They went into the inner office. Psmith removed his hat and coat.
"And now once more to work," he said. "Psmith the flaneur of Fifth Avenue ceases to exist. In his place we find Psmith the hard-headed sub-editor. Be so good as to indicate a job of work for me, Comrade Windsor. I am champing at my bit."
Billy Windsor sat down, and lit his pipe.
"What we want most," he said thoughtfully, "is some big topic. That's the only way to get a paper going. Look at Everybody's Magazine. They didn't amount to a row of beans till Lawson started his 'Frenzied Finance' articles. Directly they began, the whole country was squealing for copies. Everybody's put up their price from ten to fifteen cents, and now they lead the field."
"The country must squeal for Cosy Moments," said Psmith firmly. "I fancy I have a scheme which may not prove wholly scaly. Wandering yesterday with Comrade Jackson in a search for Fourth Avenue, I happened upon a spot called Pleasant Street. Do you know it?"
Billy Windsor nodded.
"I went down there once or twice when I was a reporter. It's a beastly place."
"It is a singularly beastly place. We went into one of the houses."
"They're pretty bad."
"Who owns them?"