“And whom would he hand it over to?”
“Look here,” said Freddie, “I might as well start at the beginning.”
“An excellent idea.”
The speed at which the train was now proceeding had begun to render conversation in anything but stentorian tones somewhat difficult. Freddie accordingly bent forward till his mouth almost touched Psmith’s ear.
“You see, it’s like this. My uncle, old Joe Keeble . . .”
“Keeble?” said Psmith. “Why,” he murmured meditatively, “is that name familiar?”
“Don’t interrupt, old lad,” pleaded Freddie.
“I stand corrected.”
“Uncle Joe has a stepdaughter—Phyllis her name is—and some time ago she popped off and married a cove called Jackson . . .”
Psmith did not interrupt the narrative again, but as it proceeded his look of interest deepened. And at the conclusion he patted his companion encouragingly on the shoulder.