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Updated: June 17, 2025
"If you are seeing him at any time and feel at a loss for something to say, perhaps you might mention it. Is there anything else I can do for you, Comrade Parker?" "See here " "Nothing? Then good-bye. Look in when you're this way." He hung up the receiver. As he did so, he was aware of Master Maloney standing beside the table. "Yes, Comrade Maloney?" "Telegram," said Pugsy. "For Mr. Windsor."
"I guess there's a door on to de roof somewhere," suggested Pugsy. "At de joint where I lives dere is." His surmise proved correct.
"And it seemed to me that I couldn't do better than put it into Peaceful Moments. If it did nothing else, it would give me a free hand in pursuing a policy in which I was interested. Smith told me that Mr. Scobell's representatives had instructions to accept any offer, so I made an offer, and they jumped at it." Pugsy Maloney entered, bearing a card.
Rent-day, announced Pugsy, fell on the last day of the month. "I rubbered around," he said, "and did de sleut' act, and I finds t'ings out. Dere's a feller comes round 'bout supper time dat day, an' den it's up to de fam'lies what lives in de tenements to dig down into deir jeans fer de stuff, or out dey goes dat same night." "Evidently a hustler, our nameless friend," said Psmith.
"Where did she go?" Pugsy vouchsafed another jerk of the head, in the direction of the outer door. "She's beaten it," he said. "I seen her make a break for de stairs. Guess she's forgotten to remember somet'ing," he added indifferently, turning once more to his romance of prairie life. "Goils is bone-heads."
For the first time since John had known him, Pugsy was openly excited. "Say, boss," he cried, "dey's coming!" "What? Who?" "Why, dem. I seen dem T'ree Pointers Spider Reilly an' " He broke off with a yelp of surprise. Mr. Gooch had seized his opportunity, and had made his dash for safety. With a rush he dived past John, nearly upsetting Pugsy, who stood in his path, and sprang down the stairs.
"On busy mornings you could hear our brains buzzing in Madison Square Garden. Oh, one moment." He rose and went into the outer office. "Pugsy," he said, "do you know Broster Street?" "Sure." "Could you find out for me exactly when the man comes round collecting the rents?" "Surest t'ing you know. I knows a kid what knows anodder kid what lives dere." "Then go and do it now.
An' say, he has it pretty fierce, dat kid. De kid what lives dere. He's a wop kid, an Italian, an' he's in bad 'cos his pa comes over from Italy to woik on de subway." "I don't see why that puts him in bad," said John wonderingly. "You don't construct your stories well, Pugsy.
He strolled slowly out, while Betty, mounting a chair, proceeded to chirrup and snap her fingers in the effort to establish the foundations of an entente cordiale with the cat. By the time Pugsy returned, carrying a five-cent bottle of milk, the animal had vacated the shelf, and was sitting on the table, polishing her face.
This was partly owing to the fact that her editor, when not actually at work himself, was accustomed to engage her in conversation, and to keep her so engaged until the entrance of Pugsy Maloney heralded the arrival of some caller. Betty liked Smith. His odd ways, his conversation, and his extreme solicitude for his clothes amused her. She found his outlook on life refreshing.
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