Sure," said Master Maloney, retiring.

  "Oh, and Pugsy . . ."

  "Huh?"

  "Go out and get a good big basket. I shall want one to carry thisanimal home in."

  "Sure," said Master Maloney.