Bertie sighed in exasperation, trotted back to the Irishman and grabbed him by the elbow, tugging him to the path before he got hit by a car.
"Yes, Kansas, I'm afraid," Bertie said, sympathetically. "Look, perhaps you should sit down and have a sandwich and whatnot before we get into more details, eh what?"
Tugging the man along, Bertie desperately looked around for either a sandwich shop or someone who might be willing to assist with explaining the whole apocalypse wheeze. The Irishman smelled odd and was almost certainly a loony, and Bertie was rather worried about how he'd react to hearing it all. "Er, I'm Bertie Wooster by the way," he said, trying and failing to hide his mild panic.