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Page 1: Ford Sewell - Shorty McCabe

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Shorty McCabe, by Sewell Ford

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Title: Shorty McCabe

Author: Sewell Ford

Illustrator: Francis Vaux Wilson

Release Date: August 5, 2007 [EBook #22249]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

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She was a dream, all right.

Shorty McCabeBy

Sewell Ford

Illustrated byFrancis Vaux Wilson

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NEW YORKGROSSET & DUNLAP

PUBLISHERS

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Copyright, 1906, byMitchell Kennerley.

SHORTY McCABE

CHAPTER I

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Excuse me, mister man, but ain't youHello,yourself! Blamed if I didn't think therewas somethin' kind of natural about thelooks, as you come pikin' by. How're theyrunnin', eh?

Well say, I ain't seen you since we used tohit up the grammar school together.You've seen me, eh? Oh, sure! I'd forgot.That was when you showed up at the oldAthletic club the night I got the belt awayfrom the Kid. Doin' sportin' news then,wa'n't you? Chucked all that now, Is'pose?

Oh, I've kept track of you, all right. Everytime I sees one of your pieces in themagazines I reads it. And say, some of

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'em's kind of punk. But then, you've got tosling out somethin' or other, I expect, orget off the job. Where do you dig up all ofthem yarns, anyway? That's what alwayssticks me. You must knock around a wholebunch, and have lots happen to you. Me?Ah, nothin' ever happens to me. Course,I'm generally on the move, but it's justalong the grub track, and that ain't excitin'.

Yes, it's been a couple of years since Iquit the ring. Why? Say, don't ever put thatup to a has-been. It's almost as bad ascompoundin' a felony. I could give you awhole raft of reasons that would soundwell, but there's only one that covers thecase. There's a knockout comin' to the bestof 'em, if they hang to the game longenough. Some ain't satisfied, even after

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two or three. I was. I got mine, clean andsquare, and I ain't ashamed of it. I didn'traise any holler about a chance shot, and Ididn't go exhibitin' myself on the stage. Islid into a quiet corner for a month or so,and then I dropped into the only thing Iknew how to do, trainin' comers to goagainst the champs. It ain't like pullin'down your sixty per cent of the gatereceipts, but there's worse payin' jobs.

Course, there's times when I finds myselfup against it. It was durin' one of themsqueezes, not so long ago, that I getsmixed up with Leonidas Dodge, and allthat foolishness. Ah, it wa'n't anythingworth wastin' breath over. You would?Honest? Well, it won't take long, I guess.

You see, just as my wad looks like it had

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shrunk so that it would rattle around in anapkin ring, someone passes me the wordthat Butterfly was down to win the thirdrace, at 15 to 1. Now as a general thing Idon't monkey with the ponies, but when Ifigured up what a few saw-bucks woulddo for me at those odds, I makes for thetrack and takes the high dive. After it wasall over and I was comin' back in the train,with only a ticket where my roll had been,me feelin' about as gay as a Zulu on a cakeof ice, along comes this Mr. Dodge, that Ididn't know from next Tuesday week.

"Is it as bad as that?" says he, sizin' up thewoe on my face. "Because if it is theyought to give you a pension. What was thehorse?"

"Butterfly," says I. "Now laugh!"

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"I've got a right to," says he. "I had thesame dope."

Well, you see, that made us almost secondcousins by marriage and we started to getacquainted. I looked him over careful but Icouldn't place him within a mile. He hadpoints enough, too. The silk hat was aveteran, the Prince Albert dated backabout four seasons, but the gray gaiterswere down to the minute. Being an easytalker, he might have been a book agent ora green goods distributor. But somehowhis eyes didn't seem shifty enough for acrook, and no con. man would have lastedlong wearing the kind of hair that he did. Itwas a sort of lemon yellow, and he had alip decoration about two shades lighter,taggin' him as plain as an "inspected"

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label on a tin trunk.

"I'm a mitt juggler," says I, "and they callme Shorty McCabe. What's your line?"

"I've heard of you," he says. "Permit me,"and he hands out a pasteboard that read:

LEONIDAS MACKLIN DODGECommissioner-at-Large

"For what?" says I.

"It all depends," says Mr. Dodge."Sometimes I call it a brass polisher, thenagain it's a tooth-paste. It works welleither way. Also it cleans silver, removesgrease spots, and can be used for ashaving soap. It is a product of my ownlab'ratory, none genuine without thesignature."

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"How does it go as a substitute for beefand?" says I.

"I've never quite come to that," says he,"but I'm as close now as it's comfortableto be. My gold reserve counts up about adollar thirty-nine."

"You've got me beat by a whole dollar,"says I.

"Then," says he, "you'd better let meunderwrite your next issue."

"There's a friend of mine up to Forty-second Street that ought to be good forfifty," says I.

"I've had lots of friendships, off and on,"says he, "but never one that I could cash inat a pinch. I'll stay by until you try yourtouch."

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Well, the Forty-second Street man hadbeen gone a month. There was others Imight have tried, but I didn't like to riskgettin' my fingers frost-bitten. So I hooksup with Leonidas and we goes out with agrip full of Electro-Polisho, hittin' theplaces where they had nickel-plated signsand brass hand rails. And say! I couldstarve to death doing that. Give me a weekand two pairs of shoes and I might sell abox or so; but Dodge, he takes an hour towork his side of the block and shakes outa fist full of quarters.

"It's an art," says he, "which one must beborn to. After this you carry the grip."

That's the part I was playin' when westrikes the Tuscarora. Sounds like a parlorcar, don't it? But it was just one of those

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swell bachelor jointsfourteen stories,electric elevators, suites of two and threerooms, for gents only. Course, we hadn'tno more call to go there than to the StockExchange, but Leonidas Macklin, he's oneof the kind that don't wait for cards. Seein'the front door open and a crowd of men inthe hall, he blazes right in, silk hat on theback of his head, hands in his pockets, andme close behind with the bag.

"What's up; auction, row or accident?"says he to one of the mob.

Now if it had been me that butted in likethat I'd had a row on my hands in abouttwo minutes, but in less time than thatLeonidas knows the whole story and isright to home. Taking me behind a hand-made palm, he puts me next. Seems that

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some one had advertised in a mornin'paper for a refined, high-browed personto help one of the same kind kill time at abig salary.

"And look what he gets," says Leonidas,wavin' his hand at the push. "There'smore'n a hundred of 'em, and not more'n adozen that you couldn't trace back to aMills hotel. They've been jawing away foran hour, trying to settle who gets the cinch.The chap who did the advertising is insidethere, in the middle of that bunch, and Ireckon he wishes he hadn't. As an act ofcharity, Shorty, I'm going to straightenthings out for him. Come on."

"Better call up the reserves," says I.

But that wa'n't Mr. Dodge's style. Side-steppin' around to the off edge of the

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crowd, just as if he'd come down from theelevator, he calls out good and loud:"Now then, gentlemen; one side, please,one side! Ah, thank you! In a moment,now, gentlemen, we'll get down tobusiness."

And say, they opened up for us like it waspay day and he had the cash box. Webrought up before the saddest-lookin' cussI ever saw out of bed. I couldn't make outwhether he was sick, or scared, or both.He had flopped in a big leather chair andwas tryin' to wave 'em away with bothhands, while about two dozen, lookin' likeex-bath rubbers or men nurses, weretelling him how good they were andshovin' references at him. The rest of thegang was trying to push in for their whack.

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It was a bad mess, but Leonidas wasn'tfeazed a bit.

"Attention, gentlemen!" says he. "If youwill all retire to the room on the left wewill get to work. The room on the left,gentlemen, on the left!"

He had a good voice, Leonidas did, one ofthe kind that could go against a merry-go-round or a German band. The crowdstopped pushin' to listen, then some onemade a break for the next room, and inless than a minute they were all in there,with the door shut between. Mr. Dodgetips me the wink and sails over to thespecimen in the chair.

"You're Mr. Homer Fales, I take it," sayshe.

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"I am," says the pale one, breathing hard,"and whowho the devil are you?"

"That's neither here nor there," saysLeonidas. "Just now I'm a life-boat. Doyou want to hire any of those fellows? Ifso"

"No, no, no!" says Homer, shakin' as if hehad a chill. "Send them all away, willyou? They have nearly killed me."

"Away they go," says Leonidas. "Watchme do it."

First he has me go in with his hat andcollect their cards. Then I calls 'em out,one by one, while he stands by to giveeach one the long-lost brother grip, andwhisper in his ear, as confidential as if hewas telling him how he'd won the piano at

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a church raffle: "Don't say a word; to-morrow at ten." They all got the same,even to the Hickey-boy shoulder pat as hepassed 'em out, and every last one of 'emfaded away trying to keep from lookin'tickled to death. It took twenty minutes bythe watch.

"Now, Mr. Fales," says Leonidas, comin'to a parade rest in front of the chair, "nexttime you want to play Santa Claus to theunemployed I'd advise you to hireMadison Square Garden to receive in."

That seemed to put a little life into Homer.He hitched himself up off'n the middle ofhis backbone, pulled in a yard or two oflong legs and pried his eyes open. Youcouldn't call him handsome and prove it.He had one of those long, two-by-four

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faces, with more nose than chin, and a pairof inset eyes that seemed built to look forgrief. The corners of his mouth weresagged, and his complexion made youthink of cheese pie. But he was still alive.

"You've overlooked one," says he, andpoints my way. "He wouldn't do at all.Send him off, too."

"That's where you're wrong, Mr. Fales,"says Leonidas. "This gentleman is awholly disinterested party, and he's aparticular friend of mine. ProfessorMcCabe, let me introduce Mr. HomerFales."

So I came to the front and gave Homer'sflipper a little squeeze that must have donehim as much good as an electric treatment,by the way he squirmed.

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"If you ever feel ambitious for a little six-ounce glove exercise," says I, "just let meknow."

"Thanks," says he, "thanks very much. ButI'm an invalid, you see. In fact, I'm a verysick man."

"About three rounds a day would put youon your feet," says I. "There's nothing likeit."

He kind of shuddered and turned toLeonidas. "You are certain that those menwill not return, are you?" says he.

"Not before to-morrow at ten. You can beout then, you know," says Mr. Dodge.

"To-morrow at ten!" says Homer, andslumps again, all in a heap. "Oh, this isawful!" he groans. "I couldn't survive

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another!"

It was the worst case of funk I ever saw.We put in an hour trying to brace him up,but not until we'd promised to stay by overnight could we get him to breathe deep.Then he was as grateful as if we'd pulledhim out of the river. We half lugs him overto the elevator and takes him up to hisquarters. It wasn't any cheap hang-out,eithernothing but silk rugs on the floor andparlor furniture all over the shop. We haddinner served up there, and it was a feedto dream aboutoysters, ruddy duck, filly ofbeef with mushrooms, and all thefrillswhile Homer worries along on a fewtoasted crackers and a cup of weak tea.

As Leonidas and me does the anti-famineact Homer unloads his hard-luck wheeze.

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He was the best example of an all-roundinvalid I ever stacked up against. Hedidn't go in for no half-way business; itwas neck or nothing with him. He wasn'ton the hospital list one day and bumpingthe bumps the next. He was what youmight call a consistent sufferer.

"It's my heart mostly," says he. "I thinkthere's a leak in one of the valves. Thedoctors lay it to nerves, some of them, butI'm certain about the leak."

"Why not call in a plumber?" says I.

But you couldn't chirk him up that way.He'd believed in that leaky heart of his foryears. It was his stock in trade. As near asI could make out he'd began being aninvalid about the time he should have beenhunting a job, and he'd always had some

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one to back him up in it until about twomonths before we met him. First it was hismother, and when she gave out his oldmaid sister took her turn. Her name wasJoyphena. He told us all about her; howshe used to fan him when he was hot,wrap him up when he was cold, and readto him when she couldn't think of anythingelse to do. But one day Joyphena wasthoughtless enough to go off somewhereand quit living. You could see that Homerwouldn't ever quite forgive her for that.

It was when Homer tried to find asubstitute for Joyphena that his troublesbegan. He'd had all kinds of nurses, butthe good ones wouldn't stay and the badones he'd fired. He'd tried valets, too, butnone of 'em seemed to suit. Then he got

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desperate and wrote out that ad. thatbrought the mob down on him.

He gave us a diagram of exactly the kindof man he wanted, and from his plans andspecifications we figured out that whatHomer was looking for was a crossbetween a galley slave and a he-angel,some one who would know just what hewanted before he did, and be ready tohand it out whenever called for. And hewas game to pay the price, whatever itmight be.

"You see," says Homer, "whenever I makethe least exertion, or undergo the slightestexcitement, it aggravates the leak."

I'd seen lots who ducked all kinds ofexertion, but mighty few with so slick anexcuse. It would have done me good to

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have said so, but Leonidas didn't look at itin that way. He was a sympathizer fromheadquarters; seemed to like nothin'better'n to hear Homer tell how bad off hewas.

"What you need, Fales," says Leonidas,"is the country, the calm, peaceful country.I know a nice, quiet little place, about ahundred miles from here, that would justsuit you, and if you say the word I'll shipyou off down there early to-morrowmorning. I'll give you a letter to an oldlady who'll take care of you better thanfour trained nurses. She has brought half adozen children through all kinds ofsickness, from measles to broken necks,and she's never quite so contented as whenshe's trotting around waiting on somebody.

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I stopped there once when I was a littlehoarse from a cold, and before she'd letme go to bed she made me drink a bowl ofginger tea, soak my feet in hot mustardwater, and bind a salt pork poulticearound my neck. If you'd just go downthere you'd both be happy. What do yousay?"

Homer was doubtful. He'd never livedmuch in the country and was afraid itwouldn't agree with his leak. But early inthe morning he was up wantin' to knowmore about it. He'd begun to think of thatmob of snap hunters that was booked toshow up again at ten o'clock, and it madehim nervous. Before breakfast was overhe was willing to go almost anywhere,only he was dead set that me and Leonidas

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should trail along, too. So there we were,with Homer on our hands.

Well, we packed a trunk for him, called acab, and got him loaded on a parlor car.About every so often he'd clap his handsto his side and groan: "Oh, my heart! Mypoor heart!" It was as touchin' as theheroine's speeches to the top gallery. Onthe way down Leonidas gave us a bird's-eye view of the kind of Jim Crowsettlement we were heading for. It wasone of those places where they date thingsback to the time when Lem Saunders felldown cellar with a lamp and set the houseafire.

The town looked it. There was anaggregation of three men, two boys and ayellow dog in sight on Main Street when

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we landed. We'd wired ahead, so the oldlady was ready for us. Leonidas called her"Mother" Bickell. She was short, about asthick through as a sugar barrel, and woretwo kinds of hair, the front frizzes bein' alovely chestnut. But she was a nice-spoken old girl, and when she found outthat we'd brought along a genuine invalidwith a leak in his blood pump, she almostfell on our necks. In about two shakesshe'd hustled Homer into a rocking-chair,wedged him in place with pillows,wrapped a blanket around his feet, andshoved him up to a table where there wasa hungry man's layout of clam fritters,canned corn, boiled potatoes and hotmince pie.

There wasn't any use for Homer to register

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a kick on the bill-of-fare. She was toobusy tellin' him how much good the thingswould do him, and how he must eat a lotor she'd feel bad, to listen to any remarksof his about toasted crackers. For supperthere was fried fish, apple sauce and hotbiscuit, and Homer had to take his share.He was glad to go to bed early. She didn'tobject to that.

Mother Bickell's house was right in themiddle of the town, with a grocery storeon one side and the postoffice on theother. Homer had a big front room withthree windows on Main Street. There wasa strip of plank sidewalk in front of thehouse, so that you didn't miss anyfootfalls. Mother Bickell could tell whowas goin' by without lookin'.

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Leonidas and me put in the evening hearin'her tell about some of the things that hadhappened to her oldest boy. He'd had awhirl out of most everything but anearthquake. After that we had an accountof how she'd buried her two husbands.About ten o'clock we started for bed,droppin' in to take a look at Homer. Hewas sittin' up, wide awake and lookin'worried.

"How many people are there in thistown?" says he.

"About a thousand," says Leonidas."Why?"

"Then they have all marched past mywindows twice," says Homer.

"Shouldn't wonder," says Leonidas.

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"They've just been to the postoffice andback again. They do that four times a day.But you mustn't mind. Just you thank yourstars you're down here where it's nice andquiet. Now I'd go to sleep if I was you."

Homer said he would. I was ready to tearoff a few yards of repose myself, butsomehow I couldn't connect. It was quiet,all rightin spots. Fact is, it was so blamedquiet that you could hear every rooster thatcrowed within half a mile. If a man on theother side of town shut a window youknew all about it.

I was gettin' there though, and was almostup to the droppin'-off place, when somefolks in a back room on the next streetbegins to indulge in a family argument. Ididn't pay much notice to the preamble,

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but as they warmed up to it I couldn't helpfrom gettin' the drift. It was all about thetime of year that a feller by the name ofHen Dorsett had been run over by the carsup to Jersey City.

"I say it was just before Thanksgivin',"pipes up the old lady. "I know, 'cause Iwas into the butcher's askin' what turkeyswould be likely to fetch, when DocBrewswater drops in and says: 'Mornin',Eph. Heard about Hen Dorsett?' And thenhe told about him fallin' under the cars. Soit must have been just afore Thanksgivin'."

"Thanksgivin' your grandmother!" growlsthe old man. "It was in March, along thesecond week, I should say, because theday I heard of it was just after schoolelection. March of '83, that's when it

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was."

"Eighty-three!" squeals the old lady. "Areyou losin' your mind altogether? It was'85, the year Jimmy cut his hand so bad atthe sawmill."

"Jimmy wasn't workin' at the mill thatyear," raps back the old man. "He wastongin' oysters that fall, 'cause he didn'thear a word about Hen until the nextFriday night, when I told him myself. Henwas killed on a Monday."

"It was on a Saturday or I'm a lunatic,"snaps the old lady.

Well, they kept on pilin' up evidence, eachone makin' the other out to be a fool, or aliar, or both, until the old man says: "Seehere, Maria, I'm goin' up the street and ask

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Ase Horner when it was that Hen Dorsettwas killed. Ase knows, for he was the oneMrs. Dorsett got to go up after Hen."

"Yes, and he'll tell you it was just beforeThanksgivin' of '85, so what's the use?"says the old lady.

"We'll see what he says," growls the oldman, and I heard him strike a light and getinto his shoes.

"Who're you bettin' on?" says Leonidas.

"Gee!" says I. "Are you awake, too? Ithought you was asleep an hour ago."

"I was," says he, "but when this HenDorsett debate breaks loose I came backto earth. I'll gamble that the old woman'sright."

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"The old man's mighty positive," says I."Wonder how long it'll be before we getthe returns?"

"Perhaps half an hour," says Leonidas."He'll have to thrash it all out with Asebefore he starts back. We might as well situp and wait. Anyway I want to see whichgets the best of it."

"Let's have a smoke, then," says I.

"Why not go along with the old man?"says Leonidas. "If he finds he's wrong hemay come back and lie about it."

Well, it was a fool thing to do, when youthink about it, but somehow Leonidas hada way of lookin' at things that wasdifferent from other folks. He didn't knowany more about that there Hen Dorsett than

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I did, but he seemed just as keen as if itwas all in the family. We had hustled ourclothes on and was sneakin' down thefront stairs as easy as we could when wehears from Homer.

"I heard you dressing," says he, "so I gotup, too. I haven't been asleep yet."

"Then come along with us," saysLeonidas. "It'll do you good. We're onlygoing up the street to find out when it wasthat the cars struck Hen Dorsett."

Homer didn't savvy, but he didn't care.Mainly he wanted comp'ny. He whisperedto us to go easy, suspectin' that if we wokeup Mother Bickell she'd want to feed himsome more clam fritters. By the time we'dunlocked the front door though, she wasafter us, but all she wanted was to make

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Homer wrap a shawl around his head tokeep out the night air.

"And don't you dare take it off until youget back," says she. Homer was glad to getaway so easy and said he wouldn't. But hewas a sight, lookin' like a Turk with a sorethroat.

The old man had routed Ase Horner out bythe time we got there, and they was havin'it hot and heavy. Ase said it wasn't eitherNovember nor March when he went upafter Hen Dorsett, but the middle ofOctober. He knew because he'd just begunshingling his kitchen and the line stormcame along before he got it finished.More'n that, it was in '84, for that was theyear he ran for sheriff.

"See here, gentlemen," says Leonidas,

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"isn't it possible to find some officialrecord of this sad tragedy? You'll excuseus, being strangers, for takin' a hand, butthere don't seem to be much show of ourgetting any sleep until this thing is settled.Besides, I'd like to know myself. Nowlet's go to the records."

"I'm ready," says Ase. "If this thick-headed old idiot here don't think I canremember back a few years, why, I'mwilling to stay up all night to show him.Let's go to the County Clerk's and makehim open up."

So we started, all five of us, just as thetown clock struck twelve. We hadn't gonemore'n a block, though, before we met awhiskered old relic stumpin' along with astick in his hand. He was the police force,

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it seems. Course, he wanted to know whatwas up, and when he found out he wasready to make affidavit that Hen had beenkilled some time in August of '81.

"Wa'n't I one of the pall bearers?" says he."And hadn't I just drawn my back pensionand paid off the mortgage on my place,eh? No use routin' out the Clerk to asksuch a fool question; and anyways, he ain'tto home, come to think of it."

"If you'll permit me to suggest," saysLeonidas, "there ought to be all theevidence needed right in the cemetery."

"Of course there is!" says Ase Horner."Why didn't we think of that first off? I'llget a lantern and we'll go up and read thedate on the headstun."

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There was six of us lined up for thecemetery, the three natives jawin' away asto who was right and who wasn't. Everylittle ways some one would hear theracket, throw up a window, and chip in.Most of 'em asked us to wait until theycould dress and join the procession.Before we'd gone half a mile it lookedlike a torchlight parade. The bigger thecrowd got, the faster the recruits fell in.Folks didn't stop to ask any questions.They just jumped into their clothes,grabbed lanterns and piked after us. Therewas men and women and children, not tomention a good many dogs. Every one wasjabberin' away, some askin' what it wasall about and the rest tryin' to explain.There must have been a good many wildguesses, for I heard one old feller in the

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rear rank squallin' out: "Remember,neighbors, nothin' rash, now; nothin' rash!"

I couldn't figure out just what they meantby that at the time; but then, the wholebusiness didn't seem any too sensible, so Ididn't bother. On the way up I'd sort of fellin with the constable. He couldn't get anyone else to listen to him, and as he had alot of unused conversation on hand I lethim spiel it off at me. Leonidas andHomer were ahead with Ase Homer andthe old duffer that started the row, and thedebate was still goin' on.

When we got to the cemetery Homerdropped out and leaned up against thegate, sayin' he'd wait there for us. Wepiled after Ase, who'd made a dash to getto the headstone first.

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"It's right over in this section," says he,wavin' his lantern, "and I want all of youto come and see that I know what I'mtalking about when I give out dates. I wantto show you, by ginger, that I've got amem'ry that's better'n any diary everwrote. Here we are now! Here's the graveandwell, durn my eyes! Blessed if there'sany sign of a headstun here!"

And there wa'n't, either.

"By jinks!" says the old constable,slappin' his leg. "That's one on me, boys.Why, Lizzie Dorsett told me only lastweek that her mother had the stun took upand sent away to have the name of hersecond husband cut on't. Only last weekshe told me, and here I'd clean forgot it."

"You're an old billy goat!" says Ase

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Horner.

"There, there!" says Leonidas, soothinghim down. "We've all enjoyed the walk,anyway, and maybe" But just then he hearssomething that makes him prick up hisears. "What's the row back there at thegate?" he asks. Then, turnin' to me, hesays: "Shorty, where's Homer?"

"Down there," says I.

"Then come along on the jump," says he."If there's any trouble lying around loosehe'll get into it."

Down by the gate we could see lanternsby the dozen and we could hear all sortsof yells and excitement, so we makes ourmove on the double. Just as we fetched thegate some one hollers:

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"There he goes! Lynch the villain!"

We sees a couple of long legs strike out,and gets a glimpse of a head wrapped upin a shawl. It was Homer, all right, and hehad the gang after him. He took a four-footfence at a hurdle and was streakin' offthrough a plowed field into the dark.

"Hi, Fales!" sings out Leonidas. "Comeback here, you chump!"

But Homer kept right on. Maybe he didn'thear, and perhaps he was too scared tostop if he did. All we could do was to getinto the free-for-all with the others.

"What did he do?" yells Leonidas at asandy-whiskered man who carried aclothes-line and was shoutin', "Lynch him!Lynch him!" between jumps.

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"Do!" says the man. "Ain't you heard?Why, he choked Mother Bickell to deathand robbed her of seventeen dollars. He'swearin' her shawl now."

As near as we could make out, the thinghappened like this: When the tail enderscame rushin' up with all kinds of wildyarns about robbers and such, they catchessight of Homer, leanin' up in the shadowof the gate. Some one holds a lantern up tohis face and an old woman spots theshawl.

"It's Mother Bickell's," says she. "Wheredid he get it?"

That was enough. They went for Homerlike he'd set fire to a synagogue. Homertried to tell 'em who he was, and about hisheart, but he talked too slow, or his voice

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wa'n't strong enough; and when they beganto plan on yankin' him up then and there,without printin' his picture in the paper, ora trial, he heaves up a yell and lights outfor the boarding-house.

Ten hours before I wouldn't have matchedHomer against a one-legged man, but theway he was gettin' over the ground thenwas worth the price of admission. I havedone a little track work myself, andLeonidas didn't show up for any glue-foot,but Homer would have made the tapeahead of us for any distance under twomiles. He'd cleared the crowd and wasback into the road again, travelin' wideand free, with the shawl streamin' outbehind and the nearest avenger two blocksbehind us, when out jumps a Johnny-on-

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the-spot citizen and gives him the lowtackle. He was a pussy, bald-headed littleduffer, this citizen chap, and not bein' usedto blockin' runs he goes down underneath.Before they could untangle we comes up,snakes Homer off the top of the heap, andskiddoos for all we had left in us.

By the time that crowd of jay-hawkerscomes boomin' down to Mother Bickell'sto view the remains we had the old girl upand settin' at the front window with a lightbehind her. They asked each other a lot offoolish questions and then concluded to gohome.

While things was quietin' down we weremaking a grand rush to get Homer into bedbefore he passed in altogether. NeitherLeonidas nor me looked for him to last

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more'n an hour or two after that stunt, andwe were thinkin' of taking him back in abox. But after he got his breath he didn'tsay much except that he was plumb tired.We were still wonderin' whether to sendfor a doctor or the coroner, when he rollsover with his face to the wall and goes tosleep as comfortable as a kitten in abasket.

It was in the middle of the forenoon beforeany of us shows up for breakfast. We'dinspected Homer once, about eighto'clock, and found him still sawin' wood,so we didn't try to get him up. But just as Iwas openin' my second egg down hecomes, walkin' a little stiff, but otherwiseas good as ever, if not better.

"How far was it that I ran last night, Mr.

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Dodge?" says he.

"About a mile and a half," says Leonidas,stating it generous. "And it was as goodamateur sprinting as I ever saw."

Homer cracked the first smile I'd seen himtackle and pulled up to the table.

"I'm beginning to think," says he, "thatthere can't be much of a leak in my heart,after all. When we get back to town to-night, Mr. McCabe, we'll have anothertalk about those boxing lessons. Eggs?Yes, thank you, Mrs. Bickell; about four,soft. And by the way, Dodge, what was thedate on that gravestone, anyway?"

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CHAPTER II

What did we do with Homer, eh? Ah,forget it! Say, soon's he got back to townand found he could navigate 'round byhimself, he begins to count up expenses.Then he asks us to put in a bill.

"Bill!" says I. "What for? I'm no hiredman. I've been doin' this for fun."Leonidas says the same.

But Homer wouldn't have it that way. Hesays we've done him a lot of good, andlost our valuable time, and he'll feel hurt ifwe don't let him make us a little present.

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With that he pries open a fat leather greengoods case, paws over a layer of yellowbacks two or three inches thickand fishesout a couple of ten spots.

"Stung!" says Leonidas, under his breath.

"Homer," says I, shovin' 'em back at him,"if you're as grateful as all that, I'll tellyou what you'd better dokeep these, andfound a Home for Incurable Tight-wads."

Then we loses him in the crowd, and eachof us strikes out for himself. Blessed if Iknow where Leonidas strayed to, but I'mdead sure of the place I fetched up at. Itwas It'ly, North It'ly. Ever been there?Well, don't. Nothin' but dagoes and garlicand roads that run up hill. Say, some daywhen my roll needs the anti-fat treatment,I'm goin' to send over there and have 'em

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put a monument that'll read: "Here's whereShorty McCabe was buried alive for fiveweeks."

Doing? Wasn't a blamed thing doing there.We were just assassinatin' time, that's all.But the Boss thought he liked it, for awhile, so I had to hang on. The Boss? Oh,he's just the Boss. Guess you wouldn'tknow himhe hasn't been cured by threebottles of anything, and isn't much forbuyin' billboard space. But he's a star allright. He's got a mint somewhere, a littleprivate mint of his own, that runs days andnights and overtime. Scotty mine? No,better'n thatdefunct grandmothers andsuch. It's been comin' his way ever sincehe was big enough to clip a coupon. Don'tbelieve he knows how much he has got,

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but that don't worry him. He don't even tryto spend the gate receipts; just uses whathe wants and lets the rest pyramid.

Course, he's out of my class in a way; butthen again, he ain't. The way we come tohook up was like this: You see, when Iquits Homer, I takes the first thing thatcomes along, which happens to be theJericho Lamb. He wants me to train himfor his go with Grasshopper Jake, and Idid.

Well, we pulls it off in Denver. The Lambhe bores in like a stone crusher for fiverounds. Then he stops a cross hook withhis jaw and is jarred some. That bringsout the yellow. Spite of all I could say, hestops rushin' and plays for wind andsafety. Think of that, with the Grasshopper

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as groggy as a five days old calf! Well, Isaw what was coming to him, right there.When the bell rings I chucks my towel to arubber and quits. I hadn't hired out for nowet nurse, and I told the crowd so.

Just as I was makin' my sneak this quiet-speakin' chap falls in alongside and beginsto talk to me. First off I sized him up forone of them English Johnnies that had losthis eyeglass. But that's where I was deadwrong. He wasn't no Johnnie, and hewasn't no tinhorn sport. But he was a newone on me. They don't grow many likehim, I guess, so no wonder I didn't getwise right away.

"Think the Lamb's all in?" says he.

"All in!" says I. "He never had anything toput in. He was licked before the bell

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tapped. And me trainin' him for fiveweeks! I'm goin' to kick myself all the wayback to New York."

"I'll help you," says he. "I backed thatLamb of yours to win."

"How much?" says I.

"Oh, only a few hundred."

"But you ain't seen him licked yet," says I.

"I'll take your word for it," says he.

Say, that was no tinhorn play, was it? Hegoes off and leaves his good money up,just on a flier like that.

"You're the real goods," says I.

"I can return the sentiment," says he.

So we took the midnight East. When we

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got the morning papers at Omaha we sawthat the Lamb only lasted half-way throughthe seventh, and 'possumed the count atthat. Well, we got some acquainted beforewe hit Chicago, and by the time we'dlanded in Jersey City I'd signed articleswith him for a year. He calls it secretary,but I holds out for sparrin' partner.

Oh, he can handle the mitts some, all right;none of your parlor Y. M. C. A. business,either, but give and take. He strips at onehundred and forty and can standpunishment like a stevedore. But, ofcourse, there's no chance of ever gettin'him on the platform. He likes to go hisfour rounds before dinner, just to take thedrab coloring off the world in general.That's the way he puts it.

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Take him all around, he's a thoroughbred.I know that much, but after that I don'tfollow him. I used to wonder sometimes.Give most Johnnies his pile and turn 'emloose, and what would they do? They'dwear out the club window-sills, and takein pink teas, and do the society turn. Butnot for him. He's a mixer, the Boss is. Hewants to see things, all kinds.

Sometimes he lugs me along andsometimes he don't. It all depends onwhether I'd fit in. When he heads for FifthAvenue I know I'm let out. But when hegets into a sack coat and derby hat I'mbettin' that maybe we'll fetch upsomewheres on the East Side. Perhaps it'llbe the grand annual ball of the TruckDrivers' Association, or just one of them

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Anarchist talkfests in the back room ofsome beer parlor. There's no telling. Wemay drink muddy coffee out of dinky brasscups with a lot of Syrian rug sellers downon Washington Street, or drop into themiddle of a gang of sailors down on FrontStreet.

And I'm no bodyguard, mind. The Bossain't in much need of that. But he likes tohave some one to talk to, and I guess mostof his friends don't go in for suchpromiscuous visitin' lists as he does. I likeit well enough, but where he gets any funout of it I can't see. I put it up to him once,and what do you suppose he says? Asksme if I ever heard of a duck by the name ofPanzy de Lean.

"Sounds kind of familiar," says I. "Don't

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he run a hotel or something down to PalmBeach?"

"You're warm," says the Boss, "but you'vemixed your dates. Old Panzy struck theeast coast about four hundred years beforeour friend Flagler annexed it. And hewasn't in the hotel business. Exploringwas his line. He was looking for a newkind of mineral water that he was going tocall the Elixir of Life. Well, in some waysPanzy and I are alike."

It was a josh, all right, that he was handin'out, but he meant somethin' by it, for theBoss ain't the kind to talk just for the sakeof making a noise. I never let on but what Iwas next. Later in the season I had achance to come back at him with it, foralong in February we got under way for

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Palm Beach ourselves.

"Goin' to take a hack at the 'lixirbusiness?" I says.

"No, Shorty," says he. "Just going tododge a few blizzards and watch themob."

But he didn't like it much, being in thatpush, so we took a jump over to Bermuda,where everything's so white it makes youreyes ache. That didn't suit him, either.

"Shorty," says he one day, "you didn't signfor any outside tour, but I've got the gofever bad. Can you stand it for awhile inforeign parts?"

"I'm game," says I, not knowing what Iwas to be up against.

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So we hiked back to New York andMister 'Ankinshe's the lady-like gent thatstays home an' keeps our trousers creased,an' juggles the laundry bag and so forth,when we're thereMr. 'Ankins he packs acouple of steamer trunks and off we starts.

Well, we hit a lot of outlandish places,like Paris and Berlin; and finally, whenthings began to warm up some, and I knewby the calendar that the hokey-pokey menhad come out on the Bowery, we lands inMonte Carlo. Say, I'd heard a lot aboutMonte Carlo on and offthere was a songabout it once, you knowbut if that's thebest imitation of Phil Daly's they can putup over there, they'd better go out ofbusiness. Not that the scenery isn't bang-up and the police protection O. K., but the

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gamewell, I've seen more excitement overa ten-cent ante.

The Boss didn't care much for that sort ofthing anyway. He touched 'em up for astack or two, but almost went to sleepover it. It wasn't until Old Blue Beakbutted in that our visit began to lookinterestin'. He was a count, or a duke, orsomething, with a name full of i's and l's,but I called him Blue Beak for short. TheBoss said for a miniature word paintingthat couldn't be bettered. Never saw afiner specimen of hand-decoratedfrontispiece in my life. It wasn't just red,nor purple. It was as near blue as a nosecan get. Other ways, he was a tall, skinnyold freak, with a dyed mustache and littleblack eyes as shifty as a fox terrier's. He

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was as polite, though, as a book agent, andas smooth as the business side of a bananaskin.

"What's his game," says I to the Boss, afterBlue Beak and him had swapped Frenchconversation for an hour. "Is it gold bricksor green goods?"

"My friend, the count," says the Boss,"wants to rent us a castle, all furnishedand found; a genuine antique, with apedigree that runs back to Marc Antony."

"A castle!" says I. "What's that the cue to?And how did he guess you were a come-on?"

"Every American is a come-on, Shorty,"says the Boss. "But this is a newproposition to me. However, I mean to

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find out. I've told him to come back afterdinner."

And old Blue Beak had his memory withhim, all right. He came back. He and theBoss had a long session of it. In themorning the Boss says to me:

"Shorty, throw out your chest; you're goingto live in a castle for a while."

Then he told me how it happened. BlueBeak wasn't any con. man at all, just oneof those hard-up gents whose names lookwell in a list of guests, but don't carryweight with the paying teller. He was insuch a rush to get the ranch off his hands,though, that price didn't seem to figuremuch. That's what made the Boss sit upand take notice. He was a great one forwanting to know why.

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"We'll start to-day," says he.

So off we goes, moseyin' down into It'lyon a bum railroad, staying at bummerhotels, and switching off to a rickety oldchaise behind a pair of animated framesthat showed the S. P. C. A. hadn't got asfar as It'ly yet. Think of riding from theBattery to White Plains in a Fifth Avenuestage! That would be a chariot race towhat we took before we hove in sight ofthat punky castle. After that it was likeclimbing three sets of Palisades, one topof the other, on a road that did thecorkscrew all the way.

"That's your castle, is it?" says I, rubberin'up at it. "Looks like a storage warehousestranded on Pike's Peak. Gee, but Iwouldn't like to fall out of one of those

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bedroom windows! You'd never hitanything for an hour. Handy place to havecompany, though; wouldn't have to put onthe potatoes until you saw 'em coming. Sothat's a castle, is it? I don't wonder oldBlue Beak had a lot of conversation tounload. If I live up there all summer I shallaccumulate enough talk to last me the restof my life."

"Oh, I don't imagine we'll be lonesome,"puts in the Boss. "I fancy I caught sight ofone or two of our neighbors on the way."

"You did?" says I. "Where?"

"Behind the rocks," says he, kind ofsnickering.

But I never savvied. I'd had my eyes gluedto that dago Waldorf-Astoria balanced up

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there on that toothpick of a mountain. I hada batty idea that the next whiff of breezewould jar it loose. But when they'dopened up a gate like the double doors ofan armory, and let us in, I forgot all that.Say, that castle was the solidest thing Iever run across. The walls were so thickthat the windows looked like they wereset at the end of tunnels. In the middle wasa big court, such as they have in theseswell new apartment houses, and a lot ofdoors and windows opened on that.

"Much as 'leven rooms and bath, eh?" saysI.

"The Count assures me that there are twohundred and odd rooms, not reckoning thedungeons," said the Boss. "I hope we'llfind one or two of them fit to live in."

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We did, just about that. A white-headedold villain, who looked as if he'd justescaped from a "Pirates of Penzance"chorusVincenzo, he called himselftook ourcredentials and then showed us around theshop. There was a dining-room about thesize of the Grand Central train shed. Say,a Harlem man would have wept for joy atsight of it. And there was a picture gallerythat had Steve Brodie's collection beat amile. As for bedrooms, there was enoughto accommodate a State convention. Theonly running water in sight, though, was inthe fountain out in the court, and the placelooked as though when the gas man madehis last call he'd taken the fixtures alongwith the meter.

Yet the Boss seemed to be tickled to death

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with the whole shooting match. At dinnerthat night he made me sit at one end of thedining-room table while he sat at theother, and we were so far apart we had toshout at each other when we talked. Thebacks of some of those dining-room chairswere more than eight feet tall. It was likeleaning up against a billboard. Thewaiters looked like stage villains out of ajob, and whenever they passed thepotatoes I peeled my eye for a knife play.It didn't come though. Nothing did.

We put in nearly a week rummagingthrough that moldy old barracks. It wasthree days before I could come down tobreakfast without getting lost. The Bossfound a lot to look at and paw over; oldbooks and pictures, rusty tin armor and

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such truck. He even poked around in thecoal cellars that they called dungeons.

I liked being up in the towers best. I'd goup there and look about due west, whereNew York was the last time I saw it. Inever wanted wings quite so bad as I didthen. And, say, I'd given up a month'ssalary for a sporting extra some nights.Dull? Why, there are crossroads up inSullivan County that would seem like theTenderloin alongside of that place.

Funny thing, though, was that the Boss wasso stuck on it. He'd gas about the lakes,and the mountains, and the sky, and allthat, pointing 'em out to me as if they wereworth seeing, when I'd seen better'n thatmany a time, painted on back dropsandcould get away from 'em when I wanted.

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But here it was a case of nowhere to staybut in. You couldn't go pikin' around thelandscape without falling off the edge.

Guess I'd have gone clean nutty if it hadn'tbeen for the little glove play we did everyafternoon. We had some of the chorushands fix up a nice lot of straw in a cornerof the courtyard, so's to sort of upholsterthe paving stones, and after we got used tothe new foot-work it was almost as goodas a rubber mat.

We'd been having a gingery little go oneday, with the whole crew of the castle,from head purser down to the secondassistant pan wrastler, holding their breathin the background, and I was playingshower bath for the Boss with a leatherbucket, dipping out of the fountain pool

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and sousing it over him, when I spots adeadhead in the audience.

She'd been playin' peek-a-boo behind oneof them big stone pillars, but I guess shehad got so interested that she forgot andstepped out into the open. She was anative, all right; but say, she wasn't anyback-row dago girl. She was in the primadonna class, she was. Ever see Melbamade up for the "Carmen" act? Well, thisone was about half Melba's size, but forshape and color she had her stung to awhisper; and as for wardrobe, she had itall on. Gold hoops in her ears, tinklythings on her jacket, and a rainbow dresswith the reds and greens leading the field.Eyes were her strong point, thoughregularforty candle powers. She had the current

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all switched on, too, and a plumb centrerange on the Boss.

Now he wasn't exactly in receptioncostume, the Boss wasn't. When he'dknocked off his runnin' shoes it left him ina pair of salmon trunks that cleared theknees considerable. He'd made a fine ad.for a physical culture school, just as hestood; for he's well muscled, and hisunderpinning mates up, and he don'tinterfere when he walks. The cold waterhad brought out the baby pink all overhim, and he looked like one of these circusriders does on the four sheet posters. Hehad the lime-light, too, for a streak of suncomin' down between the towers just hithim. I see the girl wasn't missin' any ofthese points. It wasn't any snap-shot she

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was takin', it was a time exposure.

"Who's your lady friend in the wings?"says I to the Boss.

"Where?" says he.

I jerks my thumb at her. For a minute therewasn't a word said. The Boss wasn't able,I guess, and the girl never moved aneyelash. Then he yells for the bath toweland makes a break inside, me after him.When we'd rubbed down and got into ourBroadway togs, we chases back andorganizes ourselves into a board ofinquiry. Who was sheregular boarder, orjust transient? Where did she come from?And why? Likewise how, trolley, subway,or balloon?

But I'm blessed if that whole gang didn't

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go as mum as a lot of railroad hands aftera smash-up. Why, they hadn't seen no suchlady, cross their hearts they hadn't. Maybeit was old Rosa, yes? And Rosa a sylphthat would fit tight in a pork barrel! Agoat, then?

"Let's give 'em the third degree," says I.

So we done it, locked 'em all in a roomand put 'em on the carpet one by one. Theywas scared stiff, too stiff to talk. All butold Vincenzo, the white-haired old piratethe count had left in charge. He was alovely peagreen under the gills, but hemade a stagger at putting up a game oftalk. No, he hadn't seen no one. He hadbeen watching their excellencies in theirlittle affair of honor. Still, he couldn'tswear that we hadn't seen some one. Folks

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did see things at the castle; he had seensights himself, though generally after dark.He remembered a song about a beautifulyoung lady who, back in the seventeenhundred and something, had

But I shut him off there. This fairy mighthave seen seventeen summers, or maybeeighteen, but she was no antique. I couldkiss the Book on that. She was a regularCasino broiler. I made a point of this. Itdidn't feaze the old sinner, though. Hewent on perjuring himself as cheerful as apaid witness, and he'd have broken theAnanias record if he'd had time.

"That will do for now," says the Boss, in akind of "step-up-front-there" tone. "If youdon't know who she was just now, we'lllet it go at that. But by to-morrow you'll

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know the whole story. It'll be healthier forall hands if you do."

Vincenzo, though, didn't have a propernotion of what he was up against. Nextday he knew less than the day before. Hewas ready to swear the whole outfit, byall the saints in the chapel, that therehadn't been a girl on the premises.

"Bring him along, Shorty," says the Boss,starting downstairs. "There's a hole in thesub-cellar that I want this old pirate tolook through."

If that hole had been cut for an ash chute itwas a dandy, for the muzzle of it was amile more or less from anything solider'nair. We skewered Vincenzo's arms to thesmall of his back and let him down by theheels until he had a bird's-eye view of

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three counties. Then we pulled him up andtested his memory.

It worked all right. That upside-downmovement had shook up his thought works.He was as anxious to testify as the frontbenchers at a Bowery mission on soupday. We loosened the cords a bit, set himwhere he could see the chute plain, andtold him to blaze away.

Lucky the Boss knows Eye-talyun, for oldVincenzo couldn't separate himself fromEnglish fast enough. But they had meguessing what it was all about. I couldn'tmake out why the old chap had to use upall the dago words in the box just to tellwho was the lady that had the privateview. Once in a while the Boss would jabin a question, and then old Vincenzo

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would work his jaw all the faster. When itwas all over the Boss looks at me aspleased as though he'd got money fromhome, and says:

"Shorty, how's your nerve?"

"Not much below par," says I. "Why?"

"Because," says he, "they're afterusbrigands."

"Brigands!" says I. "Tut, tut! Don't tell methat this dead and alive country can showup anything like that."

"It can," says he. "The woods are full of'em."

Then he gives me the framework of whatold Vincenzo had been telling him. Theprima donna girl, it seems, was a lady

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brigandess, daughter of the heavy villainthat led the bunch. She'd come in to size usup and make an estimate as to what we'dfetch on a forced sale. They had spotted usfrom the time we registered and had beenhangin' around outside laying for us toseparate. Their game was to pinch one ofus and do business with the other on acash basiswanted some one left who couldgo away and cash a check, you see. Whenwe didn't show no disposition to take afterdinner promenades or before breakfastrambles they ups and tell Vincenzo thatthey wants the run of the castle andpromises to toast his toes if they don't getit.

They don't have to promise but once, forVincenzo has been through the mill. It was

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this kind of work that had queered thecount. According to Vincenzo, old BlueBeak had been Pat-Crowed regular everyseason for five summers, and the thing hadgot on his nerves.

Well, Vincenzo lets three or four of 'em inone day just as the Boss and me wereswappin' uppercuts and body punches inthe courtyard. Maybe they didn't like thelooks of things. Anyway, they hauled offand sent for the main guy, who was busydown the line a-ways. He comes up withthe reserves, and his first move is to sendthe girl in to get a line on us. And that wasthe way things stood up to date.

"Who'd a thought it?" says I. "The way shelooked at you I suspicioned she'd markedyou out as something good to eat."

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That turned the Boss red behind the ears."I'm afraid we'll have to ask for hervisiting card the next time she calls," sayshe. "Come, Vincenzo, I want you to showme about locking up."

After that no one came or went withoutshowing a pass, and I lugged about fourpounds of brass keys around, for we didn'twant to be stood up by a gang of moth-eaten brigands loaded with old hardware.They covered close by day, but at nightwe could see 'em sneakin' around thewalls, like a bunch of second-story mennew to their job. Neither the Boss nor Ihad a gun, never having had a call for sucha thing, but we found a couple of oldblunderbusses hung up in the hall, reg'larjunkshop relics, and we unlimbered them,

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loading with nails, scrap iron, and brokenglass. 'Course, we couldn't hit anythingspecial, but it broke the monotony for bothsides. Once in a while they'd shoot back,just out of politeness, but I don't believeany of 'em ever took any medal at aschuetzenfest.

This lasted for two or three nights. Itwasn't such bad fun, either, for us. Theparty of the second part, though, wasn't offon a vacation, like we were. They wereout rustling for money to pay the landlordand the butcher, and they were losing time.Hard working lot of brigands they were,too. I wouldn't have monkeyed aroundafter dark on that perpendicular landscapefor twice the money, and I don't believeany of 'em drew more than union rates.

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Fact is, I was getting to feel almost sorryfor 'em, when one night somethinghappened to give me the marble heart.

I'd been making my rounds with the brassfoundry, seeing that all the tramp chainswere on, putting out the cat, and comingthe "Shore Acres" act, when I seessomething dark skiddoo across the court towhere the Boss stood smoking in themoonshine by the fountain. I does a sprint,too, and was just about to practise a littleEleventh Avenue jiu-jitsu on whoever itwaswhen flip goes a piece of black lace,and there was the lady brigandess, someout of breath, but still in the game.

She opens up on the Boss in a stagewhisper that whirls him around as if he'dbeen on a string. Not wantin' to butt in

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ahead of my number, I sort of loafedaround just outside the ropes, but nearenough to block a foul. Now, I don't knowjust all they said, nor how they said it, butfrom what the Boss told me afterward theymust have had a nice little confab therethat would be the real thing for grandopera if some one would only set it tomusic.

Seems that she'd found out, the ladybrigandess had, that the old man's ganghad run across a bricked-up passagewaydown in one corner of the basement, akind of All-Goods-Must-Be-Delivered-Here gate that had been thrown into thediscards. Of course, they'd gone to workto open it up, and they'd got as far as someiron bars that called for a hack-saw.

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They'd sent off for their breaking andentering kit, meaning to finish the job nextday. The following night they'd planned todrop in unexpected, sew the Boss up in hisblanket before he could make a move, andcart him off until I could bail him out witha peck or so of real money.

The rest of the scene the Boss neverwould fill in just as it came off the bat, butI managed to piece out that the brigandess,sizing us up for a couple of pikers,reckoned that we wouldn't pan out muchcash, and that the Boss might be usedsome rough by the gang. That prospect notsetting well on her mind, she rolls out theback door of their camp, makes a swifttrip around to our new private entrance,squeezes through the bars, and comes up

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to put us wise.

Must have been just as she'd got to themlines that the Boss began taking a goodlook at her. I saw him gazin' into her eyeslike he'd taken out a search warrant. Don'tknow as I could blame him much, either.She was a top liner. Wasn't anything coyor kittenish about her. She stood up andgave him as good as he sent. Next I seehim make the only fool play but one that Iever knew the Boss to makereg'lar kidtrick.

"Here," says he, pulling off the bigcarbuncle ring he always wears, "that's toremember me by."

She didn't even look at it. No joolry forhers. Instead, she says something kind oflow and sassy, pokes her face up, and

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begins to pucker.

The Boss he sort of side steps and squintsover his shoulder at me. Now, I'm notsayin' what I'd do if a girl like that gaveme the Cissy Loftus eye. It ain't up to me.But I know what I'd want the crowd todoand I did it.

When I turned around again they was justat the breakaway, so it must have been oneof the by-by forever kind, such as you seeat the dock on sailing day. Then she tookus down to show us how she came in, andsqueezed herself through the bars. Theyshook hands just once, and that was all.

That night there was a grand howl fromthe brigands. They had put in hours of realwork, the kind they'd figured on cutting outafter they got into the brigand business,

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only to run into a burglar-proof shutterwhich we had put up. They prancedaround to the front gate and shook theirfists at us, and called us American pigs,and invited us to come out and have ourears trimmed, and a lot of nonsense likethat. I wanted to turn loose theblunderbusses, but the Boss said: "No, let'em enjoy themselves."

"How long do you suppose they'll keepthat sort of thing up?" says I.

"Vincenzo says some of them will stayaround all summer unless we buy themoff," says he.

"That's lovely," says I, "for anyone that'sdead gone on the life here."

"I'm not," says he. "I can't get out of here

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too quick, now."

"Oh, ho!" says I, meaning not much ofanything.

Being kept awake some by their racketthat night, I got to thinking how we couldgive that gang of grafters the double cross.There wasn't any use making a back-alleydash for it, as we didn't know the lay ofthe land and they were between us andNew York. But most of the fancy thinkingI've ever done has been along that linehowto get back to Broadway. Along towardmorning I throws five aces at a flipturnsup an idee that had been at the bottom ofthe deck. "It's a winner!" says I, and goesto sleep happy.

After breakfast I digs through my steamertrunk and hauls out a four-ounce can of

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aluminum paint that the intelligent Mr.'Ankins had mistook for shavin' soap andput in before we left home. Then I picksout a couple of suits of that tin armor inthe hall, a medium-sized one, and a short-legged, forty-fat outfit, and I gets busywith my brush.

"What's up?" says the Boss, seeing meslinging on the aluminum paint.

"Been readin' a piece on 'How to Beautifythe House' in the 'Ladies' HomeCompanion,'" says I. "Got any burnt-orange ribbon about you?"

It was a three-hour job, but when I wasthrough I'd renovated up that cast-offtoggery so that it looked as good as if ithad been just picked from the bargaincounter. Then I waited for things to turn

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up. The brigands opened the ball as soonas it was dark. They'd rigged up abattering-ram and allowed they meant tosmash in our front door. The Bosslaughed.

"That gate looks as if it had stood a lot ofthat kind of boy's play, and I guess it'sgood for a lot more," says he. "Now, ifthey were not hopelessly medieval theywould try a stick of dynamite."

We could have poured hot water down onthem, or dropped a few bricks, but wedidn't. We just let them skin their knucklesand strain their backs on the battering-ram.About moonrise I sprung my scheme.

"What do you say to throwing a scare intothat bunch of back numbers?" says I.

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"How?" says the Boss.

I led him down to the court, where I'd laidout the plated tinware to dry.

"Think you can fit yourself into some ofthat boiler plate?" says I.

That hit the Boss in the short ribs. Wetackled the job off-hand, me strappin' asection on him, and he clampin' another onme. It was like dressing for a masqueradein the dark, neither of us ever having wornsteel boots or Harveyized vests before.Some of the joints didn't seem to fit anytoo close, and a lot of it I suppose we goton hindside front and upside down, but inthe course of half an hour we wereharnessed for fair, including a conningtower apiece on our heads. Then we didthe march past just to see how we looked.

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"With a little white muslin you'd do to goon as the ghost in 'Hamlet,'" says the Boss,through his front bars.

"You sound like a junk wagon comin'down the street," says I, "and you're a fairimitation of a tinshop on parade. Shall wego for a midnight stroll?"

"I'm ready," says the Boss.

Grabbing up a couple of two-handed skullsplitters that I'd laid out to finish ourcostumes, we swung open the gate andsasshayed out, calm and dignified, into themiddle of that bunch of brigands.

It wasn't hardly a square deal, of course,they being brought up on a steady diet ofghost stories; and I reckon there was aspooky look about us that sent a frappé

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wireless up and down those dago spines.But, after all, it was the banana oil thealuminum paint was mixed with thatturned the trick. Smelled it, haven't you? Ifthere's any perfume fitter for a lost soulthan attar of banana oil, it hasn't beendiscovered. First they went bug-eyed.Next they sniffed. At the second sniff onebig duffer, with rings in his ears and a fineassortment of second-hand pepper-boxesin his sash, digs up a scared yell thatwould have done credit to one of theseWuxtre-e-e! Wuxtre-e-e! boys, and then heskiddoos into the rocks like some one hadtied a can to him. That set 'em all off,same's when you light the green cracker atthe end of the bunch. Some yelled, somegroaned, and some made no remarks. Butthey faded. Inside of two minutes by the

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clock we had the front yard to ourselves.

"Curtain!" says I to the Boss. "This iswhere we do a little disappearingourselves, before they get curious andcome back."

We hustled into the castle, pried ourselvesout of our tin roofing, chucked ourdunnage into old Blue Beak's bestcarryall, hitched a couple of auction-housesteppers, and lit out on the town trailwithout so much as stopping to shake a da-da to old Vincenzo.

I didn't breathe real deep, though, untilwe'd fetched sight of a little place wherethe mountain left off and the dago policewere supposed to begin. Just before wegot to the first house we sees something upon a rock at one side of the road. Day was

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comin', red and sudden, and we saw whoit was on the rockthe lady brigandess.Sure thing!

Now don't tax me with how she got there.I'd quit trying to keep cases on her. Butthere she was waiting for us. As we got inline she glued her eyes on the Boss andtossed him a lip-thriller with a real Juliet-Roxane movement. And the Boss blewone back. Well, that suited me, all right,so far as it went. But as we made for aturn in the road the Boss reached out forthe lines and pulled in our pair of skates.Then he turns and looks back. So did I.She was still there, for a fact, and it kindof looked as if she was holding her armsout toward him.

"By God, Shorty," says the Boss,

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breathing quick and talking through histeeth, "I'm going back."

"Sure," says I, "to New York," and I had ahalf-Nelson on him before he knew it wascoming. We went four miles that way, too,the horses finding the road, before I daredlet him up. I looked for trouble then. But ithad been all over in a breath, just an open-and-shut piece of battiness, same asfellers have when they jump a bridge. Hewas meek enough the rest of the way, butsore. I couldn't pry a word out of himanyway. Not until we got settled down inthe smoking-room of a Mediterraneansteamer headed for Sandy Hook did heshake his trance.

"Shorty," says he, givin' me the friendlypalm, "I owe you a lot more than

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apologies."

"Well, I ain't no collection agency," says I."Sponge it off."

"I was looking for the Elixir," says he,"andand I found it."

"I can get all the 'Lixir I want," says I,"between the East River and the North,and I don't need no cork-puller, either."

That's me. I've been back a week now, andeven the screech of the L trains soundsgood. Everything looks good, and smellsgood, and feels good. You don't have topinch yourself to find out whether or notyou're alive. You know all the time thatyou're in New York, where there'ssomethin' doin' twenty hours in the day.

It'ly! Oh, yes, I want to go there againwhen

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I get to be a mummy.

CHAPTER III

Say, you can't always tell, can you? Herea couple of weeks back I thought I'dwiped It'ly off the map. We'd settled downin this little old burg, me and the Boss andMister 'Ankins, nice and comfortable, andnot too far from Broadway. And we washavin' our four o'clock teas with the mitts,

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as reg'lar as if there was money comin' tous for each round, when this here Sherlockproposition turns up.

Mister 'Ankins, he was the first to spot it,and he comes trottin' in where we wasprancin' around the mat, his jaw loose,and his eyebrows propped up like EddieFoy's when he wears his salary face.

"Hit's most hunnacountable, sir," says he.

"Time out!" says I, blockin' the Boss's petupper cut. "Mister 'Ankins seems to havesomething on the place where his mindought to be."

"Hankins," says the Boss, putting down hisguard reluctant, "haven't I told you neverto"

"Yes, sir; yes, sir," says Mister 'Ankins,

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"but there's that houtrageous thing fawst tothe door and, Lor' 'elp me, sir, Hi cawntpull it hoff."

The Boss he looks at me, and I looks at theBoss, and then we both looks at Mister'Ankins. Seein' as how he couldn't revealmuch with that cheese pie face of his, wegoes and takes a look at the door. It wasthe outside one, just as you gets off theelevator.

And there was something there, too; thedizziest kind of a visitin' card that wasever handed out, I suspicion, in thoseparticular swell chambers for single gents.It was a cuff, just a plain, every day wristchafer, pinned up with the wickedest littleblood letter that ever came off the kniferack. Half an inch of the blade stuck

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through the panel, so the one who put itthere must have meant that it shouldn'tblow away. The Boss jerks it loose, sizesit up a minute, and says:

"Stiletto, eh? Made in Firenzethat'sFlorence. Shorty, have you any friendsfrom abroad that are in the habit of leavingtheir cutlery around promiscuous?"

"I know folks as far west as Hoboken, ifthat's what you mean," says I, "but thereain't none of them in the meat business."

Well, we takes the thing inside under thebunch light and has another squint.

"Here's writin' in red ink," says I, andholds up the cuff.

"Read it," says the Boss.

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"I could play it better on a flute," says I."You try."

We didn't have to try hard. The minute heskinned his eye over that his jaw goesloose like he'd stopped a body wallopwith his short ribs.

"It's Tuscan," says he, "and it means thatsomeone's in trouble and wants help."

"Do they take this for police headquarters,or a Charity Organization?" says I. "Looksto me like a new kind of wireless from thewash lady. Why don't you pay her?"

"That's one of my cuffs," says the Boss.

"It's too well ventilated to get into the bagagain," says I.

"Shorty," says he, lettin' my Joe-Weber go

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over his shoulder, "do you know where Isaw that cuff last? It was in North Italy!"

Then he figured out by the queer laundrymarks just where he'd shed this identicalpiece of his trousseau. We'd left it, with afew momentoes just as valuable, when wemade that quick move away from thatpunky old palace after our little monkeyshine with the brigands.

"You don't mean?" says I. But there wa'n'tno use wasting breath on that question. Hewas blushin'. We fiddled some on itshaving come from old Vincenzo, or maybefrom Blue Beak, the Count that rented usthe place; but the minute we tied that cuffup with the castle we knew that the onewho sent it meant to ring up a hurry call onus for help, and that it wasn't anybody but

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the Lady Brigandess herself, the one thatput us next and kept the Boss from beingsewed up in a blanket.

"That's a Hey Rube for me," says I. "Howabout-cher?"

But the Boss was kicking off his gym.shoes and divin' through his shirt. In fiveminutes by the watch we were dressed forslootin'.

"I know a Dago roundsman" says I.

"No police in this," says the Boss.

"Guess you're right," says I. "Too muchlime-light and too little headwork. We'llcut the cops out. Where to first?"

"I'm going to call on the Italian consul,"says the Boss. "He's a friend of mine."

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So we opened the sloot business with aride in one of those heavy weight 'lectrichansoms, telling the throttle pusher toshove her wide open. Maybe we broke thespeed ord'nance some, but we caught Mr.Consul on the fly, just as he was punchin'the time card. He wore a rich set of PeterCooper whiskers, but barring them he wasa well finished old gent, with a bow thatwas an address of welcome all by itself.The way that he shoved out leather chairsyou'd thought he was makin' a present of'em to us.

But the Boss hadn't any time to waste onflourishes. We got right down to cases. Hewanted to know about where the Tuscansusually headed for when they left EllisIsland, what sort of gangs they had in New

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York and what kind of Black Handdeviltry they were most given to. Heasked a hundred questions and neveranswered one. Then he shook hands withMr. Consul and we chased out.

"It looks like the Malabistos," says theBoss. "They have a kind of headquartersover a basement restaurant. Perhapsthey've shut her up there. We'll take a lookat the place anyway."

A lot of good it did us, too. The spaghettiworks was in full blast, with a lot of huskylowbrows goin' in and out, smokin'cheroots half as long as your arm, andacting as if the referee had just declared adraw. The opening for a couple of barefisted investigators wasn't what you mightcall promisin'. Not having their grips and

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passwords, we didn't feel as though wecould make good in their lodge.

"I could round up a gang and then wecould rush 'em," says I.

"That wouldn't do," says the Boss."Strategy is what we need here."

"I'm just out of that," says I.

"Perhaps there's a back door," says theBoss.

So we moseys around the block, huntin'for a family entrance. But that ain't theway they build down in Mulberry Bend.They chucks their old rookeries slam upagainst one another, to keep 'em fromfallin' over, I guess. Generally though,there's some sort of garlic flue through themiddle of the block, but you need a

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balloon to find it.

"Hist!" says I. "Hold me head while Ithinks a thunk. Didn't I come down hereonce to watch a try-out? Sure! And it waspulled off in the palatial parlors ofAppetite Joe Cardenzo's ChowderAssociation, the same being a back roomtwo flights up. Now if we could dig upAppetite Joe"

We did. He was around the corner playing'scope for brandied plums, but he let gothe cards long enough to listen to my fairytale about wantin' a joint where I couldgive my friend a private lesson.

"Sure!" said Joe, passing out the key, "butyou breaka da chair I charga feefty cent."

There were two back windows and the

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view wasn't one you'd want to put in aframe. Down below was a court filledwith coal boxes and old barrels, andperfumed like the lee side of BarrenIsland. But catty-corners across was theback of that spaghetti mill. We could tell itby the two-decker bill board on the roof.In the upper windows we could see Dagowomen and kids, but the windows on thesecond floor were black.

"Iron shutters," says the Boss. "And that'swhere she is if anywhere."

"Got a scalin' ladder and a jimmy in yourpocket?" says I. "Then I'll have to runaround to a three ball exchange and see ifI can't dig up an outfit."

A patent fire escape and a short handledpick-axe was the best I could do. We

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made the board jumper fast inside anddown I went. Then there was acrobatics;swingin' across to that three inch windowledge, balancin' with one foot on nothing,and single hand work with the pick-axe.Lucky that shutter-bar was half rustedaway. She came open with a bang whenshe did come, and it near sent me downinto the barrels. Me eyelashes held though,and there I was, up against a window.

"See anything?" says the Boss.

"Room to rent," says I, for it looked likewe'd pried open a vacant flat.

Just then the sash goes up and somethingshiny glitters in the dark. I was just lettin'go with one hand to swing for a headwhen someone lets loose a Dago remarkthat was mighty business like and more or

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less familiar.

"Is it you?" says I. "If you're the LadyBrigandess own up sudden."

"Ah-h-h!" says she, thankful like, as ifshe'd seen her horse win by a nose. Thenshe puts up the rib tickler and grabs me bythe wrist.

"Guess your lady friend's here," I sings outto the Boss.

"Have you got her?" says he.

"No," says I; "she's got me."

But no sooner does she hear him than shelets go of me, shoves her head out of thewindow and calls up to him. The Bosssays something back and for the next twominutes they swaps Dago talk to beat the

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cars.

"How shall I pass her up?" says I.

Just then she made a spring for that ropeladder of ours and overhands up like atrapeze star. An' me thinkin' we'd need aderrick or a bo's'n's chair!

It wa'n't no time for reunions at that stageof the game, nor for hard luck stories,either. None of us was pining to hold anysociables with the Malabistos. We quit thechowder club on the jump, streaked up thehill into Mott street, and piled into one ofthose fuzzy two horse chariots that theykeep hooked up for weddin's and funerals.

"Where to?" says the bone thumper.

"Head her for Buffalo and let loose to beatthe Empire State express," says I, "but

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hunt for asphalt."

That fetched us up Second Avenue, butthere wasn't any conversin' done untilwe'd put fifty blocks behind us. Then Ireckon the Boss asked the LadyBrigandess if she'd missed any mealslately. From the way he gave orders tosteer for a food refinery she must haveallowed that she had.

Not having time to be particular, we hit agoulash emporium where they spell themeat card mostly with cz's. But they gaveus a private room upstairs, which waswhat we wanted. And it wasn't until wegot inside that we had a full length view ofher. Say, I was glad we'd landed so fareast of Broadway. Post me for a welcherif she wasn't rigged out in the same kind of

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a chorus costume that she wore when wesaw her last, over there in It'ly! Only itwas more so. It was the kind of costumethat'd been all right on a cigarette card, oroutside a Luna Park joint, and it wouldhave let her into the Arion ball without aticket; but it wasn't built for circulatin''round New York in.

"Piffle! Piffle!" says I to the Boss. "They'llthink we've pinched her out of a Kiralfyballet. Hadn't we better send for yer lady-fren's trunk?"

The Boss grinned, but he looked her overas satisfied as if she'd been dressedaccordin' to his own water color sketches.She was something of a star, yes, yes! Ifyou were lookin' for figure and condition,she had 'em. And when it came to the

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color schemewell, no grease paintmanipulator ever mixed caffy-o-lay andraspb'ry pink the way it grew on her. For amade-in-It'ly girl she was the realmeringue.

"We'll see about clothes later," says theBoss, and ordered up seventeen kinds ofsckeezedsky, to be served in relays.

She brought her appetite with her, allright, even if she had mislaid her suit case.And, while she was pitchin' into whatpasses for grub on Second Avenue, shetold the Boss the story of her life.Leastways, that's what it sounded like tome.

The way I gets it from the Boss was likethis: Her father, the old brigand pantanta,couldn't get over the way we'd bansheed

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his bunch of third rate kidnappers with ourtin armor play. He accumulated a sort ofingrowin' grouch and soured on the wholepush because they wouldn't turn state'sevidence as to who had given us the dopeto do 'em.

The Lady Brigandess she had stood thatfor a while, until one day she gets her Irishup, tells the old man how she tipped us offherself, and then makes tracks out of thecountry. One way and another she'd hearda lot about America. So she takes outyellow tickets on a few spare sparks andbuys a steerage berth for New York.

Well, she hadn't more'n got past SandyHook before a Malabisto runner spottedher. So did the advance man of anothergang. They sized up the gold hoops in her

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ears, her real money necklace and some ofthe other furniture she sported, and theyinvited her home to tea. Just how the scrapbegan or what it was all about she didn'tknow, so the story by rounds hasn't beentold. The next thing she knew though,they'd hustled her into the Bend andbottled her up in that back room, but notbefore she'd done a little extemporaneouscarvin' on her own account. I gathered thatthree or four of the Malabistos neededsome plain sewin' done on 'em after thebell rang, and that the rest wasn't soanxious for her society as at first. She'dbeen cooped up for two days when shemanaged to get hold of a Dago womanwho promised to carry that cuff to theplace where old Vincenzo had told her wehung out in New York.

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"So far it's as good as playin' leadingheavy in 'The Shadows of a Great City,'"says I, "but what's down for the next act?Where does she want to go now?"

Say, you'd thought the Boss had beennipped with the goods on. He goesstrawb'ry color back to his ears. Next hetakes a look across the table at her whereshe sits, quiet and easy, and as much tohome as Lady Graftwad on the back seatof the tonneau. She was takin' notice ofhim, too, kind of runnin' over his pointslike he was something rich she'd won at araffle and was glad to get. But the Boss hebraced up and looked me straight in theeye.

"Shorty," says he, "I want to call yourattention to the fact that this young lady is

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something like three thousand miles fromhome, that we're the only two humanbeings on this side of the ocean she knowsby sight, and that once she risked a gooddeal to do us a service."

"I'll put my name to all that," says I, "butwhat does it lead up to; where do weexit?"

"That," says the Boss, "is a conundrum."

"Ain't she got any programme?" says I.

"Sheerthat is," says the Boss, trying toduck, "she says she wants to go with us."

"Whe-e-e-ew!" says I, through my frontteeth. "This is so sudden. Just tell the lady,will you, that I've resigned."

"No you don't, Shorty," says the Boss.

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"You'll see this thing through."

"But look at them circus clothes," says I."I've got no aunts or grandmothers, orsecond cousins that I could unload a LadyBrigandess on."

"Nor I," says the Boss.

But he didn't look half so worried as hemight. Say, when I came to figure out whatwe were up against, I could feel little coldstorage whiffs on my shoulder blades.Suppose someone should meet you in themiddle of Herald Square, hand you a ring-tailed tiger, and then skiddoo. What? Thatwould be an easy one compared to ourproposition. It wasn't a square deal toshake her, and she'd made up her mind notto stay put anywhere again.

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"Wait here until I telephone someone,"says the Boss.

"De-lighted!" says I. "Better ring up theGerry Society, too, while you're about it.They might help us out."

The Lady Brigandess and I didn't have areal sociable time while the Boss wasgone. I could see she was watchin' everymove I made, as much as to say, "Youcan't lose me, Charlie." It was just ascheery as waitin' in the Sergeant's roomfor bail.

When the Boss does show up he wears aregular breakfast food smile that made meleary, for when he looks tickled it don'tsignify that things are coming his way.Generally it only means that he's goin' tobreak out in a new spot.

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"It just occurred to me," says he, "that Ihad accepted an invitation from the VanUrbans for the opera."

"What kind of a bluff did you throw?" saysI.

"None at all, Shorty," says he. "I justasked if they would have room for three,and they said they would."

Say, the Boss don't need no nerve tonic,does he? You know about the Van Urbans,don't you? They weigh in at something likeforty millions and are a good fifth on Mrs.Astor's list.

"Straight goods, now," says I, "you don'treckon to spring this aggregation on thediamond horse-shoe, do you?"

"We must put in the time somehow," says

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he.

I thought it might be all a grand josh, untilI'd watched some of his moves. First wedrives over to Fift' avenue and stops atone of those places where it says "Robes"on a brass plate outside. The Boss stays inthere four minutes and comes out with apiece of dry goods that they must havestood him up a hundred forkind of anopera cloak, ulster length, all rustly blacksilk outside and white inside. The LadyBrigandess she puts it on with no morefuss than as if she'd been brought up onsuch things and had ordered this one amonth ahead.

Next we heads for our own quarters,having shifted our Mott street chariot forthe real article, with rubber tires and

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silver plated lamps. About that time I gotwise to the fact that the Boss and herLadyship were ringin' me into their talk,and I was gettin' curious. I see the Bossshaking his head like he was tryin' toprove an alibi, and every once in a whilepointin' to me. First thing I knows she'dquit his side of the carriage and wassnugglin' up alongside of me, and cooin'away in some outlandish kind of baby talkthat I was glad I didn't savvy. I made nokick though, until she begins to pat me onthe head.

"Call her off, will you?" says I. "I'm nolost kid."

"The young lady is just expressing herthanks," says the Boss, "to the gallantyoung hero who so nobly rescued her from

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the Malabistos. Don't shy, Shorty; she saysthat anyone so brave as you are needn'tworry about not being handsome."

He was kiddin' me, see? I knew he'd givenher some fairy tale or other, but I didn'thave any come back that she couldunderstand. I felt like a monkey though,having my hair mussed and thinkin' maybenext minute she'd give me the knife. Andthe Boss he sat there grinnin' like a Jacklantern.

I didn't get a chance to break away untilwe got to our own ranch. Then we left hersitting in the buggy while we went up tomake a lightnin' change. Sure, I've got ahead waiter's rig; bought it the time I hadto lead off the grand march at the TimGrogan Association's tenth annual ball,

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but I never looked to wear it out attendin'grand opera.

"I hope the Van Urbans will appreciatethat I'm givin' 'em a treat," says I.

"They'll be blind if they don't," says theBoss. "Is it your collar that hurts?"

"No, it's the shoes," says I, "but the pain'llnumb down by the time we get there."

We made our grand entry about the end ofthe second spasm. The Van Urbans hadtaken their corners. There was Papa VanUrban, lookin' like ready money; andMamma Van Urban, made up regardless;and Sis Van Urban, one of those tallGainsborough girls that any piker couldpick for a winner on form and pastperformance.

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Say, it took all the front I had in stock justto tag along as an also ran, but when Ithought of the Boss, headin' theprocession, I was dead sorry for him. Andwhat kind of a game do you think he handsout? Straight talk, nothin' but! Course hedidn't make no family hist'ry out of tellin'who his lady-fren' was, but as far as hewent it tallied with the card, even to lettin'on that she was a Lady Brigandess.

"Out we go now," says I to myself, andlooks to see Mamma Van Urban throw acat fit. But she didn't. She just squealed alittle, same's if someone had tickled herbehind the ear, and then she began slingin'that gurgly-gurgly Newport talk that theSixt' avenue sales ladies use. Sis VanUrban caught the same cue, and to hear

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'em you'd thought the Boss had donesomething real cute. They gave the LadyBrigandess the High Bridge wig-wag andshooed her into a stage corner chair.

She never made a kick at anything untilthey tried to take away her cloak. Notmuch! She was just beginnin' to be stuckon that. She kept it wrapped around herlike she knew the proprietor wa'n'tresponsible for overcoats. The Boss triedto tell her how there wa'n't any grandlarceny intended, but it was no go. Shehad her suspicions of the crowd, so theyjust had to let her sit there draped inblack. And at that she wa'n't any misfit.

Now I'd been inside the Metropolitanonce or twice before, havin' blown myselfto a standee just for the sake of lookin' at

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the real things with their war paint on, butI wasn't feelin' any more to home in theback of that box than I would in the pilothouse of an air ship.

But the Lady Brigandess didn't show nomore stage fright than an auctioneer. Shejust holds her chin up and looks out at allthat display of openwork dressmaking andcut glass exhibit without so much as battin'an eyelash. She was takin' it all in, too,from the bargain hats in the fam'ly circle,to the diamond tummy warmers in theparterre, but you'd never guessed thatshe'd just escaped from a Dago backdistrict where they have one mail a week.If I hadn't seen her chumming with a hold-up gang that couldn't have bought fifteencent lodgings on the Bowery, I'd bet the

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limit that she was a thoroughbred indisguise.

There was some rubberin' at her, ofcourse, and I expect we had the safetyvault crowd guessin' as to what kind of aprize the Van Urbans had won, but it didn'tfeaze her a bit. She just gave 'em theHorse Show stare, as cool as a mintfrappé. The ringin' up of the curtain didn'tdisturb her any, either. When a chestybaritone sauntered down toward thefootlights and began callin' the chorusnames she glanced over her shoulder,casual like, just to see what the row wasall about, and then went on sizin' up thefolks in the boxes. She couldn't have doneit better if she'd taken lessons by mail.

"If she would only talk!" gurgles Mrs. Van

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Urban. "Doesn't she speak anything butItalian?"

"Pure Tuscan is all she knows," says theBoss, "and the way she talks it is betterthan any music you'll hear to-night. Waituntil she has satisfied her eyes."

Pretty soon the baritone quits jawin' thechorus and a prima donna in spangledclothes comes to the front. Maybe it wasMelba, or Nordica. Anyway, she was anA-1 warbler. She hadn't let go of more'n adozen notes before the Lady Brigandessbegins to sit up and take notice. First shehas a kind of surprised look, as if a ringerhad been sprung on her; and then, as thehigh C artist begins to let herself go, sheswings around and listens with both ears.The music didn't seem to go in one side

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and out the other. It stuck somewherebetween, and swayed and lifted her like abreeze in a posy bush. I could hear her toetappin' out the tune and see her head keeptime to it. Why, if I could get my money'sworth out of music like that I'd buy aseason ticket.

When the prima donna had cut it off, withher voice way up in the flies somewhere,and the house had rose to her, as thebleachers do when one of the Giantsknocks a three bagger, the LadyBrigandess was still sittin' there, waitin'for more.

Her trance didn't last long, though. Shejust cast one eye around the boxes, wherethe folks were splittin' gloves and wavin'fans and yellin' "Bravo! Bravo!" so that

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you'd 'a-thought somebody'd carried Ohioby a big majority, and then she takes anotion to get into the game herself.

Shuckin' that high priced opera cloak shejumps up, drops one hand on her hip,holds the other up to her lips and peels offa kind of whoop-e-e-e yodel that shakesthe skylight. Talk about your cornet buglecalls! That little ventriloquist pass of hershad 'em stung to a whisper. It cut throughall that patter and screech like a sirenwhistle splittin' a fish horn serenade, andit was as clear as the ring of silver sleighbells on a frosty night.

After that it was all up to her. The otherfolks quit and turned to see who had doneit. Two or three thousand pairs of doublebarrelled opera glasses were pointed our

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way. The folks behind 'em foundsomething worth lookin' at, too. OurBrigandess wasn't in disguise any more.She stood up there at the box rail, straightas a Gibson girl, her black hair hangin' intwo thick braids below her waist, the goldhoops in her ears all ajiggle, her littlefringed jacket risin' and fallin', and herblack eyes snappin' like a pair of burningtrolley fuses. Well, say, if she wa'n't apastelle I never saw one! I guess the starsinger thought so, too. She'd just smiledand nodded at the others, but she blew akiss up to our lady before she left.

I don't know just what would havehappened next if someone hadn't shown upat the back of the box and asked for theBoss. It was the Italian consul that we'd

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been to see earlier in the day.

"Where'd you find her?" says he.

"Meanin' who?" says the Boss.

"Why, her highness the Princess Padova."

"Beg pardon," says the Boss, "but if youmean the young lady there, you're wrong.She's the daughter of a poor but honestbrigand chief, and she's just come fromTuscany to discover New York."

"She's the Princess Padova or I'm a Turk,"says the Consul. "Ask her to step backhere a moment."

It sounded like a pipe dream, all right.Who ever saw a princess rigged out forthe tambourine act and mixin' with a lot ofchestnut roasters? But old whiskers had

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the evidence down pat, though. As he toldit, she was a sure enough princess, so faras the tag went, only the family had beenin the nobility business so long that thepedigree had lasted out the plunks.

It seemed that away back, before theChicago fire or the Sayers-Heenan go, hergreat-grandpop had princed it inregulation shape. Then there'd come agrand mix-up, a war or something, and alot of princes had either lost their jobs orgot on the blacklist. Her great-grandpophad been one of the kind that didn't knowwhen he was licked. They euchred him outof his castle and building lots, but hegathered up what was left of his gang andslid for the tall timber, where he went onprincing the best he knew how. As he

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couldn't disgrace himself by workin', andhadn't lost the hankerin' for reg'lar meals,he got into the habit of taking upcontributions from whoever came along,calling it a road tax. And that's how thePadova family fell into playing the hold-up game.

But the old man Padova, the Princess'father, never forgot that if he'd had hisrights he would have been boss of hisward, and he always acted accordin'. Sowhen he picked the Consul up on the roadone night with a broken leg he gave himthe best in the house, patched him up likean ambulance surgeon, and kept him boardfree until he could walk back to town. Andso, when Miss Padova takes it into herhead to elope to America with a tin trunk,

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Papa Padova hikes himself down to thenearest telegraph office and cables over ageneral alarm to his old friend, who'sbeen made consul.

"I've been having Mulberry Bend rakedwith a fine toothed comb," says he, "butwhen I saw her highness stand up here inthe box I knew her at a glance, althoughit's been ten years since I saw her last."

Then he asked her if he hadn't called thetrick, and she said he had.

"Now," says he, "perhaps you'll tell uswhy you came to America?"

"Sure," says she, or something that meantthe same, "I've come over after me bestfeller. I've made up my mind that I'll marryhim," and she slips an arm around the

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Boss's neck just as cool as though they'dbeen on a moonlight excursion.

Mr. Consul's face gets as red as afireman's shirt, the Van Urbans catch theirbreath with both fists, and I begins to seewhat a lovely mess I'd been helping theBoss to get himself into. He never turned ahair though.

"The honor is all mine," says he, just as ifhe meant every word of it.

"Ahem!" says the Consul, kind ofsteadying himself against the curtains."Perhaps it would be best, before anythingmore is said on this subject, for thePrincess to have a talk with my wife.We'll take her home."

Well, they settled it that way and I was

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mighty glad to get her off our hands soeasy.

Next afternoon the Consul shows up at ourranch as gay as an up-state deacon who'sseeing the town incog.

"Sir," says he to the Boss, givin' him theright hand of fellowship, "you're a realgent. After what you did last night I'mproud to know you; and I'm happy to statethat it's all off with the Princess."

Then he went on to tell how Miss Padova,being out of her latitude, hadn't got herbook straight. She'd carried away thenotion that when a Princess went out ofher class she had a right to sign on anychap that she liked the looks of, withoutwaitin' for him to make the first move.They did it that way at home. But when the

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Consul's wife had explained the UnitedStates way, and how the Boss was a gooddeal of a rooster himself, with real moneyenough to buy up a whole rink full of Dagoprinces, why Miss Padova feels like aplush Christmas box at a January sale. Sheturns on the sprinkler, wants to know whatthey suppose the Boss thinks of her, andsays she wants to go back to It'ly by thenext trolley.

"But she'll get over feeling bad," says theConsul. "We'll ship her back next Friday,and you can take it from me that theincident is closed."

I was lookin' for the Boss to open a bottleor two on that. But he didn't. For a pleasedman he held in well.

"Poor little girl!" says he, looking absent

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minded towards the Bronx. Then he cheersup a minute. "I say, do you mind if I run upand see her once before she sails?"

"You may for all of me," says the Consul,"but if you'll listen to my advice you won'tgo."

He did though, and lugged me along for achaperone, which is some out of my line.

"I'm afraid they've rather overdone theexplaining business," says he on the wayup; and while I had my own idea as tothat, I had sense enough, for once, not tobutt in.

That was an ice house call, all right. Theyleft us on the mat while our cards went up,and after a while the hired girl comesdown to give us the book-agent glare.

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"Th' Missus," says she, "says as how theyoung lady begs to be 'xcused."

"Does the young lady know we're here?"says the Boss.

"She does," says the girl, and shuts thedoor.

"Gee!" says I, "that's below the belt."

The Boss hadn't a word left in him, but Iwouldn't have met him in the ring aboutthen for anything less'n a bookie's bundle.

Just as we hit the sidewalk we hears afront window go up, and down comes ared rose plunk in front of us.

"Many happy returns of the day," says I,handing it to the Boss.

"I suppose you're right," says he. "It's the

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only way to look at it, I expect; and yetoh,hang it all, Shorty, what's the use?"

"Ahr-r, say!" says I. "Switch off! It's allover, and you've side stepped takin' thecount."

CHAPTER IV

Does the Boss let it go at that? Say, I wasjust thick enough to guess that he would. Iwas still havin' that dream, a few days

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later, when the Boss says to me:

"Shorty, you remember that old castle ofours?"

"You don't think I've been struck withsoftenin' of the brain, do you?" says I."That'll be the last thing I'll forget. What'shappened to it?"

"It's mine," says he.

"G'way!" says I. "They couldn't force youto take it."

"I've bought it," says he. "I cabled over anoffer, and the Count has accepted."

"Goin' to blow it up?" I says.

"I hope," says he, gettin' a little red underthe eyes, "to spend my honeymoon there;that is, if the Princess Padova"

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"The who?" says I. "Oh, you mean the ladybrigandess?"

"If the Princess Padova," says he, keepin'straight on, "doesn't prefer some otherplace. We sail to-morrow."

"Thenthen" says I, catchin' my breath,"you've done it?"

It was silly askin' him. Why, it stuck outall over his face. I don't know what I saidnext, but it didn't matter much. He was toofar up in the air to hear anything inparticular. Just as we shakes hands though,he passes me an envelope and says:

"Shorty, I wish you'd take this down to mylawyer next Monday morning. It's a littlematter I haven't had time to fix up."

"Sure," says I. "I'll tie up any loose ends.

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And don't forget to give my regards to oldVincenzo."

Say, I s'pose I'd ought to told him what amark he'd made of himself, takin' a chancewith any such wild-rose runnin' mate asthat; but somehow it seemed all right, forhim. I couldn't get a view of the Bossmated up with any silk-lined, city-brokegirl. I guess Miss Padova was about hisstyle, after all; and I reckon it would takea man like him to manage one of her highflyin' kind. Anyway, I'm glad he got her.

I was sorry to lose the Boss, though. "It'sme to go back to trainin' four flush comersagain," says I, when he'd gone. And say, Iwa'n't feelin' gay over the prospect. Someof these mitt artists is nice, decent boys,but then again you'll find others that you

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can't take much pride in.

You see, I'd been knockin' around formonths with someone who was clean allthe way throughwashed clean, spokeclean, thought cleanand now there was notellin' what kind of a push I'd fall in with.You've had a peek at trainin' camps, eh?Them rubbers is apt to be a scousy lot. Itwas the goin' back to eatin' with swordswallowers that came hardest, though. Ican stand for a good many things, butwhen I sees a guy loadin' up his knife forthe shovel act, I rubs him off my list.

I was goin' over all this, on the way downto the office of that lawyer the Bosswanted me to see. I'd met him a few times,so when I sends in my name there wa'n'tany waitin' around in the ante-room with

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the office boy.

"Bring Mr. McCabe right in," says he."Mister McCabe," mind you. He's one ofthose wiry, brisk little chaps, with x-rayeyes, and a voice like a telephone bell."Ah, yes!" says he, takin' the letter. "Iknow about thatsome stock I was to turninto cash. Franklin!" he sings out. Franklincomes in like he'd come through a tube."Bring me Mr. McCabe's bank book."

"Bank book!" says I. "I guess you'vedipped into the wrong letter file. I don'tsport any bank book."

"Perhaps you didn't yesterday," says he,"but to-day you do."

And say, what do you think the Boss hadgone and done? Opened an account in my

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name, and fatted it up good and sweet, asa starter.

"But he didn't owe me anything like that,"says I.

"A difference of opinion, Mr. McCabe,"says the lawyer. "'For services rendered,'that was the way his instructions to meread. I sold the stock and made the depositto your credit. That's all there is to it.Good day. Call again."

And the next thing I knew I was goin'down in the elevator with me fist grippin'that bank book like it was a life raft. Firstoff I has to go and have a look at theoutside of that bank. That's right, snicker.But say, I've had as much dough as thatbefore, only I'd always carried it in abundle. There's a lot of difference. Every

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tinhorn sport has his bundle, you know;but it's only your real gent that can flash acheck book. I could feel my chest swellin'by the minute.

"Shorty," says I, "you've broke into a newclass. Now you've got to make good."

And how do you s'pose I begins? Why, Ihires one of these open faced cabs by thehour, and tells the chap up top to take meup Fifth ave. I wanted to think, and thereain't any better place for brain exercisethan leanin' back in a hansom, squintin' outover the foldin' doors. I'd got pretty nearup to the Plaza before I hooks what I wasfishin' after. It came sudden, too.

It was like this: Whilst I was sparrin'secretary to the Boss I'd met up with a lotof his crowd, and some of 'em had tried

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the gloves on with me. I didn't go in forsluggin' their blocks off, just to show 'em Icould do it. There's no sense in that,unless you're out for a purse. Sparrin' forpoints is the best kind of fun, and for an all'round tonic it can't be beat. They liked theway I handled 'em, and they used to saythey wished they could take a dose of thatmedicine reg'lar, same as the Boss did.

"And that's just the chance I'm goin' togive 'em," says I.

With that I heads back for Forty-secondstreet, picks out a vacant floor I'd noticed,and signs a lease. Inside of a week I hasthe place fixed up with mat, chest weights,and such; lays in a stock of soft gloves,buys a medicine ball or two, gets me somecards printed, and has me name done in

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gold letters on the ground glass. Boxin'instructor? Not on your accident policy.Nor private gym., either.

Professor M'Cabe'sStudio of Physical Culture

That's the way the door plate reads. It maybe a bluff, but it scares off the cheapmuggs that would hang around a boxin'school. They don't know what it means,any more'n if it was Chinese.

Well, when I gets things all in shape Igives out word to some of those gents, andbefore I'd been runnin' a fortnight I'dbooked business enough to see that I'dstruck it right. What's the use monkeyin'with comers when you can take on menthat's made their pile? They're a high-toned lot, too, and they don't care what it

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costs, so long as I keeps 'em in shape.Some of 'em don't put on the mitts at all,but most of 'em works up to that.

Now there was Mr. Gordon. Sure,Pyramid Gordon. But I'll have to tell youabout the game he stacks me up against. I'dhad him as a reg'lar for about amonthMondays, Wednesdays andSaturdays, from five to sixand he was justgettin' so he knew what real livin' was,when somethin' breaks loose down on thestreet that makes him forget everything butthe figures on the tape. So he quits trainin'.About ten days later he drops in oneafternoon, with fur on his tongue, and hiseyes lookin' like a couple of cold friedeggs.

"Are you comin' or goin', Mr. Gordon?"

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says I.

"Where, Shorty?" says he.

"Hospital," says I.

He grinned a little, the kind of grin a fellerwears when he's bein' helped to hiscorner, after the count.

"I know," says he; "but when you've beensitting for two weeks on a volcano,Shorty, wondering whether it would blowyou up, or open and let you fall in, you'reapt to forget your liver."

"It ain't apt to forget you, though," says I."Shall we have a little session right now?"

And then he springs his proposition. He'dgot to go to Washington and back inside ofthe next two breakfasts, and he wanted me

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to go along, some on account of his liver,but mostly so's he could forget that he wasstill on the lid. His private car washitched to the tail of the Flyer, and he hadjust forty-five minutes to get aboard.Would I come?

"If I'm wiped out by the time we get back,"says he, "I'll make you a preferredcreditor."

"I'll take chances on that," says I.

They did do the trick to Pyramid once, youknow; but they'd never got him right since.They had him worried some this time,though. You could tell that by the way hesmiled at the wrong cues, and combed hisdeacon whiskers with his fingers. They'rethe only deacon whiskers I ever had in theStudio. Used to make me nervous when I

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hit 'em, for fear I'd drive 'em in. But he'sdead game, Pyramid is, whether he'sstoppin' mitts, or buckin' the Upright Oilpush. So I grabs a few things off the wall,and we pikes for the ferry.

"Where's the other parties?" says I, whenI'd sized up the inside of the Adeline.There was room enough for a minstreltroupe.

"We're to have it all to ourselves,professor," says he. "And it's almost timefor us to pull out; there's the lastCortlandt-st. boat in."

About then we hears Mr. Rufus Rastus, theCongo brunet that's master of ceremonieson the car, havin' an argument out in thevestibule. He was tryin' to shuntsomebody. They didn't shunt though, and

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in comes a long-geared old gent, wearin'one of those belted ulsters that they makeout of horse-blankets for English tourists.He had a dinky cloth cap of the samepattern, and the lengthiest face I ever sawon a man. It wasn't a cheerful face, either;looked like he was huntin' for his owntombstone, and didn't care how soon hefound it.

Rufus Rastus was hangin' to one of hisarms, splutterin' things about this being aprivate car, and gettin' no more noticetaken of himself than as if he'd been anescape-valve. Behind 'em, totin' a lot ofleather bags of all shapes, was a peaked-nosed chap, who looked like he was doin'all the frettin' for a Don't Worry Club.

"It's honly Sir Peter," says the worried

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chap. "'E's myde a mistyke, y' know. Hi'llget 'im out, sir."

"Danvers, shut up!" says Sir Peter.

"Yes, sir; directly, sir; but" says he.

"Shut up now and sit down!" Sir Peterwasn't scrappy about it. He just said it asthough he was tired. But Danvers wilted.

"Shall I give 'em the run?" says I.

"No," says Mr. Gordon; "there's the bell.We can get rid of them at the first stop."

Then he goes over to Sir Peter, tells himall about the Adeline's bein' a privatesnap, and how he can change to a parlor-car at Trenton.

The old fellow seems to take it all in,lookin' him straight in the eye, without

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turnin' a hair, and then he says, just as ifthey'd been talkin' about it for a month:"You'd better wear a bucket, as I do. Itlooks a little odd, you know; but thedecimals can't get through a bucket.Danvers!" he sings out.

"But you don't understand," says Pyramid."I said this was a private carprivate car!"

"Don't shout," says Sir Peter. "I'm notdeaf. I'd lend you a bucket if I had an extraone; but I haven't. Danvers!"

This time Danvers edged in with one ofthose sole-leather cases that anEnglishman carries his plug-hat in.

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"Got his wheels all under cover," says I.

"Don't you think, Sir Peter" says he.

"Yes; but you don't," says Sir Peter."Hurry on, now!"

And I'll be welched if Danvers didn't diga wooden pail out of that hat-case andhand it over. Sir Peter chucks the cap, putson the pail, drops the handle under hischin, and stretches out on a corner sofa aspeaceful as a bench-duster in the park.

"Looks like he's got his wheels all undercover," says I. "Great schemeevery manhis own garage."

"Who is he?" says Mr. Gordon toDanvers.

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"Lord, sir, you don't mean to sye you don'tknow Sir Peter, sir?" says Danvers. "Why,'e's Sir Peterthe Sir Peter. 'E's a bitheccentric at times, sir."

Well, we let it go at that. Sir Peter seemedto be enjoying himself; so we piles all thewicker chairs around him, opens theventilators, and peels down for business.

Ever try hand-ball in a car that's beingsnaked over switches at fifty miles anhour? So far as looks went, we were justas batty as Sir Peter with his wooden hat.We caromed around like a couple of six-spots in a dice-box, and some of the foot-work we did would have had a buck-and-wing artist crazy. We was using a tennis-ball, and when we'd get in three strokeswithout missing we'd stop and shake

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hands. There wa'n't any more sense to itthan to a musical comedy; but it wasmakin' Mr. Gordon forget his troubles, andit was doing his liver good. Danverswatched us from behind some chairs. Helooked disgusted.

By the time we'd got half-way acrossJersey we was ready for the bath tub. Andsay, that's the way to travel and stay athome, all to once. A private car for mine.While we was puttin' on a polish with theTurkish towels, Rufus Rastus was busywith the dinner.

"Now, we'll have another talk with SirPeter of the Pail," says Mr. Gordon.

We took the barricade down, and foundhim just as we'd left him. Then he an'Pyramid gets together; but it was the

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wizziest brand of conversation I everheard. You'd have thought they was talkin'over the 'phone to the wrong numbers. SirPeter would listen to all Mr. Gordon hadto say, just as if he was gettin' next toevery word, but his come-backs didn't fitby a mile.

"Sorry to disturb you," says Mr. Gordon;"but I'll have to ask you to change to aforward car next stop."

Sir Peter blinked his lamps at him aminute, and then he says: "Yes, it keepsthe decimals out," and he taps the bucket,knowing like. "My own invention, sir. I'dadvise you to try it if they ever botheryou."

"Yes, I'll take your word for that," saysMr. Gordon; "but I'm afraid you'll have to

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be getting ready to move. This is myprivate car, you see."

"They always come point first," says SirPeter; "that's how they get in. It's only thebucket that makes 'em shy off."

"Oh, the deuce!" says Pyramid. "Here,Shorty, you try your luck with him."

"Sure," says I. "I've talked sense throughthicker things than a wooden pail." First Iraps on his cupola with me knuckles, justto ring him up. Then, when I gets his eye, Isays, kind of coaxin': "Pete, it's seventeenafter six. That's twenty-three for you. Areyou next?"

Now say, you'd thought most anyonewould have dropped for a hint like that,dippy or not. But Sir Peter sizes me up

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without battin' an eye. He had a kind ofdignified, solemn way of lookin', too, witheyes wide open, same's a judge chargin' ajury.

"You'll never need a bucket," says he.

Just then I heard something that soundedlike pouring water from a jug, and I looksaround, to see Mr. Gordon turnin' plumcolor and holdin' himself by the short ribs.I knew what had happened then. The nuttyone had handed me the lemon.

"Scratch me off," says I. "I'm in the wrongclass. If there's to be any moreBloomingdale repartee, just count me out."

Naw, I wa'n't sore, or nothin' like that. Ifanyone can get free vawdyville from meI'll write 'em an annual pass; but I couldn't

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see the use of monkeyin' with that bug-house boarder. Say, if you was payin' forfive rooms and bath when you went on theroad, like Mr. Gordon was, would youstand for any machinery-loft butt-in likethat? I was waitin' for the word to pile SirPeter on the baggage truck, Danvers andall.

Think I got it? Nix! Some folks is easypleased. And Pyramid Gordon, withseventeen different kinds of trouble bein'warmed up for him behind his back, stoodthere and played kid. Said he couldn'tthink of losin' Sir Peter after that. He'd gotto have dinner with us. Blessed if he didn'ttoo, pail and all! Couldn't fall for any talkabout changin' cars; oh, no! But when hesees the pink candles, and the oysters on

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the half, and the quart bott' in the ice bath,he seemed to get his hearin' back bywireless.

"Dinner?" says he. "Ah, yes! Danvers, hasthe prime minister come yet? It was to-night that he was to dine with me, wasn'tit?"

"To-morrow night, Sir Peter," saysDanvers.

"Oh, very well. But you gentlemen willshare the joint with me, eh? Welcome toBranscomb Arms! And let's gather around,sirs, let's gather around!"

You should have seen the way he did it,though. Reg'lar John Drew manners, theold duffer had. Lord knows where hethought he was, though; somewhere on

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Highgate Road, I suppose. But wherever itwas, he was right to homecalled RufusRastus Jenkins, and told Danvers he couldgo for the day. Gave me the goose-fleshback until I got used to it; but Mr. Gordonseemed to take it all as part of the game.

It beat all the dinners I ever had, that one.There we were poundin' over the railsthrough Pennsylvania at a mile-a-minuteclip, the tomato soup doin' a merry-go-round in the plates, the engine tootin' forgrade crossin's; and Sir Peter, wearin' hispail as dignified as a cardinal does a redhat, talkin' just as if he was back on thefarm, up north of London. I don't blameRufus Rastus for wearin' his eyes on theoutside. They stuck out like the waist-buttons on a Broadway cop, and he hardly

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knew whether he was waitin' on table, ormakin' up a berth.

With his second glass of fizz Sir Peterbegan to thaw a little. He hadn't paid muchattention to me for a while, passin' most ofhis remarks over to Mr. Gordon; but all ofa sudden he comes at me with:

"You're a Home Ruler, I expect?"

"Sure," says I. "Now, spring the gag."

But if there was a stinger to it, he musthave lost it in the shuffle; for he opens upa line of talk that I didn't have the key to atall. Mr. Gordon tells me afterwards it wasEnglish politics and that Sir Peter wastryin' to register me as a Conservative.Anyway, I've promised to vote forBalfour, or somebody like that next

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election; so I'm goin' to send word toLittle Tim that he needn't come around.Had to do it, just to please the old gent. Bythe time we'd got to the little cups of blackhe'd switched to something else.

"I don't suppose you know anything aboutrailroads?" says he to Mr. Gordon.

Then it was my grin. Railroads is whatPyramid plays with, you know. He's adirector on three or four lines himself, andis always lookin' for more. It's about assafe to leave a branch road out afternightfall when Gordon's around as itwould be to try to raise watermelons inMinetta Lane. He grinned, too, and saidsomething about not knowing as muchabout 'em as he did once.

With that Sir Peter lights up one of Mr.

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Gordon's Key West night-sticks and cutsadrift on the railroad business. That madethe boss kind of sick at first. Railroadswas something he was tryin' to forget forthe evenin'. But there wasn't any shuttin'the old jay off. And say! he knew the case-cards all right. There was too much highfinance about it for me to follow close; butanyways I seen that it made Mr. Gordonsit up and take notice. He'd peg in aquestion now and then, and got the old oneso stirred up that after a while he shed thebucket, lugged out one of his bags, andflashed a lot of papers done up in neatlittle piles. He said it was a report he wasgoin' to make to some board or other, ifever the decimals would quit botheringhim long enough.

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Well, that sort of thing might keep Mr.Gordon awake, but not for mine. Half-wayto Baltimore I turns in, leaving 'em at it. Ihad a good snooze, too.

Mr. Gordon comes to my bunk in themornin', very mysterious. "Shorty," sayshe, "we're in. I've got to go up to the StateDepartment for an hour or so, and whileI'm gone I'd like you to keep an eye on SirPeter. If he takes a notion to wander off,you persuade him to stay until I get back."

"What you say goes," says I.

I shoved up the shade and sees that they'dput the Adeline down at the end of thetrain-shed. About all I could see ofWashington was the top of old George'sheadstone stickin' up over a freight-car. Ifixed myself up and had breakfast, just as

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if I was in a boardin'-house, and then sitsaround waitin' for Sir Peter. He an'Danvers shows up after a while, and theold gent calls for tea and toast and jam.Then I knows he's farther off his base thanever. Think of truck like that for breakfast!But he gets away with it, and then says toDanvers:

"Time we were off for the city, my man."

I got a glimpse of trouble ahead, rightthere; for that chump of a Danvers nevermade a move when I gives him the wink.All he could get into that peanut head ofhis at one time was to collect those leatherbags and get ready to trot aroundwherever that long-legged old lunatic ledthe way.

"They've changed the time on that train of

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yours, Sir Pete," says I. "She don't comealong until ten-twenty-six now, springschedule," and I winks an eye loose atDanvers.

"'Pon my word!" says Sir Peter, "you hereyet? Danvers, show this person to thegates."

"Yes, sir," says Danvers. He comes up tome an' whispers, kind of ugly: "I sye now,you'll 'ave to stop chaffin' Sir Peter. Iwon't 'ave it!"

"Help!" says I. "There's a rat after me."

"Hi'll bash yer bloomin' nose in!" says he,gettin' pink behind the ears.

"Hi'll write to the bloomin' pypers haboutit if you do," says I.

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I was wishin' that would fetch him, and itdid. He comes at me wide open, with aguard like a soft-shell crab. I slips downthe state-room passage, out of sight of SirPeter, catches Danvers by the scruff,chucks him into a berth, and ties him upwith the sheets, as careful as if he was togo by express.

"Now make all the holler you want," saysI. "It won't disturb us none," and I shut thedoor.

But Sir Peter was a different proposition.I didn't want to rough-house him. He wastoo ancient; and anyway, I kind of likedthe old chap's looks. He'd forgot all aboutDanvers, and was makin' figures on anenvelope when I got back. I let him figureaway, until all of a sudden he puts up his

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pencil and lugs out that bucket again.

"It's quit raining," says I.

"What do you know about it?" says he."It's pouring decimals, just pouring 'em.But I've got to get my report in." With thathe claps on the bucket, grabs a bag andstarts for the car door.

It was up to me to make a quick play; forhe was just ripe to go buttin' around thosetracks and run afoul of a switch-engine.And I hated to collar him. Just then I spotsthe tennis-ball.

"Whoop-ee!" says I, grabbin' it up andslammin' it at his head. I made a bull's-eyeon the pail, too. "That's a cigar you oweme," says I, "and I gets two more cracksfor my nickel." He tried to dodge; but I

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slammed it at him a couple more times."Your turn now," says I. "Gimme thebucket."

Sounds foolish, don't it? I'll bet it looked aheap foolisher than it sounds; but I'd justthought of something a feller told me once.He was a young doctor in the bat ward atBellevue. "They're a good deal like kids,"says he, "and if you remember that, youcan handle 'em easy."

And say, Sir Peter seemed to look tickledand interested. The first thing I knew he'dchucked the bucket on my head and wasdoin' a war-dance, lambastin' that tennis-ball at me to beat the cars. It was working,all right.

When he got tired of that I organized ashinny game, with an umbrella and a cane

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for sticks, and a couple of wicker chairsfor goals. He took to that, too. First heshed his frock-coat, then his vest, and aftera while we got down to our undershirts. Itwas a hot game from the word go. Therewa'n't any half-way business about SirPeter. When he started out to drive a goalthrough my legs he whacked good andstrong and often. My shins looked like abarber's pole afterwards; but I couldn'tsqueal then. There was no way to duckpunishment but to get the ball into histerritory and make him guard goal. Itwa'n't such a cinch to do, either, for hewas a lively old gent on his pins.

After about half an hour of that, you canbet I wished I'd stuck to the bucket game.But Sir Peter was as excited over it as a

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boy with a new pair of roller-skates. Hewouldn't stand for any change of program,and he wouldn't stop for breathin'-spells.Rufus Rastus came out of his coop once tosee what the row was all about; but whenhe saw us mixed up in a scrimmage forgoal he says: "Good Lawd ermighty!" letsout one yell, and shuts himself up with hiscanned soup and copper pans. I guessDanvers thought I was draggin' his bossaround by the hair; for I heard him yelponce in a while, but he couldn't get loose.

Sir Peter began to leak all over his head,and his gray hair got mussed up, and hiseyes was bulgin' out; but I couldn't get himswitched to anything else. Not much!Shinny was a new game to him and he wasstuck on it. "Whee-yee!" he'd yell, and

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swing that crooked-handled cane, andbang would go a fancy gas globe into amillion pieces. But a little thing like thatdidn't feaze him. He was out for goals, andhe wasn't particular what he hit as long asthe ball was kept moving.

It was a hot pace he set, all right. Everytime he swung I had to jump two feet high,or else get it on the shins. And say! Ijumped when I could. I'd have given asable-lined overcoat for a pair of leg-guards just about then; and if I could havehad that young bug-ward doctor to myselffor about ten minuteswell, he'd havelearned something they didn't tell him atBellevue.

Course, I don't keep up reg'lar ring trainin'these days; but I'm generally fit for ten

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rounds or so any old time. I thought I wasin good trim then, until that dippy oldsnoozer had rushed me for about twenty-five goals. Then I began to breathe hardand wish someone would ring the gong onhim. There was no counting on when Mr.Gordon would show up; but his footstepswouldn't have made me sad. I've letmyself in for some jay stunts in my time;but this gettin' tangled up with a baddream that had come truewell, that was thelimit. And I'd started out to do somethingreal cute. You could have bought me for abunch of pink trading stamps.

And just as I was wondering if thisBloomingdale séance was to go on allday, Sir Peter gives out like a bustedmainspring, slumps all over the floor, and

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lays as limp as if his jaw had connectedwith a pile-driver. For a minute or so Iwas scared clear down to my toe-nails;but after I'd sluiced him with ice-waterand worked over him a little, he cameback to the boards. He was groggy, and Ireckon things was loopin' the loops whenhe looked at 'em; but his blood pump wasdoing business again, and I knew he'd feelbetter pretty soon.

I helped him up on the bucket, that beinghandiest, and threw a three-finger slug ofrye into him, and then he began to take aninventory of things in general, kind ofslow and dignified. He looks at the brokenglass on the car carpet, at the chairs turnedbottom up, at me in my hard-workcostume, and at his own rig.

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"Really, you know, reallyII don't quiteunderstand," he says. "Wherewhat"

"Oh, you're ahead," says I. "I wouldn'tswear to the score; but it's your odds."

This didn't seem to satisfy him, though. Hekept on lookin' around, as though he'd lostsomething. I guessed he was hunting forthat blasted cane.

"See here," says I. "You get the decision,and there ain't goin' to be any encore. I'veretired. I've had enough of that game tolast me until I'm as old as you are, whichwon't be for two or three seasons on. Ifyou're dead anxious for more, you waituntil Mr. Gordon comes back andchallenge him. He's a sport."

But Sir Peter seemed to be clear off the

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alley. "My good man," says he, "II don'tfollow you at all. Will you please tell mewhere I am?"

Now say, how was I to know where hethought he was? What was the name of thatplaceBriskett Arms? I didn't want tochance it.

"This is the same old stand," says I, "rightwhere you started an hour ago."

"But," says he"but Lord Winchester?"

"He's due on the next trolley," says I. "Hadto stop off at the gun-factory, you know."

Ever try to tear off a lot ofextemporaneous lies, twenty to theminute? It's no pipe. Worse than being onthe stand at an insurance third degree. Icouldn't even refuse to answer on advice

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of counsel, and in no time at all he had metwisted up into a bow-knot.

"Young man," says he, "I think you'reprevaricating."

"I'm doin' me best," says I; "but let's cutthat out. P'raps you'd feel better if youwore the bucket awhile."

"Bucket?" says he. And I'll be put on thebuzzer if he didn't throw the bluff that he'dnever had the thing on his head.

"Oh, well," says I, "you've got a right tolie some if you want to. It's your turn,anyway. But let me swab you off a little."

He didn't kick on that, and I was gettin'busy with warm water and towels whenthe door opens, and in drifts Mr. Gordonwith three well-fed gents behind him.

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"Great cats!" says he, throwin' up bothhands. "Shorty, what in blazes hashappened?"

"Nothin' much," says I. "We've beenplayin' a little shinny."

"Shinny?" says he, just as though it wassomething I'd invented.

"Sure," says I. "And Sir Peter won out. Asa shinny player he's a bird."

Then the three other ducks swarms in, andthe way they powwows around there for afew minutes was enough to make a curtainscene for a Third avenue melodrama.

Mr. Gordon calmed 'em down though aftera bit, and then I got a chance. I was a littleriled by that time, I guess. I offered to tiepillows on both hands and take 'em all

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three at once, kickin' allowed.

"Oh, come, Shorty," says Mr. Gordon."These gentlemen have been a little hasty.They don't understand, and they're greatfriends of Sir Peter. This is the BritishAmbassador, Lord Winchester, and theseare his two secretaries. Now, what aboutthis shinny?"

"It was a stem-winder," says I. "Sir Peterwas off side most of the time; but I don'tcarry no grouch for that."

Then I told 'em how I'd done it to keephim off the tracks, and how he got sowarmed up he couldn't stop until he ranout of steam. They were polite enoughafter that. We shook hands all round, and Iwent in and resurrected Danvers, and theygot Sir Peter fixed up so that he was fit to

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go in a cab, and the whole bunch clearsout.

In about an hour Mr. Gordon comes back.He wears one of the won't-come-off kind,and steps like he was feelin' good allover. "Professor," says he, "you needn't besurprised at getting a medal of honor fromthe British Government. You seem to havecured Sir Peter of the bucket habit."

"We're quits, then," says I. "He's cured meof wanting to play shinny. Say, did youfind out who the old snoozer was,anyway?"

"The old snoozer," says he, "is the crackfinancial expert of England, and a big gungenerally. He'd been over here lookinginto our railroads, and when he gets backhe's to make a report that will be accepted

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as law and gospel in every capital ofEurope. It was while he was working onthat job that his brain took a vacation; andit was your shinny game, the doctors say,that saved him from the insane asylum.You seem to have brought him back to hissenses."

"He's welcome," says I; "but I wish theBritish Government would ante up a bottleof spavin-cure. Look at that shin."

"We'll make 'em pay for that shin," sayshe, with a kind of it's-coming-to-us grin."And by the way, Shorty; those few after-dinner remarks that Sir Peter made abouthis reportyou could forget about hearing'em, couldn't you?"

"I can forget everything but the bucket,"says I.

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"Good," says Mr. Gordon. "Itit's a privatematter for a while."

We took a hansom ride around town untilthe noon limited was ready to pull out.Never saw a car ride do a man so muchgood as that one back to New Yorkseemed to do Mr. Gordon. He was aspleased with himself as if he was a redapple on the top branch.

It was a couple of weeks, too, before Iknew why. He let it out one day after we'dhad our little kaffee klatch with the gloves.Seems that hearing Sir Peter tell what hewas goin' to report about Americanrailroads was just like givin' Gordon anowner's tip on a handicap winner; andPyramid don't need to be hit on the headwith a maul, either. Near as I can get it, he

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worked that inside information for all itwas worth and there's a bunch downaround Broad street that don't know justwhat hit 'em yet.

Me? Little Rollo? Oh, I'm satisfied. Withwhat I got out of that trip I could buyenough shin salve to cure up all thebruises in New York. That's on the footrule, too.

CHAPTER V

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It was that little excursion with Mr.Gordon that puts me up to sendin' over toWilliamsburg after Swifty Joe Gallagher,and signin' him as my first assistant.Thinks I; if I'm liable to go strollin' offlike that any more, I've got to havesomeone that'll keep the joint open whileI'm gone. I didn't pick Swifty for his looks,nor for his mammoth intellect. But he's asstraight as a string, and he'll mind like asetter dog.

Well, say, it was lucky I got him just as Idid. I hadn't much more'n broke him inbefore I runs up against this new one.Understand, I ain't no fad chaser. I don'tpine for the sporting-extra life, with a newred-ink stunt for every leaf on thecalendar-pad. I got me studio here, an' me

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real-money reg'lars that keeps the shoprunnin', and a few of the boys to droparound now and then; so I'm willing to letit go at that. Course, though, I ain't noside-stepper. I takes what's comin' an'tries to look pleasant.

But this little hot-foot act with Rajah andPinckney had me dizzy for a few rounds,sure as ever. And I wouldn't thought it ofPinckney. Why, when he first shows uphere I says to myself: "Next floor,Reginald, for the manicure." He was oneof that kind: slim, white-livered, feather-weight style of chaplooked like he'd beentrainin' on Welch rabbits and Egyptiancigarettes at the club for about a year.

"Is this Professor McCabe?" says he.

"You win," says I. "What'll it be? Me

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class in crochet ain't begun yet."

He kind of looked me over steady like,and then he passes out a card which saysas how he was Lionel Pinckney OgdenBruce.

"Do I have my choice?" says I. "Cause if Ido I nips onto Pinckneyit's cute. Well,Pinckney, what's doing?"

He drapes himself on a chair, gets hislittle silver-headed stick balanced just sobetween his knees, pulls his trousers up tohigh-water mark, and takes an inventory ofme from the mat up. And say! when he gotthrough I felt as though he knew it all,from how much I'd weigh in at to where Ihad my laundry done. Yes, Pinckney had afull set of eyes. They were black; not justordinary black, same's a hole in a hat, but

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shiny an' sparklin', like patent leathers inthe sun. If it hadn't been for them eyes youmight have thought he was one of theeight-day kind that was just about to rundown. I ought to have got next toPinckney's model, just by his lamps; but Ididn't. I'm learnin', though, and if I lastlong enough I'll be a wise guy some day.

Well, when Pinckney finishes his censusof me he says: "Professor, I wish to take aprivate course, or whatever you call it. Iwould like to engage your exclusiveservices for about three weeks."

"Chic, chic!" says I. "Things like thatcome high, young man."

Pinckney digs up a sweet little check-book, unlimbers a fountain-pen, and asks:"How much, please?"

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"Seein' as this is the slack season with me,I'll make it fifty per," says I.

"Hour or day?" says he.

Maybe I was breathin' a bit hard, but Isays careless like: "Oh, call it fifty a dayand expenses."

Business with the pen. "That's for the firstweek," says Pinckney, and I see he'dreckoned in Sunday and all.

"When can you come on?" says I.

"I'll begin now, if you don't mind," sayshe.

Then it was up to me; so I goes to work.Inside of ten minutes I had a fair notion ofhow Pinckney was put up. He wasn't asskimpy as he'd looked from the outside,

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but I saw that it wouldn't be safe to try themitts: I might forget and put a little steaminto the punchthen it would be a case ofsweepin' up the pieces.

"Hold that out," says I, chuckin' him theshot-bag.

He put it out; but all there was in him wasbracin' that arm.

"What you need," says I, "is a little easytrack-work in the open, plenty of coldwater before breakfast, and sleep in ten-hour doses."

"I couldn't sleep five hours at a stretch,much less ten," says he.

"We'll take something for that," says I.

We gets together a couple suits of running-

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togs, sweaters, towels and things, andgoes downstairs where Pinckney has a bigplum-colored homicide wagon waitin' forhim.

"Tell Goggles to point for Jerome-ave.,"says I. "There's a track out there we canuse."

On the way up Pinckney lets loose a hintor two that gives me an outline map of hisparticular case. He hadn't been hittin' upany real paresis pace, so far as I couldmake out. He'd just been trying to keepeven with the coupons and dividends thatthe old man had left him, burnin' it as itcame in, and he'd run out of matches.Guess there was a bunch of millinerysomewhere in the background too, for hewas anxious about how he'd feel around

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Horse-Show time. Maybe Pinckney hadmade his plans to be more or lessagreeable about then; but when he got akinetoscope picture of himself in asanitarium he had a scare thrown into him.Next some one gives him a tip on thePhysical Culture Studio and he pikes forShorty McCabe.

Well, I've trained a good many kinds, butI'd never tried to pump red corpuscles intoan amateur Romeo before. There was thethree-fifty, though, and I sails in.

"Head up now, elbows in, weight on yourtoes, an' we're off in a bunch!" says I."Steady there, take it easy! This ain't nohundred-yard sprint; this is a mileperformance. There, that's better! Dog-trotit to the three-quarters, and if your cork

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ain't pulled by then you can spurt under thewire."

But Pinckney had lost all his ambitionbefore we'd got half round. At the finishhe was breathin' more air than his wind-tanks had known in months.

"Now for the second lap," says I.

"What? Around that fence again?" saysPinckney. "Why, I saw all there was to seelast time. Can't we try a new one?"

"Do you think mile tracks come inclusters?" says I.

"Why not just run up the road?" asksPinckney.

"The road it is," says I.

We fixed it up that Goggles was to follow

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along with the goose-cart and honk-honkthe quarters to us as he read 'em on hisspeed-clock. We were three miles nearerAlbany when we quit, and Pinckney wasleakin' like a squeezed sponge.

"Throw her wide open and pull up at thenearest road-house," says I to Goggles.

He found one before I'd got all the wrapson Pinckney, and in no time at all we wereunder the shower. There was less of thatmarble-slab look about Pinckney when hebegan to harness up again. He thought hecould eat a little something, too. I stoodover the block while the man cut thatthree-inch hunk from the top of the round,and then I made a mortal enemy of thecook by jugglin' the broiler myself. ButPinckney did more than nibble. After that

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he wanted to turn in. Sleep? I had to lifthim out at four G. M. The water-curewoke him, though. He tried to beg off onthe last few glasses, but I made him down'em. Then we starts towards Boston,Goggles behind, and Pinckney discoversthe first sunrise he's seen for years.

Well, that's the way we wentperambulatin' up into the pie-belt. Firstwe'd jog a few miles, then hop aboard thewhiz-wagon and spurt for running water.We didn't travel on any schedule or try tomake any dates. Half the time we didn'tknow where we were, and didn't care.When bath-tubs got scarce we'd hunt for apond or a creek in the woods. In one of theside-hampers on the car I found a quick-lunch outfit, so I gets me a broiler, lays in

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round steak and rye bread, and twice aday I does the hobo act over a roadsidefire. That tickled Pinckney to death. Nightswe'd strike any place where they had bedsto let. Pinckney didn't punch the mattressor turn up his nose at the quilt patterns.When it came dark he was glad enough tocrawl anywhere.

Now this was all to the good. Never sawquite so much picnic weather rattled out ofthe box all at one throw. And the workdidn't break your back. Why, it was likebein' laid off for a vacation on doublepayuntil Rajah butted in and began to mixthings.

We'd pulled into some little town or otherup in Connecticut soon after sun-up,lookin' for soft boiled eggs, when a couple

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of real gents in last-year ulsters pipes usoff and saunters up to the car. They spotsPinckney for the cash-carrier and makesthe play at him.

It was a hard-luck symposium, of course;but there was more to it than just apanhandle touch. They were all there wasleft of the Imperial Consolidated Circusand Roman Menagerie. They had lost theirtop and benches in a fire, deputy-sheriffshad nabbed the wagons and horses, thecompany was hoofing back to Broadway,and all they had left was Rajah. Would thehonorable gentleman come and take asquint at Rajah?

For why? Well, it was this way: Theyhated to do it, Rajah being an old friend,just like one of the family, you might say,

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but there wasn't anything else. They'd justgot to hock Rajah to put the ImperialConsolidated in commission again. Theworst of it was, these here villagers didn'tappreciate what gilt-edged security Rajahwas. But his honor would see that the two-fifty was nothing at all to lend out for abeggarly week or so on such a magnificentspecimen. Why, Rajah was as good asreal estate or Government bonds. As forselling him, ten thousand wouldn't be atemptation. Would the gentlemen just steparound to the stable?

It was then I began to put up the odds onPinckney. I got a wink from them blackeyes of his, and there was the very divilan' all in 'em, with his face as straight as acrowbar.

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"Certainly," says he, "we'll be happy tomeet Rajah."

They had him moored to one of the floor-beams with an ox-chain around his nighhind foot. He wasn't as big as all outdoors, nor he wasn't any vest-pocketedition either. As elephants go, hewouldn't have made the welter-weightclass by about a ton. He was what I'd calljust a handy size, about two bureaus highby one wide. His iv'ry stoop rails hadbeen sawed off close to his jaw, so hedidn't look any more wicked than afoldin'-bed. And his eyes didn't have thatshifty wait-till-I-get-loose look theygenerally does. They were kind of soft,widowy, oh-me-poor-child eyes.

"He is sad, very sad, about all this," says

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one of the real gents. "Know? Rajahknows almost as much as we do, sir."

Pinckney took his word for it. "I think Ishall accommodate you with that loan,"says he. "Come into the hotel."

Say, I didn't think you could gold-brickPinckney as easy as that. One of the guyswrote out a receipt and Pinckney shoved itinto his pocket handin' over a wad ofyellow-backs. They didn't lose any timeabout headin' southeast, those two in theulsterets. Then we goes back to haveanother look at Rajah.

"It's a wonderful thing, professor, thispride of possession," says Pinckney."Only a few persons in the world ownelephants. I am one of them. Even though itis only for a week, and he is miles away, I

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shall feel that I own Rajah, and it willmake me glad."

Then he winks, so I knows he's just bein'gay. But Rajah didn't seem so gladsome.He was rockin' his head back and forth,and just as we gets there out rolls a bigtear, about a tumblerful.

"Can't we do something to chirk him up abit?" says I. "He seems to take it hard,being hung up on a ticket."

"There's something the matter with thiselephant," says Pinckney, taking a frontview of him. "He's in pain. See if youcan't find a veterinary, professor."

Yes, they said there was a horse-doctorknockin' around the country somewhere.He worked in the shingle-mill by spells,

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and then again in the chair-factory, or didodd jobs. A blond-haired native turned upwho was sure the Doc had gone hog-killin'up to the corners. So I goes back to thestable.

"I've found out," says Pinckney. "It'stoothache. He showed me. Open up,Rajah, and let the professor see. Up, up!"

Rajah was accommodatin'. He unhingedthe top half of his face to give me aprivate view. We used a box of matcheslocating that punky grinder. There was ahole in it big enough to drop a pool-ballinto. Talk about your chamber of horrors!Think what it must be to be as big as thatand feel bad all over.

"I never worked in an open-all-nightpainless shop," says I, "but I think I could

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do something for that if I could tap a drugstore."

"Good," says Pinckney. "We passed onedown the road."

They kept grindstones and stove-polishand dress-patterns there too, but they had arow of bottles in one corner.

"Gimme a roll of cotton-battin' an' a quartof oil of cloves," says I to the man.

He grinned and ripped a little ten-centbottle of toothache drops off a card. "Itmay feel that way, but you'll find thisplenty," says he.

"You get busy with my order," says I."This ain't my ache, it's Rajah's, andRajah's an elephant."

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"Sho!" says he, and hands over all he hadin stock. I went back on the jump. Wemade a wad half as big as your head,soaked it in the clove oil and rammed itdown with a nail-hammer. It was thefromage, all right. And say! Ever see anelephant grin and look tickled and try tosay thank you? The way he talked deaf anddumb with his trunk and shook hands withus and patted us on the back was almost ashuman as the way a man acts when the jurybrings in "Not guilty." Inside of threeminutes Rajah was that kinky he tried todo a double-shuffle and nearly wreckedthe barn. It made us feel good too, and westood around there and threw bouquets atourselves for what we'd done.

Then the cook came out and wanted to

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know should she keep right on boilingthem eggs or take 'em off; so weremembers about breakfast. Callin' for anew deal on the eggs, we sent out wordfor 'em to fix up a tub of hot mash forRajah and told the landlord to give ourfriend the best in the stable.

Rajah was fetchin' the bottom of the tubwhen we went out to say good-by. Hestretched his trunk out after us as we wentthrough the door. We'd climbed into thecar and was just gettin' under way whenwe hears things smash, and looks back tosee Rajah, with a section of the stablefloor draggin' behind, coming after us onthe gallop.

"Beat it!" says I to Goggles, and he wasreachin' for the speed lever, when he sees

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a town constable, with a tin badge like astove-lid, pull a brass watch on us.

"What's the limit?" shouts Pinckney.

"Ten an hour or ten dollars," says he.

"Here's your ten and costs," saysPinckney, tossing him a sawbuck. "Goahead, François."

We jumped into that village ordinance at aforty-mile an hour clip and would havehad Rajah hull down in about two minutes,but Pinckney had to take one last look. Thepoor old mutt had quit after a few jumps.He had squat in the middle of the road,lifted up his trombone frontispiece andwas bellowin' out his grief like a calf thathas lost its mommer. Pinckney couldn'tstand for that for a minute.

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"I say now, we'll have to go back," sayshe. "That wail would haunt me for days ifI didn't."

So back we goes to Rajah, and he almoststands on his head, he's so glad to see usagain.

"We'll just have to slip away without hisknowing it next time," says Pinckney."Perhaps he will get over his gratitude inan hour or so."

We unhitches Rajah from the stable floorand starts back for the hotel. The landlordmet us half-way.

"Don't you bring that critter near my placeag'in!" shouts he. "Take him away beforehe tears the house down."

An' no jollyin' nor green money would

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change that hayseed's mind. The wholepopulation was with him too. While wewere jawin' about it, along comes thetown marshal with some kind of injunctionwarnin' us to remove Rajah, the samebein' a menace to life and property.

There wa'n't nothing for it but to sneak.We moves out of that burg at half speed,with old Rajah paddin' close behind, histrunk restin' affectionately on the tonneau-back and a kind of satisfied right-to-homelook in them little eyes of his. Made mefeel like a pair of yellow shoes at a dance,but Pinckney seemed to think there wassomething funny about it. "'And over thehills and far away the happy Princessfollowed him,' as Tennyson puts it," sayshe.

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"Tennyson was dead onto his job," says I."But when do we annex the steam calliopeand the boys in red coats with banners?We ought to have the rest of the grandforenoon parade, or else shake Rajah."

"Oh, perhaps we can find quarters for himin the next town, where he hasn'tdisgraced himself," says Pinckney.

Pinckney hadn't counted on the telephone,though. A posse with shot-guns and bench-warrants met us a mile out from the nextplace and shooed us away. They'd heardthat Rajah was a man-killer and they hadbrought along a pound of arsenic to feedhim. After they'd been coaxed from behindtheir barricade, though, and had seen whata gentle, confidin' beast Rajah really was,they compromised by letting us take a road

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that led into the next county.

"This is gettin' sultry," says I as we goeson the side-track.

"I am enjoying it," says Pinckney. "Nowlet's have some road work."

Say, you ought to have seen thatprocession. First comes me and Pinckney,in running gear; then Rajah, hoofing alongat our heels, as joyous as a chowder party;and after him Goggles, with the benzinewagon. Seems to me I've heard yarnsabout how grateful dumb beasts could beto folks that had done 'em a good turn, butRajah's act made them tales seem likesarsaparilla ads. He was chock full ofgratitude. He was nutty over it. Seemedlike he couldn't think of anything else butthat wholesale toothache of his and how

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he'd got shut of it. He just adopted us onthe spot. Whenever we stopped he'd hangaround and look us over, kind of admirin',and we couldn't move a step but he wasthere, flappin' his big ears and swingin'his trunk, just as though he was sayin':"Whoope-e-e, me fellers! You're the realpersimmons, you are."

We couldn't find a hotel where they'd takeus in that night, so we had to bribe afarmer to let us use his spare bed rooms.We tethered Rajah to a big apple-tree justunder our windows to keep him quiet, andlet him browse on a Rose of Sharon bush.He only ripped off the rain pipe and trod aflower-bed as hard as a paved court.

At breakfast Pinckney remarks, sort ofsoothin':

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"We might as well enjoy Rajah's societywhile we have it. I suppose those circusmen will be after him in a few days."

Then he remembers that receipt and pullsit out. I could see something was queer bythe way he screwed up his mouth. Hetosses the paper over to me. Say! do youknow what them two ulsteret guys haddone? They'd given Pinckney a bill ofsale, makin' over all rights, privileges andgood-will entire.

"You're it," says I.

"So it seems," says Pinckney. "But Ihardly know whether I've got Rajah orRajah's got me."

"If I owned something I didn't want," saysI, "seems to me I'd sell it. There must be

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other come-ons."

"We will sell him," says Pinckney.

Well, we tried. For three or four days wedidn't do anything else; and say, when Ithink of them days they seem like a mince-pie dream. We did our handsomest tomake those Nutmeggers believe that theyneeded Rajah in their business, that hewould be handy to have around the place.But they couldn't see it. We argued withabout fifty horny-handed plow-pushers,showin' 'em how Rajah could pull more'na string of oxen a block long, and could belet out for stump-digging in summer, or asa snow-plough in winter. We triedliverymen, storekeepers, summercottagers; but the nearest we came tomaking a sale was to a brewer who'd just

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built a new house with red and yellowfancy woodwork all over the front of it.He thought Rajah might do for a lawnornament and make himself useful as afountain during dry spells, but when henoticed that Rajah didn't have any tusks hesaid it was all off. He knew where hecould buy a whole cast-iron menagerie,with all the frills thrown in, at half theprice.

And we wa'n't holding Rajah at any swellfigure. He was on the bargain counterwhen the sale began. Every day was afifty-per-cent. clearance with us. We wereclosing out our line of elephants onaccount of retiring from business, andRajah was a remnant.

But they wouldn't buy. Generally they

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threatened to set the dogs on us. It wasworse than trying to sell a cargo of furovercoats in Panama. In time it began toleak through into our heads that Rajahwa'n't negotiable. Didn't seem to troublehim any. He was just as glad to be with usas at first, followed us around like a petpoodle, and got away with his bale of hayas regular as a Rialto hamfatter raidin' thefree lunch.

"Is it a life sentence, Pinckney?" says I. "Isthis twin foster-brother act to a mislaidelephant to be a continuous performance?If it is we'd better hit the circuit regularand draw our dough on salary day. Forme, I'm sick of havin' folks act like wewas a quarantine station. Let's anchorRajah to something solid and skiddoo."

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But Pinckney couldn't stand it to think ofRajah being left to suffer. He was gettin'kind of sore on the business, just the same.Then he plucks a thought. We wires to afriend of his in Newport to run down tothe big circus headquarters and jolly theminto sending an elephant-trainer up to us.

"A trainer will know how to coax Rajahoff," says he, "and perhaps he will takehim as a gift."

"It's easy money," says I.

But it wasn't. That duck at Newport sendsback a message that covers four sheets ofyellow paper, tellin' how glad he was toget track of Pinckney again and how hemust come down right away. Oh, theywanted Pinckney bad! It was like the tapof the bell for a twenty-round go with the

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referee missin'. Seems that Mrs. JerryToynbee was tryin' to pull off one of thoseback-yard affairs that win newspaperspacesome kind of a fool amateurcircusand they'd got to have Pinckneythere to manage it or the thing would fush.As for the elephant-trainer, he'd forgotthat.

"By Jove!" says Pinckney, real sassy like.

"That's drawin' it mild," says I. "Wouldyou like the loan of a few able-bodiedcuss-words?"

"But I have an idea," says Pinckney.

"Handcuff it," says I; "it's a case ofbreakin' and enterin'."

But he didn't have so much loft-room tolet, after all. His first move was to hunt up

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a railroad station and charter a box-car.We carpets it with hay, has a man knocktogether a couple of high bunks in one end,and throws in some new horse-blankets.

"Now," says Pinckney, "you and I andRajah will start for Newport on the nightfreight."

"Have you asked Rajah?" says I.

But Rajah knew all about riding in box-cars. He walked up the plank after us justlike we was a pair of Noahs. Goggles wassent off over the road with the cart, all byhis lonesome.

I've traveled a good deal with real sports,and once I came back from St. Louis withthe delegates to a national convention, butthis was my first trip in an animal car. It

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wasn't so bad, though, and it was all overby daylight next morning. There wasn'tanyone in sight but milkmen and bakers'boys as we drove down Bellevue-ave.,with Rajah grippin' the rear axle of ourcab. I don't know how he felt about buttin'into Newport society at that time of day,but I looked for a cop to pinch us assecond-story men.

We fetches up at the swellest kind of aranch you ever saw, iron gates to it like astorage warehouse, and behind that treesand bushes and lawn, like a slice out ofCentral Park. Pinckney wakes up thelodge-keeper and after he lets down thebars we pikes around to the stable. Itlooked more like an Episcopal church thana stable, and we didn't find any horses

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inside, anyway, only seven different kindsof gasoline carts. The stable-hands allseemed to know Pinckney and to be proudof it, but they shied some at Rajah and me.

"This is part of a little affair I'm managingfor Mrs. Toynbee," says Pinckney."Professor McCabe and Rajah will stayhere for a day or two, strictly in cog., youknow."

What Pinckney says seemed to be rulesand regulations there, so Rajah and I gotthe glad hand after that. And for a stablevisit it was the best that ever happened.I've stopped at lots of two-dollar housesthat would have looked like Bowerylodgings alongside of that stable. And oneof the boys thought he could handle themitts some. Yes, that in cog. business

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wasn't so worse, at fifty per.

All this time Pinckney was as busy as theman at the ticket window, only droppin' inonce or twice after dark to see if Rajahwas stayin' good. The show was beingknocked into shape and Pinckney wasmaster of ceremonies. I knew he was goin'to work Rajah in somehow; but he didn'thave any time to put me next and I nevertumbled until he'd sprung the trick.

About the third day things began to humaround the Toynbee place. A gang oftentmen came with a round top and put itup. They strung a lot of side-show bannerstoo, and built lemonade-stands in theshrubbery. If it hadn't been for the Johnnieboys in hot clothes strollin' around you'dthought a real one-ring wagon-show had

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struck town. But say, that bunch of clownsand bum bareback riders had papas whocould have given 'em a Forepaugh outfitevery birthday.

Early next morning I got the tip fromPinckney to sneak Rajah out of the stableand over into the dressin'-tent. The waythat old chap's eyes glistened when he sawthe banners and things was a wonder. Hesure did know a heap, that Rajah. He wasas excited and anxious as a new chorusgirl at a fall opening; but when I gave himthe word he held himself in.

Just before the grand entry I got a peek atthe house, and it was a swell mob: samefolks that you'll see at the Horse Show,only there wasn't no dollar-a-head push torubber at 'em, as they wa'n't on exhibition.

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They was just out for fun, and I guess theyknow how to have it, seein' that's theirsteady job.

Number four on the programme was putdown as: "Mr. Lionel Pinckney OgdenBruce, with his wonderfully life-likeelephant Rajah." I heard the barker givin'his song an' dance about the act, and he gota great hand. Then Pinckney goes on andthe crowd howls.

You see, he'd had a loose canvas suit, likepajamas, made for Rajah, and stuffed outwith straw. It was painted to looksomething like elephant hide, but some ofthe straw had been left sticking through theseams. With Rajah sewed inside of this,he looked like a rank imitation of himself.

"Fake, fake!" they yells at 'em as they

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showed up. "Who's playing the hind legs,Lionel?" and a lot of things like that. Theythrew peanuts and apples at Rajah, andgenerally enjoyed themselves.

Then all of a sudden Pinckney pulls thepuckering string, yanks off the padding,and out walks old Rajah as chipper asBilly Jerome. Fetch 'em? Well, say!You've seen a gang of school-kids whenthe sleight-of-hand man makes a pass overthe egg in the hat and pulls out a liverabbit? These folks acted the same way.They howled, they hee-hawed, theyjumped up and down on the seats.

They'd been lookin' for the same oldelephant with two men inside, the goodold chestnut that they'd been tryin' to laughover for years, and when this philopena

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was sprung on 'em they were as tickled asa baby with a jack-in-the-box. It wouldn'thave got more'n one laugh out of a crowdof every-day folks, but that swell mob justwent wild over it. It was a new stunt, donespecial for them by one of their owncrowd.

Was Pinckney it? Why, he was the wholeshow! They kept him and Rajah in the ringfor half an hour, and they let loose everytime Rajah lifted his trunk or napped hisears. When he got 'em quiet Pinckneymade a speech. He said he was happy tosay that the grand door prize, asannounced on the hand-bills, had beendrawn by Mrs. Jeremiah Toynbee, and thatRajah was the prize. Would she take itwith her, or have it sent?

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You've heard of Mrs. Jerry. She's a realsport, she is. She's the one that stirred upall that fuss by takin' her tame pantherdown to Bailey's Beach with her. AndMrs. Jerry wasn't goin' back on herreputation or missin' any two-page ads. inthe papers.

"You may send him, please," says Mrs.Jerry.

Maybe they thought that was all a part ofPinckney's fake. They didn't know howhard we'd tried to unload Rajah. We didn'tdo any lingerin' around. While the showwas goin' on we sneaks out of the back ofthe tent with Rajah and across to thestable. The rest was easy. He'd got soused to seein' me there that I reckon he'dsized it up for my regular hang-out, so

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when we ties him up fast and slides outeasy, one at a time, he never mistrusts.

"Professor," says Pinckney, "it seems tome that this is an excellent opportunity forus to go away."

"It's all of that," says I, "and let's make it aquick shift."

We did. Goggles shook us up some on theway down, but we hit Broadway in timefor breakfast.

CHAPTER VI

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You didn't happen to see Pinckney at thelast Horse Show, did you? Well, you'dnever known him for the same ambulancefare that dropped into the Studio that day.He's been on the 'rock for two monthsnow, and his nerves are as steady as atruck horse. There's more meat on him,too, than there was. I don't have to have adustpan ready, in case I should jolt himone.

But say, next time any two-by-four chappyfloats in here for a private course, I getsplans and specifications before I takes himon. No more Rajah business in mine. See?

There's another thing, too. I'm thinkin' ofhirin' a husky boy with a club to do the

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turnkey act for me. Or maybe I could getout an injunction against myself to keepme from leavin' home. What I need is alife sentence to stay in little old NewYork. It's the only place where thingshappen reg'lar and sensible. If you seerocks flyin' round in the air, or a newbuilding doin' the hoochee-coochee an'sheddin' its cornices, or manhole coverspoppin' off, you know just what'supnothing but a little stick dynamitehandled careless, or some mislaid gastouched off by a plumber.

But the minute I lets some one lead meacross a ferry, or beyond the Bronx, theevent card is on the blink, and I'm abunky-doodle boy. Long's I don't getmore'n a mile from Forty-Second-st., I'm

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Professor McCabe, and the cops pass methe time of day. Outside of that I'm a stray,and anyone that gets the fit ties a can tome.

It was my mix-up with that Blenmontaggregation that stirs me up. Pinckney wasat the bottom of this, too. Course, I can'tregister any kick; for when it comes todoing the hair-trigger friendship act,Pinckney's the real skookum preferred.But this was once when he slipped me ablank.

Looked like bein' fed with a spoon, too, atthe start. All I had to do was to take theone-thirty-six out to Blenmont, put in anhour with Jarvis, catch the three-fiftyback, and charge anything I had the front toname. What's more, I kind of cottoned to

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Jarvis, from the drop of the hat.

He was waitin' at the station for me, witha high-wheeled cart, and a couple ofgingery circus horses hitched one in frontof the other like two links of wienerwurst.They were tryin' to play leap-frog as thetrain comes in; but it didn't seem to worryJarvis any more'n if he was drivin' a pairof mail-wagon plugs.

One of those big pink-and-white chaps,Jarvis was, with nice blue eyes and ashes-of-roses hair. There was a lot of him, andit was well placed. He had sort of asoothing, easy way of talking, too, like achurch organ with the soft pedal on.

Me and Jarvis got acquainted right away.He said he didn't care much about thephysical-culture gamedidn't exactly need

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it, and he'd been through all that before,anywaybut, mother and sister wanted himto take it up again, and Pinckney'd toldwhat a crackerjack I was; so he thought hemight as well go in for it. He said he'd hada little hole fixed up where one could dothat sort of thing, y'know, and he hoped Iwouldn't find it such a beastly bore, afterall.

Oh, he was a gent, Mr. Jarvis. But whatgot me was the careless way he juggledthe reins over those two bob-tailed nagsthat was doin' a ragtime runaway, and himusin' only three fingers, and touchin' 'emup with the whip. It was his lucky day,though, and we got there without anambulance.

It was somethin' of a place to get to,

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yesabout a hundred and 'steen rooms andbath, I should say, with a back yard thatmust have slopped over into Connecticutsome. That's what you get by havin' agrandpop who put his thumb-print onevery dollar that came his way.

I guess Jarvis was used to livin' in a placelike that, though. He didn't stop to tellwhat anything cost, or show off any of thebric-à-brac. He just led the way throughseven or eight parlors and palm-rooms,until we fetched up in the hole he'd fixedup to exercise in. It was about three timesas big as the Studio here, and if there wasanything missing from the outfit I couldn'thave told what it wasflyin'-rings, bars,rowin'-machine, punchin'-bags, dumb-bellssay! with a secretary and a few wall

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mottos, there was the makin's of a Y. M.C. A. branch right on the ground. Thenthere was dressin'-rooms, a shower bath,and a tiled plunge tank like they have inthese Turkish places.

"Lucky you don't go in strong forexercise," says I. "If you did, I s'poseyou'd fix up Madison Square Garden?"

"That architect was an ass," says Jarvis;"but mother told him to go ahead. Fancy hethought I was a Sandow, you know."

Well, we gets into our gym. clothes, picksout a set of kid pillows, and had juststepped out on the rubber for a littlewarmin' up, when in sails a fluffdelegation. There was a fat old one, thatlooked as though she might be mother; aslim baby-eyed one, that any piker would

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have played for sister; and another, that Icouldn't place at all. She wasn't a Fifth-ave. girlyou could tell that by the way shewore her hair bunched down on the napeof her neckbut it was a cinch she wasn'tany poor relation.

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Mother, sister, and Lady Evelyn.

"Lost their way goin' to the matinée, eh?"

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says I.

Jarvis, he gets pink clear down to hiscollarbone. "I beg pardon, professor,"says he. "It's only mother and the girls. I'llsend them off."

"That's right; shoo 'em," says I.

But mother wouldn't shoo any more'n atrolley-car. "Now, don't be silly about it,Jarvis, dear," says she. "You know howLady Evelyn dotes on athletics, and howyour sister and I do, too. So we're justgoing to stay and watch you."

"Oh, come, mother," says Jarvis; "it isn'tjust the thing, you know."

"Ask Lady Evelyn," says mother. "Why,she's one of the patronesses of theOldwich Cricket Club, and pours tea for

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the young men at their games. Now, goahead, Jarvis; there's a dear."

He looks at me for a tip, and that giveshim a hunch. "But the professor" says he.

"Oh, Professor McCabe doesn't mind us abit; do you now, professor?" says sister,buttin' in, real coy and giddy.

"I can stand it if you can," says I, and shetips me a goo-goo smile that was all to thecandied violets.

"There!" says the mother. "Now go righton as though we were not here at all. Butremember not to be too rough, Jarvis,dear."

I grins at that, and Jarvis dear looksfoolisher than ever. But the ladies hadsettled themselves in front seats, and there

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didn't seem to be anything to do but to playmarbles or quit an' go home. And say, Idon't know which looked more like astage-hand caught in front of the drop,Jarvis or me. We went through some kindof motions, though, until I begins to getover bein' rattled. Then I tries to bracehim up.

"Little faster with that right counter there,"says I. "And block more with your elbow.Ah, you're wide opensee?" and I taps himonce or twice. "Now look out for this leftlead to the face. Come, use that right alittle. 'Tain't in a sling, is it? Foot-work,now. You side-step like a truck-horse.There, that's the article. Now let 'emcomeblock, counter, guard!"

You see, I was doin' my best to work up a

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little excitement and get Jarvis to forgetthe audience; but it wasn't much use.About all we did was to walk around andpat each other like a pair of kittens.There'd been as much exercise in passin'the plate at church.

Mother thought it was lovely, though, andsister had that gushy look in her eyes thather kind wears after they've been to seeMaude Adams. Lady Evelyn, though,didn't seem to be struck silly by ourperformance. She acted as thoughsomeone had been tryin' to sell her a goldbrick. Her nose was up in the air, andshe'd turned a shoulder to us, like she waswonderin' how long it would be before thenext act was put on. Couldn't blame her,either. That was the weakest imitation of a

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sparrin' bout I ever stood up in.

But there was no stirrin' Jarvis. He'd gotstage-fright, or cold feet, or something ofthe kind. It wa'n't that he didn't know how,for he had all the tags of a good amateurabout his moves; but somehow he'd beenqueered. So, as soon as we can, we quits.Then sister gets her chance to gush. Sherushes to the front and turns the baby stareon me like I was all the goods.

"Oh, it was just too sweet for anything!"says she. "Do you know, professor, I'vealways wanted to see a real boxing-match;but Jarvis would never let me before. He'stold me horrid stories about how brutalthey were. Now I know they're nothing ofthe sort. I shall come every time you andJarvis have one, and so will Lady Evelyn.

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You didn't think it was brutal, did you,Evelyn?"

Lady Evelyn humped her eyebrows andgave me one look. "No," says she, "Ishouldn't call it brutal, exactly," and thenshe swallows a polite, society snicker in away that made me mad from the groundup. Jarvis didn't lose any of that, either. Igot a glimpse of him turnin' automobilered, and tryin' to choke himself with histongue.

"It's something like the wand drill we usedto do at college," says sister. "Don't youlike the wand drill, professor?"

"When it ain't done too rough, I'm deadstuck on it," says I.

"I just knew you didn't like rough games,"

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says she. "You don't look as though youwould, you know."

"That's right," say I.

"Jarvis says that once you knocked outthree men in one evening; but I'm sure youweren't rude about it," she gurgles.

"And that's no pipe, either," says I. "Iwouldn't be rude for money."

"What is a knockout, anyway?" says she.

"Why," says I, "it's just pushin' a felleraround the platform until he's too dizzy tostand up."

"What fun!" says sister.

We makes a break for the dressin'-roomabout then, and the delegation clears out.On the way back to the station Jarvis

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apologizes seven different ways, and endsup by givin' me the cue to the whole game.

Seems that mother's steady job in life wasto get him married off to some one thatsuited her for a daughter-in-law. She'dbeen at it for five or six years; but Jarvishad always blocked her moves, until LadyEvelyn shows up. I guessed that he'dpicked her out himself, and was gettin'along fine, when mother begins to mix inand arrange things. Evelyn shies at that,and commences to hand Jarvis the frappédsmile. This little visit to the sparrin'exhibition the old lady had planned forEvelyn's special benefit.

"But hang it all!" says Jarvis, "I couldn'tstand up there and show off, like aSunday-school boy spouting a piece.

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Made me feel like a silly ass, you know."

"You looked the part," says I. "About onemore of those stunts, and Lady Evelyn'llwant to adopt the two of us."

"No more," says he. "She must think I'm amilksop. Why, she's got brothers that areofficers in the British army, fellows whoget themselves shot, and win medals, andall that sort of thing."

Well, I was sorry for Jarvis; for the girlwas a good looker, all right, and they'dhave mated up fine. But I'm no schatchen.Physical culture's my game, an' I ain'ttakin' on no marriage bureau as a sideline. So we shook hands and called it acanceled contract. Then Jarvis jerks thosecircus horses out of a bow-knot androunds the corner on one wheel, while I

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climbs aboard the choo-choo cars and getsback near Broadway.

I wasn't lookin' to run across Jarvis again,seein' as how me and him has our ownparticular sets; but 'twasn't more'n threedays before he shows up at the Studio. Hewas lookin' down an' out, too.

"Dropped in for a real rough game ofpussy-wants-a-corner," says I, "or shallwe make it ring-around-the-rosy?"

"I say, now, Shorty," says he, "if you'd hadit rubbed in as hard as I have, you'd letup."

"Heard from Lady Evelyn?" says I.

He kind of groaned and fell into a chair. "Itried to tell her about it," says he; "but shewouldn't listen to a word. She only asked

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if you were a professor of dancing."

"Hully chee!" says I. "Say, you tell herfrom me that I'm a cloak-model, an' proudof it. Dancin'-master, eh? Do you stand fora josh like that?"

"Hang me if I do!" says he, jumpin' up andmeasurin' off three-foot steps across thefloor. "The Lady Evelyn's going back toEngland in a few days, but before sheleaves I want her to have a chance towell,to see that I'm not the sort she thinks I am.And I want you to help me out, professor."

"Ah, say, you got the wrong transfer," saysI. "I'm nothin' but a dub at anything likethat. What you want is to get Clyde Fitchto build you a nice little one-act scenewhere you can play leadin' gent to herleadin' lady."

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"You're mistaken, Shorty," says he. "I'mnot putting up a game. No heroics for me.I'm just a plain, ordinary chump, andwilling to let it go at that. But I'm no softy,and she's got to know it. There's anotherthing: mother and sister have carried thisathletic nonsense about far enough. They'dlike to exhibit me to all the fool womenthey know, as a kind of modern Hercules,and I'm sick of it. Now, I've got a plan thatought to cure 'em of that."

For Jarvis, it wa'n't so slow. Say, he ain'thalf so much asleep as he looks. Hisproposition is to spring the real thing on'em, a five-round go for keeps, with ring-weight gloves, and all the trimmin's.

"They've been bothering me for more,"says he. "I haven't heard anything else

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since you were there. And Lady Evelyn'sbeen putting them up to it, I'll bet a hat.What do you say, professor? Wouldn't yougive it to them?"

"I sure would," says I. "It's comin' to 'em.And I know of two likely Red Hook boysthat's just achin' to get at each other in thering for a fifty-dollar purse."

"No, no," says Jarvis. "I mean to be in thismyself. It'sit's necessary, you know."

"Oh!" says I, looking him over kind ofcurious. "But see here, do you think you'dbe good for five rounds?"

"I'm not quite in condition now," says he;"but there was a time"

You know. You've seen these college-trained boxers, that think they're hittin' real

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hard when their punch wouldn't dent acheese-pie.

"We'd have to fake it some," says I.

"Oh, no, that wouldn't do at all," saysJarvis. "This must be a genuine match. I'llput up ten to one, five hundred to fifty; andif I stay the five rounds I get the fifty."

"Whe-e-ew!" says I. "It'd be like takin'candy from a kid. I couldn't do it."

Jarvis, he kind of colored up at that, but hedidn't go off his nut. "I beg pardon," sayshe; "but I have an idea, you know, that itwouldn't be so one-sided as you think."

Well, say, I've made lots of easy moneyoff'n ideas just like that, and when it wasput up to me as a personal favor to do it, Icouldn't renig. It did go against the grain to

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play myself for a longshot, though; butJarvis wouldn't listen to anything else,claimin' his weight and reach made it aneven thing. So I takes him on, an' we billsthe go for the next afternoon.

"I may have to bring up Swifty Joe for abottle-holder," says I, "an' Swifty ain't justwhat you'd call parlor broke."

"All the better for that," says Jarvis. "AndI'd be much obliged if you'd find anotherlike him for my corner."

Course, there's only one Swifty. He's got abent-in nose, an' a lop ear, an' a jaw like ahippo. He's won more bouts by scarin' hisman stiff than any plug in the business.He'd been a champ long ago, if it wa'n'tfor a chunk of yellow in him as big as agrape fruit. No, I couldn't match up Swifty.

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I done the next best thing, though; I sent forGorilla Quigley, and gets Mike Slattery tohold the watch on us.

Mike gets the hint that this was a swelljoint we was goin' to; so he shows up inSouth Brooklyn evenin' dressplug hat,striped shirt, and sack coat. I makes himchuck the linen for a sweater; but Icouldn't separate him from the shiny toppiece. The Gorilla always wears aswimmin' jersey with a celluloid dicky; sohe passes muster.

Anyways, when old Knee Pants, theBlenmont butler, sees us lined up at thefront entrance, we had him pop-eyed. Hewas goin' to ring up the police reserves,when Mr. Jarvis comes out and passes usin.

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"They're a group of forty-nine per cents.,"says I; "but you said you wanted thatkind."

"It's all right," says he. "I've explained tothe ladies that a few of my friendsinterested in physical culture were comingup to-day, and that perhaps they'd betterstay out; but they'll be there just the same."

He'd got 'em right, too. Just as we'd fixedthe ropes, and got out the pails and towels,in they floats; mother beamin' away like ahead-light, sister all fixed ready to blowbubbles, and the Lady Evelyn with hernose stickin' up in the air.

"Professor, will you do the honors?" saysJarvis to me.

And I did 'em. "Ladies," says I, "lemme

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put you next to some sure-fire talent. Thisgent with the ingrowin' Roman nose-pieceis me assistant Swifty Joe Gallagher. He'sjust as han'some as he looks."

"Aw, cut it out!" says Swifty.

"Back under the sink with the rest of thepipes," says I, out of the side of my mouth.Then I does another duck. "And this heregooseb'ry blond in the Alice-blue jersey,is Mr. Gorilla Quigley, that put Gans outonceall but. The other gent you may havemet before, seein' as he's from one of thefirst families of Brooklynlives under thebridge. His name's Mike Slattery. Now, ifyou'll excuse us, we'll get busy."

As I takes my corner, I could see motherbeginnin' to look worried; but sister opensa box of chocolate creams and prepares to

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have the time of her life. Lady Evelynsprings her lorgnette and sizes us up likewe was a bunch of Buffalo Bill Indiansjust off the reservation.

I'd forgot to tip off Slattery that therewasn't any postprandials expected of him;so the first thing I knew he was makin' hislittle ring speech, just the same's if he wasannouncin' events at the Never DieAthletic club.

"Now gentsand ladies," says he, "this is afive-round go for a stay, betweenProfessor Shorty McCabe, ex-light-weightchampeen of the world, and another gentwhat goes on the cards as an unknown. It'scatch weights, an' the winner pulls downthe whole basket of greens. There ain'tgoin' to be no hittin' after the clinch, and if

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there's any fouls, you leave it to me. Don'tcome buttin' in. It's been put up to me tokeep time an' referee this mix-up, and Idon't want no help. You bottle-holdersstay in your corners till the count's over.Now are you ready? Then go!"

There was a squeal or two when we shedsour bath-robes and steps to the middle,and I guesses that the ladies was gettin'their first view of ring clothes. But Iwasn't lookin' anywhere but at Jarvis. Andsay, he would have made a hit anywhere.He had just paddin' enough to round himout well, and not so much as to make himlook ladyfied. Course, he was a goodmany pounds over-weight for the job he'dtackled, but he'd have looked mighty wellon a poster. Honest, it seemed a shame to

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have to muss him.

Jarvis wa'n't there to stand in the lime-light, though. He went right to work asthough he meant business. I'd kind offigured on lettin' him have his own wayfor a couple of rounds, takin' it easy, an'jockeyin' him into making a showin'; butthe first thing I knows he lands a rightswing that near lifts me off my feet, an'Swifty sings out to me to stop my kiddin'.

"Beg pardon," says Jarvis; "but I'm afterthat fifty."

"If I'd had a putty jaw, you'd got it then,"says I. "Here's the twin to that."

But my swipe didn't reach him by an inch,and the best I could do was to swap half-arm jolts until I'd got steadied down again.

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Well say, I wasn't more'n an hour findin'out that I couldn't monkey much withJarvis. He knew how to let his weightfollow the glove, and he blocked as prettyas if he was punchin' the bag.

"You didn't learn that in no college," saysI, fiddlin' for a place to plant my left.

"You're quite right," says he, and bores inlike a snow-plough.

We steamed up a little in the second; but itwas an even break at that, barrin' the factthat I played more for the wind, and hadJarvis breathin' fast when Slattery calledquits. Gorilla Quigley was onto his job,though, an' he gives him good advicewhile he was wavin' the towel. I couldhear him coachin' Jarvis to save his breathand make me do the rushin'.

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"Don't waste no time on that cast-iron mugof his," says Gorilla. "All you gotter do iscover up an' stay the limit."

But that wa'n't Jarvis's program. He beginslike a bridge car-rusher makin' for a seat,and he had me back into my corner in notime at all. We mixed it then, mixed itgood and plenty. Jarvis wa'n't handin' outany love-taps, either; and I didn't havebeef enough to stop a hundred-an'-eightypound swing without feelin' the jar. I wasdizzy from 'em all right; but I jumps inclose an' pounds away on his ribs until hegives ground. Then I comes the Nelsoncrouch, and rips a few cross-overs inwhere they'd do the most good.

That didn't stop him, though. Pretty soonhe comes in for more. Say, I never see a

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guy that could look pleasanter while hewas passin' out hot ones. It wasn't afightin' grin, same as Terry wears; it wasjust a calm, steady, business-likeproposition, one of the kind that goes witha "Sorry to trouble you, but I've got toknock your block off." Now, I can grin,too, until I makes up my mind that it's timeto pull the other chap's cork. But I wasnever up against any of this politebusiness before. It wins me, though. Rightthere I says to myself: "Jarvis, if you cankeep that up for two rounds more, you'rewelcome to win out." It was worth themoney.

And just as I gets this notion in my nut, hecuts loose with a bunch of rapid-fire jabsthat had me wonderin' where I'd be if one

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landed just right. I ain't got it mapped outyet just how it happened; for about thenthe ladies let go a lot of squeals; but Iremembers stoppin' a facer that showedme pin-wheels, an' then I quits fancyboxin'.

We was roughin' it all over the ring, andSwifty an' the Gorilla was yellin' things,an' Slattery was yellin' back at them, andthe muss was as pretty as any ten-dollar-a-head crowd ever paid to see, when all ofa sudden Jarvis misses a swing, and Ithrows all I had into an upper cut. Itconnected with his chin dimple like ahammer on a nut. The next thing I knowsSwifty has the elbow-lock on me frombehind, and Mike is standin' over Mr.Jarvis makin' the count.

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Well, there wa'n't any cheerin' andshoutin'. I didn't have to shake hands withany crazy bunch, or be toted off to thedressin'-room on their shoulders. When Igets so I can look straight I sees motherkeeled over in her chair, and sister fannin'her with the chocolate box. And say, I feltlike a lead quarter. Next I takes a squint atLady Evelyn. She was standin' up as stiffas a tin soldier on parade, with her eyessnappin' and her fingers clinched.

Just one of them looks was enough for me.I gets busy with a pail, and goes to workon Jarvis. He was clean out, of course, butrestin' as easy as a baby. We was bringin'him round all right, when I feels a pushthat shoves me to one side, and in rushesLady Evelyn. She gets one arm under his

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neck just as he opens his eyes with thatkind of a "What's the matter now?" waythey has of comin' back.

Course, it don't last long, that wizzy feelin'and there ain't any hurt to speak ofafterward; but I reckon Lady Evelyn don'tknow much about knock-outs. The way shehugs him up you'd thought he'd been halfkilled. We was all lookin' foolish anduseless, I guess, when the lady turns to meand snaps out:

"Brute! I hope you're satisfied!"

Say, it wouldn't have been worse if I'dbeen caught robbin' a poor box. "Thankyou, ma'am," says I, and fades into thebackground.

"Go away, all of you!" says she.

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So Swifty and the other two comes taggin'along behind, and we had a little reunionin the dressin'-room.

"On the dead, now," says Slattery, "whatwas the foul?"

"Who's claimin' foul?" says Swifty,bristlin'.

"Why the lady gives it to Shorty straight,"says he.

"Ah, go dream about it!" says Swifty. "Shedon't know a foul from a body wallop."

"See here," says I, "you can talk all thatover while you're hoofin' it back to thestation; and you're due to be on your wayin just four minutes by the clock; so chuckit!"

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"I ain't heard no step-lively call," saysSlattery. "Besides, I likes the place."

"Well, it don't like you," says I. "Mr.Jarvis and me have had enough of yourrough-house society to last us a time and ahalf. Now bunky-doodle!"

They was a sore-head trio for fair, afterthat; but when I'd paid 'em off, with a fiverextra for luck, they drops out of a windowonto the lawn and pikes off like a squad ofjail-breakers. I was some easier in mymind then; but I wa'n't joyful, at that.

You see, Mr. Jarvis had treated me sowhite, and he was such a nice decentchap, that I was feelin' mighty cut up aboutgivin' him the quick exit right before thegirl he was gone on. Sure, he'd played forit; but I could see I shouldn't have done it.

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Knock-outs ain't in my line any more,anyway; but to spring one right beforewomen folks, and in a swell joint likeBlenmontsay, it made me feel like a lastyear's straw hat on the first day of June.

"Shorty," says I, "you're a throw-back.You better quit travelin' with real gents,and commence eatin' with your knifeagain. Here's Mr. Jarvis gets you to helphim out in a little society affair, and youoverdoes it so bad he can't square himselfin a hundred years. Back to the junctionfor yours."

Well, I was that grouchy I wouldn't look atmyself in the glass. But I rubs down andgets into my Rialto wardrobe that I'dbrought along in a suit-case. Then I waitsfor Jarvis. Oh, I didn't want to see him, but

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it was up to me to say my little piece.

It was near an hour before he shows up,wearin' his bathrobe, an' lookin' as gay asa flower-shop window.

"On the level, now," says I, before he hada show to make any play at me, "if I'dknown what a pinhead I was, I'd stayed inthe cushion. How bad did I queer you?"

"Shorty," says he, shovin' out his hand,"you're a brick."

"An' cracked in the bakin', eh?" says I.

"But you don't understand," says he. "She'smine, Shorty! The Lady Evelynshe'spromised to marry me."

"Serves you right," says I, as we shakeshands. "But how does she allow to get

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back at me?"

"Oh, she knows all about everything now,"says Jarvis, "and she wants to apologize."

Say, he wasn't stringin' me either. Blowme if she didn't. And sister? "You'rehorrid!" says she. "Perfectly horrid. Sothere!" Now can you beat 'em? But, as I'vesaid before, when it comes to figurin' onwhat women or horses'll do, I'm a four-flusher.

CHAPTER VII

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No, I ain't goin' out to Blenmont thesedays. Jarvis does his exercisin' here, andhe says his mother's havin' a ball roommade out of that gym.

I've been stickin' to the pavements, like Isaid I would. Lookin' cheerful, too? Whynot? If you'd been a minute sooner you'dheard me wobblin' "Please, Ma-ma, nail arose on me." But say, I'll give you the tale,and then maybe you can write your ownticket.

You see, I'd left Swifty Joe runnin' thePhysical Culture Studio, and I was doin' alap up the sunny side of the avenue, just togive my holiday regalia an airing. I wasn'tthinkin' a stroke, only just breathin' deep

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and feelin' glad I was right there andnowhere elseyou know how the avenue'slikely to go to your head these spring days,with the carriage folks swampin' thetraffic squad, and everybody that isanybody right on the spot or hurrying toget there, and everyone of 'em as fit andfinished as so many prize-winners at afair?

Well, I wasn't lookin' for anything to comemy way, when all of a sudden I sees agoggle-capped tiger throw open the doorof one of them plate-glass benzinebroughams at the curb, and bend over likehe has a pain under his vest. I was justside-steppin' to make room for someupholstered old battle-ax that I supposedowned the rig, when I feels a hand on my

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elbow and hear some one say: "Why,Shorty McCabe! is that you?"

She was a dream, all rightone of yourprincess-cut girls, with the kind of clotheson that would make a turkey-red check-book turn pale. But you couldn't fool me,even if she had put a Marcelle crimp inthat carroty hair of hers, and washed offthe freckles and biscuit flour. You can'tchange Irish-blue eyes, can you? Andwhen you've come to know a voice that'sgot a range from maple-sugar to mixedpickles, you don't forget it, either. Knowher? Say, I was brought up next door toSullivan's boarding-house.

"You didn't take me for King Eddie, didyou, Miss Sullivan?" says I.

"I might by the clothes," says she, runnin'

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her eyes over me, "only I see you've gothim beat a mile. But why the MissSullivan?"

"Because I've mislaid your weddin'-card,and there's been other things on my mindthan you since our last reunion," says I."But I'm chawmed to meet you again,rully," and I begins to edge off.

"You act it," says she. "You look tickledto deathalmost. But I'm pleased enough fortwo. Anyway, I'm in need of a man ofabout your weight to take a ride with me.So step lively, Shorty, and don't standthere scaring trade away from the silvershop. Come, jump in."

"Not me," says I. "I never butts into placeswhere there's apt to be a hubby to askwho's who and what's what."

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"But there isn't any hubby now," says she.

"North Dakotaed him?" says I.

"No," says she; "I've got a decree good inany State. His friends called it heartfailure. I can't because I used to settle hisbar bills. You're not shy of widows, areyou?"

Now say, there's widows andwidowsgrass, baled hay, and otherkindsand most of 'em I passes up ongeneral principles, along with chorus girlsand lady demonstrators; but somehow Icouldn't seem to place Sadie Sullivan inthat line. Why, her mother 'n' mine used toborrow cupfuls of flour of each other overthe back fence, and it was to lick a fellerwho'd yelled "brick-top" after Sadie thatstarted me to takin' my first boxin' lessons

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in Mike Quigley's barn.

"I ain't much used to traveling in one ofthese rubber-tired show windows," says I;"but for the sake of old times I'll chance itonce," and with that I climbs in; the tigerputs on the time-lock, and we joins theprocession. "Your car's all to the giddy," Iremarks. "Didn't it leave you some shortof breath after blowin' yourself to this,Sadie?"

"I buy it by the month," says she,"including Jeems and Henri in front. Itcomes higher that way; but who cares?"

"Oh," says I, "he left a barrel, then?"

"A cellarful," says Sadie.

And on the way up towards the park I getsthe scenario of the acts I'd missed. His

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name was Dipworthyyou've seen it on thelabels, "Dipworthy's Drowsy Drops,Younsgters Yearn for 'Em"only he wasDipworthy, jr., and knew as little aboutthe "Drop" business as only sons usuallydo about such things. Drops wa'n't his longsuit; quarts came nearer being his size.

It was while he was having a sober spellthat he married Sadie; but that was aboutthe last one he ever had. She stuck to him,though; let him chase her with guns andhammer her with the furniture, until thepurple monkeys got him for good and all.Then she cashed in the "Drop" business,settled a life-insurance president's salaryon her mother, bought a string of runnin'ponies for her kid brother, and then hitNew York, with the notion that here was

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where you could get anything you had theprice to pay for.

"But I made a wrong guess, Shorty," saysshe. "It isn't all in having the money; it's inknowing how to make it get you the thingsyou want."

"There's plenty would like to give youlessons in that," says I.

"You?" says she.

"Say, do I look like a con. man?" says I.

"There, there, Shorty!" says she. "I knewbetter, only I've been gold-bricked somuch lately that I'd almost suspect my owngrandmother. I've got two maids who stealmy dresses and rings; a lady companionwho nags me about the way I talk, andwho hates me alive because I can afford to

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hire her; and even the hotel managermakes me pay double rates because I looktoo young for a real widow. Do you know,there are times when I almost miss the lateDippy. Were you ever real lonesome,Shorty?"

"Once or twice," says I, "when I was farfrom Broadway."

"That's nothing," says she, "to beinglonesome on Broadway. And I've been solonesome in a theatre box, with twothousand people in plain sight, that I'vedropped tears down on the tromboneplayer in the orchestra. And I waslonesome just now, when I picked you upback there. I had been into that big jewelrystore, buying things I didn't want, just forthe sake of having some one to talk to."

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"Ah, say," says I, "cut it in smaller chunks,Sadie. I'm no pelican."

"You don't believe me?" says she.

"I know this little old burg too well," saysI. "Why, with a hundred-dollar bill I canbuy more society than you could put in ahall."

"But don't you see, Shorty," says she, "thatthe kind you can buy isn't worth having?You don't buy yours, do you? And I don'twant to buy mine. I want to swap even. I'mnot a freak, nor a foreigner, nor aquarantine suspect. Look at all thesewomen going pastwhat's the differencebetween us? But they're not lonesome, I'llbet. They have friends and dear enemiesby the hundreds, while I haven't either.There isn't a single home on this whole

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island where I can step up and ring thefront door-bell. I feel like a tramp hangingto the back of a parlor-car. What gooddoes my money do me? Suppose I want totake dinner at a swell restaurantI wouldn'tknow the things to order, and I'd be afraidof the waiters. Think of that, Shorty."

I tried to; but it was a strain. If anyoneelse had put it up to me that SadieSullivan, with a roll of real money as bigas a bale of cotton, could lose her nervejust because she didn't have a visitin'-list,I'd have told 'em to drop the pipe. She wasgiving me straight goods, though. Why, herlip was tremblin' like a lost kid's.

"Chuck it!" says I. "For a girl that had awhole bunch of Johnnies on the waitin'list, and her with only one best dress to

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her name at the time, you give me an ache.I don't set up for no great judge of formand figure; but my eyesight's still good, Iguess, and if I was choosin' a likelylooker, I'd back you against the field."

That makes her grin a little, and she patsmy hand kind of sisterly like. "It isn't menI want, you goose; it's womenmy ownkind," says she, and the next minute shegives me the nudge and whispers: "Now,watchthe one in the chiffon Panama."

"Shiff which?" says I. But I sees the oneshe meansa heavy-weight person, riggedout like a dry-goods exhibit and topped offwith millinery from the spring openin',coming toward us behind a pair ofnervous steppers. She had her lampsturned our way, and I hears Sadie give her

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the time of day as sweet as you please.She wasn't more'n six feet off, either; but itmissed fire. She stared right throughSadie, just as if there'd been windows inher, and then turned to cuddle a brindlepup on the seat beside her.

"Acts like she owed you money," says I.

"We swapped tales of domestic woe fortwo weeks at Colorado Springs seasonbefore last," said Sadie; "but it seems thatshe's forgotten. That's Mrs. MorrisPettigrew, whose husband"

"That one?" says I. "Why, she ain't such amuch, either. I know folks that think she'sa joke."

"She feels that she can't afford torecognize me on Fifth-ave., just the same.

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That's where I stand," says Sadie.

"It's a crooked deal, then," says I.

And right there I began to get a glimmer ofthe kind of game she was up against. Talkabout freeze-outs!

"I'll show her, though, and the rest of 'em!"says Sadie, stickin' out her cute little chin."I'm not going to quit yet."

"Good for you!" says I. "It's a pastime Iain't up in at all; but if you can ever finduse for me behind the scenes anywhere,just call on."

"I will, Shorty," says she, "and right now.Come on down to Sherry's with me forluncheon."

"Quit your kiddin'," says I. "You don't

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want to queer the whole program at thestart. I'd be lost in a place like thatme in asack suit and round-top dicer! Why, thehead waiter'd say 'Scat!' and I'd make adive under the table."

She said she didn't care a red apple forthat. She wanted to sail in there and throwa bluff, only she couldn't go alone, and sheguessed I'd do just as I was.

Course, I couldn't stand for no fool play ofthat kind; but seein' as she was so dead seton the place, I said we'd make it a 'leven-o'clock supper, after the theatre; but itmust be my blow.

"I've got the clothes that'll fit into a nightracket," says I, "and besides, I've got toget a few points first."

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"It's a go," says she.

So we made a date, and Sadie drops me atthe Studio. I goes right to the 'phone andcalls up Pinckney at the club. Didn't I tellyou about him? Sure, that's the one. Youwouldn't think though, to see him and metappin' each other with the mitts, that hewas a front ranker in the smart push. Buthe's all of that. He's a pacemaker for theswiftest bunch in the world. Say, if heshould take to walkin' on his hands, therewouldn't be no men's shoes sold on Fifth-ave. for a year.

Well, he shows up here about an hourlater, lookin' as fresh as though he'd justcome off the farm. "Did you say somethingabout wanting advice, Shorty?" says he.

"I did," says I.

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"Religious, or otherwise?" says he. "But itmakes no difference; I'm yours tocommand."

"I don't ask you to go beyond your depth,"says I. "It's just a case of orderin' fancygrub. I'm due to blow a lady friend ofmine to the swellest kind of a supper thatgrows in the borough; no two-dollartabble-doty, understand; but a special,real-lace, eighteen-carat feed, withnothing on the bill of fare that ain't spelledin French."

"Ah!" says he, "something like BarquettesBordellaise, poulet en casserole, fraisesau champagne, and so on, eh?"

"I was about to mention them very things,"says I. "But my memory's on the blink.Couldn't you write 'em down, with a

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diagram of how they look, and whetheryou spear 'em with a fork, or take 'em inthrough a straw?"

"Why, to be sure," says he. So he did, andit looked something like this:

"Consomme au fumet d'estaragon(chicken soupbig spoon).

"Barquettes Bordellaise (marrow ontoast, with mushroomsfork only).

"Fonds d'artichauts Monegosque (heartsof artichokes in cream saucefork andbreadsticks)."

There was a lot more to it, and it woundup with some kind of cheese with a namethat sounded like breakin' a pane of glass.

I threw up my hands at that. "It's no go,"

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says I. "I couldn't learn to say all that in amonth. How would it do for me to slip thewaiter that program and tell him to followcopy?"

"We'll do better than that?" says Pinckney."Where's your 'phone?"

Pretty soon he gets some one on the wirethat he calls Felix, and they has a heart-to-heart talk in French for about ten minutes.

"It's all arranged," says he. "You are tohand my card to the man at the door as yougo in, and Felix will do the rest. Eleven-fifteen is the hour. But I'm surprised atyou, Shorty. A lady, eh? Ah, well! In thespring the young man's fancy gently turns"

"Ah, say!" says I. "There ain't no call forany funny cracks about this. You know me,

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and you can guess I'm no Willie-boy.When I get a soft spot in my head, and tryto win a queen, it'll be done on the deadquiet, and you won't hear no call for help.But this is a different proposition. This isa real lady, who's been locked out by thesociety trust, and who takes an invite fromme just because we happened to knoweach other when we was kids."

"Oh-ho!" says Pinckney, snappin' themblack eyes the way he does when he getsreal waked up. "That sounds quiteromantic."

"It ain't," says I. "It's just as reg'lar astakin' your aunt to a sacred concert."

He seemed to want to know the details,though; so I told him all about Sadie, andhow she'd been ruled out of her class by a

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lot of stiffs who wa'n't one-two-sixteenwith her, either for looks or lucre.

"And it's a crooked decision," says I."Maybe Sadie wasn't brought up by aSwedish maid and a French governessfrom Chelsea, Mass.; but she's on velvetnow, and she's a real hand-picked pippin,too. What's more, she's a nice little lady,with nothin' behind her that you couldn'tprint in a Sunday-school weekly. All sheaims to do is to travel with the money-burners and be sociable. And say, that'snatural, ain't it?"

"It's quite human," says Pinckney, "andwhat you've told me about her is veryinteresting. I hope the little supper goesoff all right. Ta-ta, Shorty."

Well, it began frosty enough; for when it

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came to pilotin' a lady into that swell mob,I had the worst case of stage-fright youever saw. Say, them waiters is a haughty-lookin' lot, ain't they? But after we'd foundFelix, and I'd passed him a ten-spot, andhe'd bowed and scraped and towed usacross the room like he thought we held amortgage on the place, I didn't feel quiteso much as if I'd got into the wrong flat.

I did have something of a chill when Icaught sight of a sheepish-looking cuss inthe glass. He looked sort of familiar, and Iwas wondering what he'd done to beashamed of, when I sees it was me. Then Isquints around at the other guys and say,more'n half of 'em wore the same kind of alook. It was only the women that seemedright to home. There wasn't one in sight

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that didn't have her chin up and hershoulders back, and carrying all the dogthe law allows. They treated them stiff-necked food-slingers like they was a lot ofwooden Indians. You'd see 'em pilin' theirwraps on one of them lordly gents just asif he was a chair. Then they'd plantthemselves, spread out their dry-goods,peel off their elbow gloves, and proceedto rescue the cherry from the bottom of theglass.

And Sadie? Well, say, you'd thought she'dnever had a meal anywhere else in herlife. The way she bossed Felix around,and sized up the other folks, calm as aChinaman, was a caution. And talk! Inever had so much rapid-fire conversationpassed out to me all in a bunch before.

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Course, she was just keepin' her end up,and makin' believe I was doing my share,too. But it was a mighty good imitation.Every now and then she'd tear off a littlelaugh so natural that I could almost swearI'd said something funny, only I knew Ihadn't opened my head.

As for me, I was busy tryin' to guess whatwas under the silver covers that Felix keptbringin' in, and rememberin' whatPinckney had said about forks and spoons.Say, I suppose you've been up against oneof those little after-the-play-is-oversuppers that they serve behind the lacecurtains on Fifth-ave.; but this was myfirst offense. Little suppers! Honest, now,there was more'n I'd want if I hadn't beenfed for a week. Generally I can worry

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along with three squares a day, and when Ido feel like havin' a bite before I hit theblankets, a sweitzerkase sandwich doesme. But this affair had seven acts to it, andeveryone was a mystery.

"Why, I didn't know you were such anepicure," says Sadie.

"Me either," says I; "but I'd never letmyself loose before. Have some morepulley from the carrousell and helpyourself to thethe other thing."

"Shorty, tell me how you managed it,"says she.

"I've been taking lessons by mail," says I.

"You're a dear to do it, anyway," says she."Just think of the figure I'd cut coming hereby my lonesome. It's bad enough at the

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hotel, with only Mrs. Prusset. And I'vebeen wanting to come for weeks. Whatluck it was, finding you to-day!"

"Say, don't run away with the idea that I'mmakin' a day's work of this," says I. "I'mhavin' a little fun out of this myself.There's worse company than you, y'know."

"And I've met a heap of men stupider thanShorty McCabe," says she, givin' me thejolly with that sassy grin of hers, andlettin' go one of those gurgly laughs thatsounds as if it had been made on aclarinet.

It was just about then that I looks up andfinds Pinckney standing on one foot,waitin' for a chance to butt in.

"Why, professor! This is a pleasure," says

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he.

"Hello!" says I. "Where'd you blow infrom?"

Then I makes him acquainted with Sadie,and asks him what it'll be. Oh, he did itwell; seemed as surprised as if he hadn'tseen me for a year, and begins to getacquainted with Sadie right away. I triedto give her the wink, meanin' to put hernext to the fact that here was where sheought to come out strong on the broad A's,and throw in the dontcher-knows frequent;but it was no go. She didn't care a rap. Shetalked just as she would to me, askedPinckney all sorts of fool questions, andinside of two minutes them two wascarryin' on like a couple of kids.

"I'm a rank outsider here, you know," says

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she, "and if it hadn't been for Shorty I'dnever got in at all. Oh, sure, Shorty and Iare old chums. We used to slide down thesame cellar door."

S'elp me, I was plumb ashamed of Sadiethen, givin' herself away like that. ButPinckney seemed to think it was greatsport. Pretty soon he says he's got somefriends over at another table, and did shemind if he brought 'em over.

"Think you'd better?" says she. "I'm theMrs. Dipworthy of the 'Drowsy Drops,'you know, and that's a tag that won't comeoff."

"If you'll allow me," says he, "I'll attend tothe tag business. They'll be delighted tomeet you."

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"Say," says I, soon as he'd left, "don't be asieve, Sadie. Just forget auld lang syne,and remember that you're travelin' high."

"They've got to take me for what I am, ornot at all," says she.

"Yes, but you ain't got no cue to tell thestory of your life," says I.

"That's my whole stock in trade, Shorty,"says she.

I was lookin' for her to revise that notionwhen I sees the kind of company Pinckneywas luggin' up to spring on us. I'd seentheir pictures in the papers, and knew 'emon sight. And the pair wasn't anything butthe top of the bunch. You know theTwombley-Cranes, that cut more ice inJuly than the Knickerbocker Trust does all

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winter. Why say, to see the house rubberat 'em as they came sailin' our way, you'dthought they was paid performers steppingup to do their act. It was a case of bein' inthe lime-light for us, from that on.

"Hully chee!" says I. "Here's where Iought to fade."

But there wasn't any show to duck; forFelix was chasin' over some more chairs,and Pinckney was doin' the honors allround, and the first thing I knew we was anice little fam'ly party, chuckin' reparteeacross the pink candle shades, andbehavin' like star boarders that had paid inadvance.

It was Sadie, though, that had the centre ofthe stage, and I'll be staggered if she didn'tjump in to make her bluff good. She let out

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everything that she shouldn't have told,from how she used to wait on table at hermother's boarding-house, to the way she'dgot the frozen face ever since she came totown.

"But what am I expected to do?" says she."I've got no Hetty Green grip on mybankbook. There's a whole binful of the'Drowsy Drop' dollars, and I'm willing tothrow 'em on the bonfire just as liberal asthe next one, only I want a place aroundthe ring. There's no fun in playing a lonehand, is there? I've been trying to find outwhat's wrong with me, anyway?"

"My dear girl," says Mrs. Twombley-Crane, "there's nothing wrong with you atall. You're simply delicious. Isn't she,now, Freddie?"

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And Freddie just grinned. Say, some menis born wise. "Professor McCabe and Iare exchanging views on the coming light-weight contest," says he. "Don't mind us,my dear."

Perhaps that's what we were gassin' about,or why is a hen. You can search me. I wasthat rattled with Sadie's nerve display thatI didn't follow anything else real close.

But when it was all over, and I'd beenbrought to by a peep at the bill the waiterhanded me, I couldn't figure out whethershe'd made a bull's-eye or rung in a falsealarm.

One thing I did notice, as we sails out, andthat was the stout Pettigrew person who'dpassed Sadie the pickled pig's foot on theavenue that afternoon. She was sitting

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opposite a skimpy little runt with a baldhead, at a table up near the door where thewaiters juggled soup over her feathersevery time they passed. Her eyes wereglued on Sadie as we came up, and by thespread of the furrows around her mouth Isee she was tryin' to crack a smile.

"Now," thinks I, "here's where shecollects chilblains and feels the mercurydrop."

But say! would you look for it in a dreambook? What does Sadie do but pass herout the glad hand and coo away, like apouter pigeon on a cornice, about beingtickled to see her again. Oh, they get medizzy, women do!

That wa'n't a marker though, to the reverseEnglish carom Sadie takes after we'd got

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into a cab and started for her hotel. Wasthere a jolly for me, or a "Thank you,Shorty, I've had the time of my life?"Nothin' like it. She just slumped into hercorner and switched on the boo-hoos likea girl that's been kept after school.

"Enjoy yourself, Sadie," says I. "Onlyremember that this is a hansom, not astreet sprinkler."

That didn't fetch her; so after a while Itries her again. "What went wrong?" saysI. "Was she stringin' you, or was it theway I wore my face that queered theshow?"

"It's all right, Shorty," says she betweenweeps. "And nothing's wrong, nothing atall. Mrs. What's-Her-Name's asked me tostay a week with her at their Newport

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place, and old Mrs. Pettigrew will turngreen before morning thinking of me, andI've shaken the hoodoo at last. But it allcame so much in a lump that I just had toturn on the sprayer. You know how I feel,don't you, Shorty?"

"Sure," says I, "just as well as if you'dsent me a picture postal of the place youboarded last."

But say, I turned the trick, didn't I? I didn'tknow what was comin' out of the box, ofcourse; and maybe I was some jolted atthrowin' three sixes to a pair, but therethey lay.

No, I ain't goin' into the boostin' line as areg'lar thing; but I guess if any amateur inthe business gets a rose nailed on him, Iought to be the gent. Not?

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CHAPTER VIII

Did you shut the hall door? That's right.There's no tellin' what's liable to float inhere any time. Say, if they don't quit it, I'llget to be one of these nervous prostraters,that think themselves sick abed withouthalf tryin'. Sure, I'm just convalescin' fromthe last shock.

How? Now make a guess. Well, it wasthis way: I was sittin' right here in thefront office, readin' the sportin' dope and

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takin' me reg'lar mornin' sunbath, when thedoor-buzzer goes off, and in drifts about ahundred and ninety pounds of surprisepackage.

There was a foreign label on it, all right;but I didn't know until later that it read"Made in Austria." He was a beefy sort ofgent, with not much neck to speak of, andenough curly black hair to shingle aFrench poodle. He was well colored, too.Beats the cars, don't it, the good healththat's wasted on some of these foreigners?

But what takes my eye most was histrousseau. Say! he was dressed to theminute, from the pink in his buttonhole, tothe mother-of-pearl gloves; and the backof his frock coat had an in-curve such asyour forty-fat sisters dream about. Why, as

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far as lines went, he had Jimmy Hackettand Robert Mantell on the back shelf. Oh,he was a crusher, sure!

"I have the purpose of finding Prof-fes-seur McCabby," says he, reading it off'n acard.

"If you mean McCabe," says I, "I'mdiscovered."

"Is it you that are also by the name ofShortee?" says he.

"Shorty for short," says I, "and P. C. D. onthe end to lengthen it outPhysical CultureDirector, that stands for. Now do youwant my thumb-print, and a snap-shot ofmy family-tree?"

That seemed to stun him a little; but herevived after a minute, threw out his chest,

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lifted his silk lid, and says, solemn as anew notary public takin' the oath of office:"I am Baron Patchouli."

"You look it," says I. "Have a chair."

"I am," says he, gettin' a fresh start,"Baron Patchouli, of Hamstadt andDüsseldorf."

"All right," says I, "take the settee. Howare all the folks at home?"

But say, there wa'n't any use tryin' to jollyhim into makin' a short cut of it. He'd gothis route of parade all planned out and hemeant to stick by it.

"Professeur McCabby" says he.

"Don't," says I. "You make me feel like I'dbeen transplanted into French and was

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runnin' a hack-line. Call it McCabea-b-e,abe."

"One thousand pardons," says he, and triesagain. This time he gets italmost, and I letshim spiel away. Oh, mama! but I wish Icould say it the way he did! It would letme on the Proctor circuit, if I could. Butboiled down and skimmed, it was allabout how I was a kind of safety-depositvault for everything he had to live for.

"My hopes, my fortune, my happiness, thevery breath of my living, it is all withyou," says he as a windup, hittin' a Carusopose, arms out, toes in, and his breathcomin' hard.

How was that for news from home? I didsome swift surmisin', and then I says,soothin' like: "Yes, I know; but don't take

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on about it so. They're all right, just as youhanded 'em over; only I asked me friendthe Sarge to lock 'em up till you called.We'll walk around and see the Sarge rightaway."

"Ah!" says he, battin' his noble brow, "youdo not comprehend. You make to laugh.And me, I come to you from the adorableSadie."

"Sadie?" says I. "Sadie Sullivan thatwas?"

He bows and grins.

"If you've got credentials from Sadie,"says I, "it's all right. Now, what's doing?Does she want me to match samples, orshow you the sights along the WhiteLane?"

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"Ah, the adorable Sadie!" says he, rollin'his eyes, and puffin' out his cheeks like hewas tryin' the lung-tester. "I drive withher, I walk with her, I sit by her sideoneday, two day, a week. Well, whathappens? I am charm, I am fascinate, I ambecome her slave. I make to resist. I say tomyself: 'You! You are of the nobleAustrian blood; the second-cousin of yourmother is a grand duke; you must notforget.' Then again I see Sadie. Pouff! Ihave no longer pride; but only I luff. It isenough. I ask of her: 'Madam Deepworth,where is the father of you?' She say he isnot. 'Then the uncle of you?' I demand. Shesay: 'I'm shy on uncles.' 'But to who, then,'I ask, 'must I declare my honorablepassion?' 'Oh,' she say, 'tell it to ShortyMcCabe.' Ha! I leap, I bound! I go to M.

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Pinckney. 'Tell me,' I say, 'where is to befound one Shorty McCabe?' And he sendsme to you. I am come."

On the level, now, it went like that. MaybeI've left out some of the frills, but that wasthe groundwork of his remarks.

"Yes," says I, "you're a regular come-on. Iguess the adorable Sadie has handed you ajosh. She's equal to it."

But that got by him. He just stood there,teeterin' up and down on his patentleathers, and grinnin' like a monkey.

"I say," says I, "she's run you on a sidin',dropped you down a coal-hole. Do youget wise?"

Did he? Not so you would notice it. Hegoes on grinnin' and teeterin', like he was

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on exhibition in a museum and I was theaudience. Then he gets a view of himselfin the glass over the safe there, and beginsto pat down his astrakhan thatch, andpunch up his puff tie, and dust off hiscollar. Ever see one of these peroxidecloak models doin' a march past the showwindows on her day off? Well, the Baronhad all those motions and a few of hisown. He was ornamental, all right, and itwa'n't any news to him either.

About then, though, I begins to wonder if Ihadn't been a little too sure about Sadie.There's no tellin', when it comes towomen, you know; and when it hit me thatperhaps, after all, she'd made up her mindto tag this one from Austria, you couldhave fried an egg on me anywhere.

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"Look here, Patchouli," says I. "Is thisstraight about you and Sadie? Are you thewinner?"

"Ah, the adorable Sadie!" says he, comin'back to earth and slappin' his solar plexuswith one hand.

"We've covered that ground," says I."What I want to know is, does she cottonto you?"

"Cot-ton? Cot-ton?" says he, humpin' hiseyebrows like a French ballad singer.

"Are you the fromage?" says I. "Is she asstuck on you as you are on yourself? Haveyou made good?"

He must have got a glimmer from that; forhe rolls his eyes some more, breathesonce like an air-brake bein' cut out, and

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says: "Our luff is like twin stars in theskyeach for the other shines."

"It's as bad as all that, is it?" says I."Well, all I've got to say is that I'd neverthought it of Sadie; and if she sent youdown here on approval, you can tell herI'm satisfied if she is."

I figured that would jar him some, but itdidn't. He looked as pleased as though I'dtold him he was the ripest berry in thebox, and before I knew what was comin'he had the long-lost-brother tackle on me,and was almost weepin' on my neck,splutterin' joy in seven different kinds oflanguage. Just then Swifty Joe bobs hishead in through the gym. door, springs thatgorilla grin of his, and ducks back.

"Break away!" says I. "I don't want to

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spoil the looks of anythin' that Sadie'spicked out to frame, but this thing has goneabout far enough. If you're glad, and she'sglad, then I ain't got any kick comin'. Onlydon't rub it in."

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He had the long-lost-brother tackle on me.

Say, it was like talkin' to a deaf man,sayin' things to the Baron.

"She's mine, yes?" says he. "I have yourpermission, Professeur McCabe?"

"Sure," says I. "If she'll have you, take herand welcome."

Now you'd thought that would havesatisfied him, wouldn't you? But he actedlike he'd got a half-arm jolt on the wind.He backed off and cooled down as if I'dchucked a pail of water over him.

"Well," says I, "you don't want it inwritin', do you? I'm just out of permitblanks, and me secretary's laid up with abad case of McGrawitis. If I was you, I'd

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skip back and keep my eye on Sadie. Shemight change her mind."

The Baron thought he'd seen a red flag,though. He put in a worry period thatlasted while you could count fifty. Then heforks out his trouble.

"It is not possible that I have mistake, isit?" says he. "I am learn that MadamDeepworth iswhat you callone heiress?No?"

See? I'd been sort of lookin' for that; andthere it was, as plain as a real-estate mapof Gates of Paradise, Long Island. Mebein' so free and easy with tellin' him tohelp himself had thrown up a horriblesuspicion to him. Was it true that Sadie'sroll was real money, the kind you couldspend at the store? And say, long's it was

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up to me to write her prospectus, I thoughtI might as well make it a good one.

"Do you see that movin'-van out there?"says I.

The Baron saw it.

"And have you been introduced to these?"I says, flashin' a big, wrist-size wad oftens and fives.

Oh, he was acquainted all right.

"Well," says I, "Sadie's got enough ofthese put away to fill two carts like that."

Fetch him? Why, his fingers almost burnt ahole through his gloves.

"Ah-h-h!" says he, and takes a little timeout to picture himself dippin' into thefamily pocket-book.

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Course, it wa'n't any of my funeral, butwhen I thinks of a sure-enough live one,like Sadie, that I'd always supposed had ahead like a billiard table, gettin' daffyabout any such overstuffed frankfurter asthis specimen, I felt like someone hadshoved a blue quarter on me. Worst of itwas, I'd held the step-ladder for her toclimb up where such things grow.

I was gettin' rawer to the touch everyminute, and was tryin' to make up my mindwhether to give the Baron a quick rundown the stairs, or go off an' leave him todislocate his neck tryin' to see the small ofhis back in the mirror; when in comesPinckney, with that little sparkle in hiseyes that I've come to know means anykind of sport you're a mind to name.

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"Hello!" says he, givin' the Baron a hand."You found him, eh? Hello, Shorty. Got itall fixed, have you?"

"Say," says I, pullin' Pinckney over by thewindow, "did you put this up on me?"

He said he didn't, honest.

"Then take your fat friend by the hand,"says I, "and lead him off where things ain'tliable to happen to him."

"Why, what's up, Shorty?" says he."Haven't you given him your blessing, andtold him to go in and win?"

"Switch off!" says I. "I've heard enough ofthat from the Baron to last me a year.What's it all about, anyway? Suppose hehas laid his plans to Miznerize Sadie;what's he want to come hollerin' about it

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to me for? I'm no matrimonial referee, amI?"

I knew somethin' was ticklin' Pinckneyinside; but he put up a front like a SpecialSessions judge. "Baron," says he, callin'over to Patchouli, "I forgot to mention thatour friend, the professor, doesn'tunderstand the European system ofconducting such affairs as this. If you'llpardon me, I'll make it clear to him."

Well, he did and a lot more. It seems thatthe Baron was a ringer in the set whereSadie and Pinckney had been doing theweekend house-party act. He'd beentravelin' on that handle of his, makin' somebroad jumps and quick shifts, until he'dworked himself up, from a visitor's card ata second-rate down-town club, to the kind

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of folks that quit New York at Easter anddon't come back until the snow flies again.They don't squint too close at a title in thatcrowd, you know.

First thing the Baron hears, of course, isabout the Drowsy Drop dollars and thegirl that's got 'em. He don't lose any timeafter that in makin' up to Sadie. He freezesto her like a Park Row wuxtree boy doesto a turkey drumstick at a newsies'Christmas dinner, and for Pinckney andthe rest of 'em it was as good as a play.

"Huh!" says I. "You're easy pleased, ain'tyou? But I want to tell you that it grouchesme a lot to think that Sadie'd fall for anysuch wad-huntin' party as that."

"What ho!" says Pinckney. "Here's acomplication that we hadn't suspected."

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"Meanin' which?" says I.

"Perhaps it would be better to postponethat explanation," says he; "but Isympathize with your state of mind,Shorty. However, what's done is done,and meanwhile the Baron is waiting."

"It wouldn't surprise me none," says I, "tohear that that's his trade. But say, whatkind of a steer is it that brings him to me? Iain't got that straight yet."

Pinckney goes on to say as how theforeign style of negotiatin' for a girl ismore or less of a business proposition;and that Sadie, not havin' any old folkshandy to make the deal, and maybe nothavin' the game clear in her own mind,shoves him my way, just off-hand.

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"To be sure," says Pinckney, "whateverarrangements you may happen to makewill not be binding, but they will satisfythe Baron. So just act as if you had fullauthority, and we'll see if there are anylittle details that he wants to mention."

Sure enough, there was. He handed 'em tome easy; oh, nice and easy! He didn't wantmuch for a starterjust a trifle put withineasy reach before the knot was tied, amere matter of ten million francs.

"No Jims nor Joes?" says I.

"The Baron is accustomed to reckoning infrancs," says Pinckney. "He means twomillion dollars."

"Two million cases?" says I, catchin' mybreath. Well, say! I had to take another

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look at him. If I could think as well ofmyself as that I wouldn't ask no better.

"Patchouli," says I, "you're too modest.You shouldn't put yourself on the bargaincounter like that."

The Baron looks like I'd said somethin' tohim in Chinese.

"The professor thinks that demand is quitereasonable, considering all things," saysPinckney.

And that went with the Baron. Then he hasto shake hands all round, same's if we'dsigned terms for a championship go, andhim and Pinckney gets under way for someprivate high-ball factory over on theavenue. I wa'n't sorry to lose 'em.Somehow I wanted to get my mind on

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something else.

Well, I put in a busy mornin', tryin' toteach blocks and jabs to a couple ofyoungsters that thinks boxin' is a kind ofwrist exercise, like piano-playin', and I'dgot a pound or so off a nice plump oldBishop, who comes here for hand-ball andstunts like that. I was still feelin' a bit uglyand wishin' there was somethin' sizablearound to take it out on, when in comesCurly Locks and Pinckney again.

"Has he made up his mind that he wantsmy wad, too?" says I to Pinckney.

"No," says he. "The Baron has discoveredthat up where Sadie is staying the lawrequires a prospective bridegroom toequip himself with a marriage license. Hethinks he will get one in town and take it

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back with him. Now, as you know allabout such things, Shorty, and as I have anappointment at twelve-thirty, I'll leave theBaron with you. So long!" and he gives methe wink as he slides out.

Say, I had my cue this trip, all right. Icouldn't see just why it was, but the Baronhad been passed up to me. He was minefor keeps. I could hang him out for a sign,or wire a pan to him. And he was asinnocent, the Baron was, as a new boysent to the harness shop after strap oil.He'd got his eyes fixed on the DrowsyDrops bank-account, and he couldn't seeanything else. He must have sized me upas a sort of Santa Claus that didn't haveanything to do between seasons but to begood to his kind.

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"So you want to take out a license, doyou?" says I, comin' a Mr. Smooth play.

"If the professeur would be so oblige,"says he.

"Oh, sure," says I. "That's my steady job.A marriage license, eh?"

I had a nineteenth-story view of thescheme he'd built up. He means to go backheeled with the permit from me, with thelittle matter of the two million ready allcinched, and the weddin'-papers in hisinside pocket. Then he does the whirlwindrush at Sadie, and as he dopes it out tohimself, figurin' on what a crusher he is,he don't see how he can lose. And Isuppose he thinks he can buy a marriagelicense most anywhere, same's you can amoney-order.

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With that I had a stroke of thought. Theydon't hit me very often, but when they do,they come hard. I had to go over to thewater cooler and grin into the tumbler.Then I walks up to the Baron and taps himon the chest.

"Patchouli," says I, "you come with me.I'll get you a Romeo outfit that'll astonishthe natives."

It took me about two hours, chasin' himdown to the Bureau of Licenses, andhuntin' up me old side partner, JimmyFitzpatrick, that's the main guy there. But Ididn't grudge the time. Jimmy helped meout a lot. He's a keen one, Jimmy is, andwhen he'd got next, he threw in a lot offlourishes just where they was neededmost. He never cracked a smile, either,

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when the Baron tipped him a dime.

I didn't let loose of Patchouli until I'd seenhim stow away that sealed envelope, andhad put him aboard the right train at theGrand Central. Then I went back to theStudio lookin' so contented that Swiftystruck me for a raise.

That was on a Monday. Long aboutThursday I thought I might get word fromPinckney, or some of 'em; but there wasnothin' doin'.

"Somebody's put Curly Locks wise,"thinks I, "or else he's sneaked away tojump off the dock."

I didn't have anyone on that afternoon; so Iwas just workin' off a little steam on apunchin'-bag, doing the long roll and a

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few other stunts. I was getting nicelywarmed up, and hittin' the balloon at therate of about a hundred and fifty raps aminute, when I hears somebody break pastSwifty and roar out:

"Where he iss? Let me to him!"

It was the Baron, his mustache bristlin' outlike a bottle-cleaner, and blood in his eye."Ha-r-r-r!" says he in real heavy-villainstyle. "You make me a joke, you?"

"G'wan!" says I over me shoulder. "Youwas born a joke. Sit down and cool off;for it's your next," and with that I goes atthe bag again.

Say, it ain't much of a trick to fight the bag,y'know. Most any Y. M. C. A. kid can getthe knack of catchin' it on his elbows and

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collarbone, makin' it drum out a tune likethe finish of a Dutch opera. And that'sabout all I was doin', only chuckin' a fewextra pounds into it maybe. But if youdon't know how easy it is, it looks like acurtain-raiser for manslaughter. And Ireckon the Baron hadn't any idea I'd stripas bunchy as I do.

Course, there's no tellin' just what went onin his mind while he stood there. Swiftysays his mouth come open gradual, like abridge draw that's being swung for a tug;and his eyes began to bug out, and thenoble Austrian assault-and-battery bloodfaded out of his face same's the red doesin one of Belasco's sunsets. And prettysoon, when I thought my little grandstandplay'd had a chance to sink in, I throws a

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good stiff one into the bag, ducks fromunder, and turns around to sing out "Next!"to the Baron.

But he wa'n't in sight. Pinckney was therethough, and Sadie behind him, both lookin'wild.

"Hello!" says I. "Where's Patchouli? Hewas anxious to see me a minute ago."

"He seemed anxious not to, when hepassed us on the stairs just now," saysPinckney.

"Did he leave any word?" says I.

"He just said 'Bah!' and jumped into acab," says Pinckney.

"He didn't hurt you, did he?" says Sadie.

"What, him?" says I. "Not that I know

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about. But I've got this to tell you, Mrs.Dipworthy: if you put any high value onyour new steady, you'd better chase himoff this reservation."

"Why, Shorty McCabe!" says she, takin'me by the shoulders and turnin' them blueeyes of hers straight at me. "My newsteady? Thatthat woolly-haired freak?"

Say, you could have slipped me into thepenny slot of a gum machine. Oh, fudge!Piffle! Splash! It's a wonder when I walk Idon't make a noise like a spongeI takesome things in so easy. Is it curious myhead never aches?

Pinckney sees how bad I was feelin', andhe cuts in to tell me how things hadworked out. And say, do you know whatthat Patchouli had done?

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After I left him he goes back tickled todeath, and waits for an openin'. Then, onenight when they was havin' a big hunt ball,or some kind of swell jinks, he tolls Sadieinto the palm-room, drops to the mat onhis knees, and fires off that twin-star-luffspeech, beggin' her to fly with him and behis'n. As a capper he digs up that envelop,to show her there needn't be any hitch inthe program.

"What's this?" says Sadie, making asudden grab and gettin' the goods. Withthat she lets go a string of giggles andstreaks it out into the ball-room.

"It is the document of our marriage," saysthe Baron, makin' a bold bluff.

"Oh, is it?" says she, openin' the thing up,and reading it off. "Why, Baron, this

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doesn't give you leave to marry anyone,"says Sadie; "this is a peddler's license,and here's the badge, too. If you wear thisyou can stand on the corner and sell shoe-laces and collar-buttons. I'd advise you togo do it."

It was while the crowd was howlin' andpinnin' the fakir's tag on him that he beganto froth at the mouth and tell how he wascomin' down to make mincemeat of me.

"That's why we followed him," saysPinckney"to avert bloodshed."

"If he had so much as touched you,Shorty," says Sadie, "I would have spentmy pile to have had him sent up for life."

"Oh, it wouldn't have cost that much," saysI. "With me thinkin' the way I did then,

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maybe there wouldn't have been a wholelot left to send."

Ah, look away! I ain't tellin' what Sadiedid next. But say, she's a hummin'-bird,Sadie is.

CHAPTER IX

How about him, eh?the two-spot of clubsin billiard cloth and buttons at the door.There's no tellin' what the Studio'll have

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nextmaybe a sidewalk canopy and acarriage caller. Swifty Joe's gettin'ambitious. Me gettin' mixed up with thatNewport push has gone to Swifty's headlike a four-line notice does to thepompadour of a second row chorus girl.First off he says it's a shame I don't have avalet.

"Say," says I, "don't it keep me busyenough remindin' you that I'm still able towear my own clothes, without puttin' onan extra hand?"

But after this last stunt he broke out again;so we compromised on Congo. I thoughtSwifty'd had him made to order, uniformand all; but he says he found him, just ashe stands, doin' the stray act over onSixth-ave. He'd come up from New

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Orleans with a fortune-tellin' gent that hadgot himself pinched for doing a littlevoudoo turn on the side, and as Congodidn't have much left but his appetite, I puthim on the pay-roll at two per and found.And say, I'm stung, at that. To look at himyou'd think a ham sandwich would run himover; but he's got a capacity like a shop-lifter's pocket. For three days I tried tofeed him up on the retail plan, and then Ilet out the contract to a free-lunch supplyconcern.

Sure, it gives the joint kind of a swelllook, havin' him on the door, and if itdidn't act the same on Swifty's head Iwouldn't kick.

On the dead now, I don't care so muchabout loomin' up in the picture. There's

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them that it suits down to the ground, andthat shows up well in front; and thenagain, there's a lot of people gets the spotlight on 'em continual who'd be better offin the shade. I'm a top-gallery boy, byrights, and that's where you'll find me mostof the time; but now and then I get draggeddown into the wings with a note. Yes, yes,I'm just back after one of them excursions.

You see, after we'd shunted Sadie's Baronback on to the goulash circuit, where hebelonged, and Sadie and Pinckney had gotover their merry fit and skipped off towake up another crowd of timeassassinators, at Rockywold, or somesuch place as that, I says to myself,"Shorty," says I, "you stick to the physical-culture game and whittle out the by-plays."

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That's just what I was doin', too, when anA. D. T. shows up with a prepaid joshfrom Pinckney, givin' me a special inviteto run out and help 'em celebrate.

"Any come-back?" says the boy.

"No, sonny," says I; "you can cut thewire."

Say, Pinckney means all right, and he'sdone me some good turns; but that don'tput me in his class, does it? Nay, nay, saysI. Here's one dinner party that I ducks.And with that I gets busy on one of myreg'lars who's bein' trained to go againsttwo months of foreign cookin'. I hadn'tmore'n finished with him, though, whenthere comes another yellow envelop. Thisone was from Sadie, and it was a hurrycall. She didn't say much; but I could see

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heel-prints of trouble all over it.

"Me for Rockywold," says I, chuckin' acollar in a suit-case and grabbin' a time-table off the rack.

Yes, that was different. Maybe I'm a jay tocast myself for any such part; but sinceSadie an' me had that little reunion, I'vekind of felt that sooner or later she mightbe let in for a mix-up where I'd come inhandy, and when it was pulled off Iwanted to be within hail.

Course, I wasn't layin' out no hero act; likeshowin' up with a can of gasolene just asthe tank ran dry, or battin' the block off'ma villyun in a dress suit. I was just willin'to hang around on the edges and makemyself useful generally. Not that I'mfollowin' the she-male protectin' business

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regular. But with Sadie it's another thing.We used to play in the same alley, youknow; and she don't forget it, even if shehas come into a bunch of green money asbig as a haystack.

She was on hand when I dropped off thesmoker, sittin' in the Rockywold stationrig and lookin' for me with both eyes. Andsay, what a difference it makes to clotheswho wears 'em!

"It's bully of you to come, Shorty," saysshe.

"Oh, I don't know," says I. "I guess goodjudges wouldn't call it a medal play.What's loose?"

"Buddy," says she.

For a minute I was lost, until she asks if I

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don't remember the youngster. "Oh, sure!"says I. "That kid brother of yours, with theeighteen-karat ringlets and a girly kind offace? The Sisters used to dress him up in aFauntleroy suit for the parochial schoolfair, and make him look like a picture onan Easter card. Nice, cute little chap, eh?"

"He was cute onceten or twelve yearsago," says Sadie. "He isn't as cute as hewas. He doesn't wear ringlets nowhe likesrings better. And that's why I had to sendfor you, Shorty. I couldn't tell anyone else.Oh, the little wretch! If it wasn't formother I'd cure him of a lot of things."

Well, we had some family history on theway out, beginnin' with the way Buddy'dbeen spoiled at home, takin' in a few ofthe scrapes Sadie had helped him out of,

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and endin' with his blowin' in atRockywold without waitin' for a bid fromanyone. Seems he'd separated himselffrom the last stake Sadie had handedoutnothin' new, same old fool gamesandnow he wanted a refill, just as a loan, untilhe could play a tip he'd got from a genthe'd met in a beanery.

"And I just wouldn't stand for that," saysSadie. "Those bookmakers are nothing butswindlers, anyway. I know, because I betten dollars on a race once, and didn'twin."

Say, I had a lithograph of Buddy and hisbeanery tip goin' up against an argumentlike that. Of course it wa'n't more'n twominutes before Sadie'd got her Sullivanup. She offered Buddy his choice between

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a railroad ticket home to mother, ornothing at all. Buddy wouldn't arbitrate onthose lines. He said he was a desperateman, and that she'd be sorry before night.Sadie'd heard that before; so she justlaughed and said the steam-car ticket offerwould be held open until night.

She didn't see anything more of Buddy fora couple of hours, and then she caught himas he came up from the billiard-room.Bein' an expert on such symptoms, sheknew why he talked like his mouth wasfull of cotton, but she couldn't account forthe wad of bills he shook at her. Buddycould. He'd run across a youngEnglishman down there who thought hecould handle a cue. Buddy had bet hot airagainst real money, and trimmed his man.

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"That wasn't the worst of it, though," saidSadie. "After I had got him up to myrooms he pulled out the money again, tocount it over, and out came a three-inchmarquise ringan opal set withdiamondsthat I knew the minute I put myeyes on it. There were her initials on theinside, too. Oh, no one but Mrs. PurdyPell."

"Tut, tut!" says I. "You can easy square itwith her."

"But that's just what I can't do," saysSadie. "She loves me about as much as atramp likes work. She tells folks that Imake fools of her boys. Her boys, mindyou! She claims every stray man undertwenty-five, and when I came here she hadthree of them on the string. Goodness

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knows, I didn't want them! They're onlyimitation men, anyway. And it was herring that Buddy had in his pocket."

"Maybe he hadn't lifted it," says I.

Sadie swallowed a bit hard at that; but sheraps out the straight goods. "Yes, he did,"says she. "He must have sneaked it out ofher room as he went down stairs. Think ofit! Stealing! He's done a lot of foolishthings before; but I didn't think he wouldturn out a crook. The Lord knows wherehe gets that kind of blood fromnot from theSullivans, or the Scannells, either. But Ican't have him put away. There's mother.And he won't mind a thing I say. Nowwhat shall I do, Shorty?"

"Where's Buddy now?" says I.

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"Locked in my clothes-closet, with hishands tied and a gag in his mouth," saysshe. "Oh, I can handle him that way, big ashe is; and I wasn't going to take any morechances. But it's likely that Mrs. Pell hasmissed her ring by this time and is raisinga howl about it. What's to be done?"

Say, there was a proposition for you! Andme just a plain, every-day mitt juggler thatdon't take thinkin' exercises reg'lar."Guess you've pushed the wrong buttonthis time, Sadie," says I. "But I'll stay inyour corner till the lights go out. Is anyoneelse on?"

"Not a soul," says Sadie.

"That's some help," says I. "First we'llhave a little talk with Buddy."

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I couldn't see what good that would do,but it was up to me to make some kind of amove.

When they'd landed us under the portecochereyes, you'd call it stoppin' at thehorse-blockI sails in like I'd come alone,and hunts up Pinckney.

"What's all this about me bein' needed uphere?" says I. "Goin' to make me Queen ofthe May?"

"By Jove, Shorty!" says he, "that's a cleveridea. We'll do it."

"Yes, you willnot," says I. "You'll cut itout. I ain't no wine agent, and I left me ragdoll to home; so if there's any funny stuntsexpected, you tell 'em I've put on a sub.Oh, sure, I'll stay to dinner, but as for

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leadin' any cotillions, change the card."

He gave his word they wouldn't springanything like that on me, and then hecalled up a waiter in knee pants, and hadhim show me up to my quarters so I couldget me gas-light clothes on before theyunlocked the dinin'-room doors. After I'dmade a quick shift I slid over into the nextwing, followin' directions, and foundSadie.

"Mrs. Pell's on the war-path already,"says she. "She's having it out with hermaid now. Come in."

She'd dug Buddy out of the wardrobe andhad him propped up in a corner.

"Better unstopper him and take off thebandages," says I.

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And say, he had a lot of language corkedup inside of him. It wasn't very sisterly,either, and most of it would have soundedbetter at a race-track; but I shut thetransom and motioned to Sadie to let himspiel away, never chippin' in a word, onlystanding one side and lookin' him over.

So far as the outside went he was a creditto the familyone of these slim clean-cutyoungsters, with a lot of curly red hair,pinky-white cheeks, and a pair of blueeyes that had nine kinds of deviltry in 'em.I could figure out how mother might beable not to see anything but good inBuddy. Hanged if I could get very sore onhim myself, and knowin' how he'd beencuttin' up, at that.

"Well," says I, when he'd got out of breath

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some, "feel any better, do you?"

"Huh!" says he, givin' me a squintsideways. "Some cheap skate of a privatedetective, eh! You can't throw a scare intome that way, sis. Chase him out."

"Buddy," says I, "give up the rings."

"How'd you know there was more thanone?" says he.

"Give up," says I, holdin' out me hand.

He did it, like a little man. There was twobesides the marquise; one an emerald asbig as a lima bean, and the other asolitaire spark that could have beenshoved up for three or four hundred. Yousee, a woman like Mrs. Purdy Pellgenerally has a collection of those thingslyin' around on her dressin'-table, and;

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knew if Buddy'd got any, he'd made a haul.

"I'm ashamed of you, Buddy," says I.

"You needn't be," says he. "I guess you'ddo the same if you had a sister that wantedto see you starve in the streets. Oh, youneedn't screw up your eyebrows, Sadie.It's so. And if you don't cough up athousand and let me go, I'll swipe anythingin sight. I can stand being pinched if youcan afford to have me."

Sadie threw up her hands at that, andbegan walkin' up and down the room. "Doyou hear that?" says she. "That's the kindof a brother I've got."

"It's something awful," says I. "Just hearin'him talk makes me feel shivery. It beatsthe band how wicked some of these

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cigarette desperados do get. Don't, Buddy,or I'll faint. I wouldn't dare stay in theroom if your sister wa'n't handy to tie youup again in case you started to cut loose."

"I've got a good notion to push in yourface," says he.

"Don't pay any attention to him, Shorty,"says Sadie.

"I won't," says I; "but I'm scared stiff."

Just about then, though, Buddy seemed tohave got a bulletin over a special wire.He was gazin' at me with his mouth openand a pucker between his eyes. "WhatShorty?" says he. "Say, you ain't ShortyMcCabe, are you?"

"Not to you," says I. "I got to draw the linesomewhere, and with bad men I stands on

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my dignity. I'm Professor McCabe,sonny."

"Holy cats!" says he. "Honest, professor, Ididn't mean a word of it. I take it all back.Why say, I saw you put out the Kangarooin two rounds."

"Then you've had a liberal education,"says I.

"Gee!" says he, lettin' off some moresurprise, and bracin' himself back in thechair like he was afraid of falling off.

Well say, I've been rode to my dressin'-room on shoulders, and welcomed homefrom fights by mobs with brass bands; butfor a gen-u-ine ovation I guess Buddy'slittle stunt came as near bein' the real thingas any. Dewey comin' back from the

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Philippines, or Mr. Get-There Hadleylandin' in St. Louis with the Standard Oilscalps, wa'n't in it with me bein'discovered by Buddy Sullivan. I couldn'tget the key to it then, but I've mapped it outnow. Most of his enthusiasm was owin' tothe fact that ever since he was fifteenBuddy'd based his claim to bein' a realsport on my havin' come from the sameblock as he did.

Anyway, it was a lightnin' change. Frombeing a holy terror, Buddy calmed downto as peaceful a young gent as you'd wantto meet. If I'd just shake hands with himonce and call it square, he'd follow anyprogram I'd a mind to plan out.

"Only don't let her send me home to maw,"says he. "Say, they get up at six in the

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morning there, and if I don't crawl downby seven maw lugs up toast and eggs, andtalks to me like I was a kid."

"Well, where'd you like to be shipped?"says I.

"Aw, come now, professor," says he."You don't have to be told that. There ain'tbut one place where a fellow like me canreally live. You get sis to put me back onBroadway with a few hundred in myclothes, and I'll kiss the Book that shewon't hear from me for a year."

"But how about this jewelry-collectin' fadof yours?" says I.

"Ah, I wasn't going to carry it off," sayshe. "I let her see I had it, on purpose. I'llbe good."

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Well, Sadie was willin' to let it go at that,and we was just gettin' this part of themix-up straightened out lovely, when therecame a rap at the door.

"Quick," says Sadie. "They mustn't seeBuddy or you either, Shorty!"

So Buddy was pushed into the closetagain, and I dodges behind a tall dressin'-mirror in the corner. It was a red-eyed girlwith lumps in her throat. She said she wasMrs. Purdy Pell's maid.

"Mrs. Pell's missed some rings," says she,"and we've been havin' words over it. Itold her there was a suspicious-lookingyoung man in the house that I'd seen comin'out of your rooms awhile ago, and I didn'tknow but what you'd missed some things,too, ma'am."

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"Ask Mrs. Pell to step over here for aminute," says Sadie.

"What's doing?" says I, after the maid hadleft.

"I don't know," says Sadie. "I've got togive that jewelry back to the silly thingfirst; then we'll see."

So I handed the trinkets over, and it wasn'tlong before Mrs. Pell shows up. And say,the minute them two came together themercury dropped about thirty degrees.Bein' behind the glass, I couldn't see; but Icould hear, and that was enough.

"Here are your lost rings," says Sadie.

That's her, every tick of the watch. If shewas tackled by a gyasticutus, she'd grab itby the horns.

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"Oh!" says Mrs, Pell, gatherin' 'em in;"And how does it happen that you havethem?"

"I'll tell you to-morrow," says Sadie.

"I'd rather not wait that long," says Mrs.Pell. "I prefer to know now."

"You ought to be satisfied to get themback," says Sadie.

"Perhaps," says Mrs. Pell; "but I'm just alittle curious to know how they got away.My maid thinks the person who took themis still in the house."

"If I listened to all the things my maidsays" begins Sadie.

"There are maids and maids," says Mrs.Pell. "I can trust mine. She saw the man.

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More than that, Mrs. Dipworthy, shethinks he is hidden in your rooms."

"She must have seen my brother," saysSadie, "or Professor McCabe."

"It's quite possible," says Mrs. Pell; "but Ishall insist on having the officers sentfor."

"Why," says Sadie, "I might have takenthem myself, just as a joke."

"Indeed!" says Mrs. Pell in a politeassault-and-battery tone. "Then perhapsyou will confess as much to the otherguests? Will you?"

And that was a facer for Sadie. She'd beenkeeping a stiff lip up to this, but she cameto the scratch wabbly in her voice. "Youwouldn't want me to do that, would you?"

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says she.

"In justice to my maid, I must," says Mrs.Pell.

"Well," says Sadie, "if you're meanenough for that, I suppose I"

But, say, I couldn't stay under cover anylonger, with her bein' pushed down thechute in that style. I was wise to her gameall right. She meant to stand up and takeall that was coming, even if it put herdown and out, just to keep the hooks offthat kid brother of hers. And me loafin'back of the ropes with me hands in mepockets! I'd been a welcher, wouldn't I?

"Did I hear my cue?" says I, steppin' outinto the lime-light.

It was a tableau, for fair. Me and Mrs.

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Purdy Pell didn't do anything but swaplooks for a minute or so. I can't say justhow pleased she was, but I've had betterviews. She wasn't any dainty, lily-of-the-valley sort. She was a good deal of acabbage rose, I should say, and carriedmore or less weight for age. She had anarm on her like a fore-quarter of beef. Idon't wonder that Purdy Pell skipped toEurope and didn't put in any answer whenthe proceedin's came up.

"Are you the one?" says she.

"No, he isn't," says Sadie, speakin' upbrisk.

"That's right," says I; "but it was mebrought your finger sparks back to light,ma'am."

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"And where did you find them?" says Mrs.Pell, turnin' the third-degree stare on me.

"That's a professional secret," says I,"which I can't give up just yet."

"Oh, you can't!" says she. "This isinteresting."

And with that she begins to size us up, oneafter the other. Oh, she had us tied to thepost, with nothin' to do but chuck theknives at us. For a gallery play, it was thepunkiest I ever put up. Here I'd comesplashin' in with both feet, like an amateurlife-saver goin' to the rescue, and I hadn'tdone anything but raise the tide.

Sadie didn't have a word to say. She wasjust bitin' her lip, and gettin' white aboutthe mouth from the mad in her. And say,

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maybe Her Stoutness didn't enjoy watchin'us squirm. She was gettin' even for everylook one of her Willie boys had everwasted on Sadie.

"We'll see if you two can be induced toconfide your precious secret to thepolice," says she. "I mean to find out whostole my rings."

She hadn't more than sent in that shotbefore the closet door opens, and Buddycomes out, blinkin' like a bat.

"It's all over, ain't it?" says he.

"It is now," says I, and looks to see Mrs.Purdy Pell begin to holler: "Stop thief!"

But it was a case of being off the alleyagain. Say, I'm glad I wasn't backin' myguesses with good money that night, or I'd

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come home with my pockets wrong sideout. Ever see a hundred-and-eighty-poundfairy with a double chin turn kittenish?That was her.

"Why, Mr. Sullivan!" she gurgles, throwin'him a Julia Marlowe goo-goo glance.

"Hello, Dimples!" says Buddy. "Oh, theywere your rings, were they? Then it's allright. I just borrowed 'em to scare sisterinto a cat fit and make her open upjust fora josh, you know."

"Why, why!" says Mrs. Pell, lookin'twisted, "is Mrs. Dipworthy your sister?"

"Sure," says Buddy. "But say, Dimples,you're the very girl I was wanting to seemost. I've got another sure thing, good as atitle guarantee, for the Croton stakes, and

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if you'll back it for me we'll make akilling. How about it, eh?"

"Oh, you reckless boy," says Mrs. Pell,tapping him on the cheek. "But you didgive me such a lovely tip at the Aqueduct,andand we'll see. Come, I want to talk toyou," and she put out a wing for him totake.

As they drifted down towards the terraceBuddy turns and gives us the sassy winkover his shoulder.

"Looks like we'd lost our job, Sadie,"says I.

"The silly old moss-agate!" says Sadie.

Then I goes down and reports to Pinckney,and puts in the rest of the evenin' bein'introduced as the gent that set the Baron

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Patchouli up in the shoe-string business. Ifelt like I'd opened up a jack-pot on afour-flush, but Pinckney and the restseemed to be having a good time, so Istuck it out. In the morning Buddy goesalong back to town with me.

"Say, professor," says he, pattin' a roll oftwenties in his trousers pocket, "I wouldn'tpass this along to anyone else, but if youwant to connect with a hatful of easy coin,just plunge on Candy Boy."

"That's your beanery tip, is it?" says I."Much obliged, Buddy, but I guess afterthe bookies get all you and Mrs. Pell aregoin' to throw at 'em they won't needmine."

See? It was up to me to push home a great

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moral lesson, and I done my best. Butwhat's the use? Next mornin' I takes up thepaper and reads how Candy Boy wins,heads apart.

CHAPTER X

But say, I guess Buddy'll work out allright. There's good stuff in him. Anyways,I ain't losin' my eyesight, tryin' to followhis curves. And my date book's been full

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lately. That's the way I like it. If you knowhow to take things there's a whole lot offun in just bein' alive; ain't there? Nowlook at the buffo combination I've been upagainst.

First off I meets Jarvisyou know, Mr.Jarvis of Blenmont, who's billed to marrythat English girl, Lady Evelyn, next month.Well, Jarvis he was all worked up. Oh,you couldn't guess it in a week. It was anawful thing that happened to him. Just ashe's got his trunk packed for England,where the knot-tyin' is to take place, hegets word that some old lady that wassecond cousin to his mother, or somethinglike that, has gone and died and left himall her property.

"Real thoughtless of her, wa'n't it?" says I.

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"Well," says Jarvis, lookin' kind offoolish, "I expect she meant well enough. Idon't mind the bonds, and that sort ofthing, but there's this Nightingale Cottage.Now, what am I to do with that?"

"Raise nightingales for the trade," says I.

Jarvis ain't one of the joshin' kind, though,same as Pinckney. He had this weddin'business on his mind, and there wa'n'tmuch room for anything else. Seems theold lady who'd quit livin' was a relativehe didn't know much about.

"I remember seeing her only once," saysJarvis, "and then I was a little chap.Perhaps that's why I was such a favorite ofhers. She always sent me a prayer-bookevery Christmas."

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"Must have thought you was hard onprayer-books," says I. "She wa'n't batty,was she?"

Jarvis wouldn't say that; but he didn't denythat there might have been a few cobwebsin the belfry. Aunt Ameliathat's what hecalled herhad lived by herself for so long,and had coaxed up such a case of nerves,that there was no tellin'. The family didn'teven know she was abroad until theyheard she'd died there.

"You see," says Jarvis, "the deuce of it isthe cottage is just as she stepped out of it,full of a lot of old truck that I've either gotto sell or burn, I suppose. And it's abeastly nuisance."

"It's a shame," says I. "But where is thisNightingale Cottage?"

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"Why, it's in Primrose Park, up inWestchester County," says he.

With that I pricks up my ears. You knowI've been puttin' my extra-long green inpickle for the last few years, layin' for achance to place 'em where I could turn 'emover some day and count both sides. AndWestchester sounded right.

"Say," says I, leadin' him over to thetelephone booth, "you sit down there andring up some real-estate guy out inPrimrose Park and get a bid for that place.It'll be about half or two-thirds what it'sworth. I'll give you that, and ten per cent.more on account of the fixin's. Is it a go?"

Was it? Mr. Jarvis had central and wascallin' up Primrose Park before I getsthrough, and inside of an hour I'm a

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taxpayer. I've made big lumps of moneyquicker'n that, but I never spent such achunk of it so swift before. But Jarviswent off with his mind easy, and I wassatisfied. In the evenin' I dropped aroundto see the Whaleys.

"Dennis, you low-county bog-trotter," saysI, "about all I've heard out of you since Iwas knee high was how you was achin' toquit the elevator and get back to diggin'and cuttin' grass, same's you used to do onthe old sod. Now here's a chance to makegood."

Well, say, that was the only time I evertalked ten minutes with Dennis Whaleywithout bein' blackguarded. He'd beenfired off the elevator the week before andhad been job-huntin' ever since. As for

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Mother Whaley, when she saw a chance toshake three rooms back and a fire-escapefor a place where the trees has leaves on'em, she up and cried into the corned beefand cabbage, just for joy.

"I'll send the keys in the mornin'," says I."Then you two pack up and go out there toNightingale Cottage and open her up. If it'sfit to live in, and you don't die oflonesomeness, maybe I'll run up once in awhile of a Sunday to look you over."

You see, I thought it would be a brightscheme to hang onto the place for a yearor so, before I tries to unload. That givesthe Whaleys what they've been wishin' for,and me a chance to do the weekend actnow and then. Course, I wa'n't lookin' forno complications. But they come along, all

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right.

It was on a Saturday afternoon that I tookthe plunge. You know how quick this littleold town can warm up when she starts.We'd had the Studio fans goin' all themornin', and the first shirtwaist lads wasparadin' across Forty-second street withtheir coats off, and Swifty'd made tracksfor Coney Island, when I remembersPrimrose Park.

I'd passed through in expresses oftenenough, so I didn't have to look it up onthe map; but that was about all. When I'dspoiled the best part of an hour on a localfull of commuters and low-cut high-brows, who killed time playin' whist andcussin' the road, I was dumped down at acute little station about big enough for a

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lemonade stand. As the cars went off Idrew in a long breath. Say, I'd got off justin time to escape bein' carried intoConnecticut.

I jumps into a canopy-top surrey that lookslike it had been stored in an open lot allwinter, and asks the driver if he knowswhere Nightingale Cottage is.

"Sure thing!" says he. "That's the placeShorty McCabe's bought."

"Do tell!" says I. "Well, cart me out to thefront gate and put me off."

It was a nice ride. If it had been a milelonger I'd had facts enough for a townhistory. Drivin' a depot carriage was justa side issue with that Primrose blossom.Conversin' was his long suit. He tore off

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information by the yard, and slung it overthe seat-back at me like one of thesemegaphone lecturers on the rubber-neckwagons. Accordin' to him, Aunt 'Meliehad been a good deal of a she-hermit.

"Why," says he, "Major Curtis Binger toldme himself that in the five years he livedneighbors to her he hadn't seen her more'nonce or twice. They say she hadn't beenout of her yard for ten years up to the timeshe went abroad for her health and died ofit."

"Anyone that could live in this town thatlong and not die, couldn't have tried veryhard," says I. "Who's this Major Binger?"

"Oh, he's a retired army officer, the majoris; widower, with two daughters," says he.

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"Singletons?" says I.

"Yep, and likely to stay so," says he.

About then he turns in between a couple offancy stone gate-posts, twists around acracked bluestone drive, and lands me atthe front steps of Nightingale Cottage. Forthe kind, it wa'n't so badone of thosesquatty bay-windowed affairs, with a rooflike a toboggan chute, a porch that didalmost a whole lap around outside, and acobblestone chimney that had vinesgrowin' clear to the top. And sure enough,there was Dennis Whaley with his rake,comin' as near a grin as he knew how.

Well, he has me in tow in about a minute,and I makes a personally conducted tourof me estate. Say, all I thought I was gettin'was a couple of buildin' lots; but I'll be

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staggered if there wa'n't a slice of groundmost as big as Madison Square Park, withtrees, and shrubbery, and posy beds, anddinky little paths loopin' the loop allaround. Out back was a stable andgoosb'ry bushes and a truck garden.

"How's thim for cabbages?" says Dennis.

"They look more like boutonnieres," saysI. But he goes on to tell as how they'd justbeen set out and wouldn't be life-size tillfall. Then he shows the rows that he sayswas goin' to be praties and beans and soon, and he's as proud of the wholeshootin'-match as if he'd done a miracle.

When we got around to the front again,where Dennis has laid out a pansy harp, Isees a little gatherin' over in front of thecottage next door. There was three or four

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gents, and six or eight women-folks. Theywas lookin' my way, and talkin' all toonce.

"Hello!" says I. "The neighbors seem to beholdin' a convention. Wonder if they'replannin' to count me in?"

I ain't more'n got that out before one of thebunch cuts loose and heads for me. Hewas a nice-lookin' old duck, with a pair ofwhite Chaunceys and a frosted chin-splitter. He stepped out brisk and swunghis cane like he was on parade. He wasgot up in white flannels and a square-topped Panama, and he had thecomplexion of a good liver.

"I expect that this is Mr. McCabe," sayshe.

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"You're a good guesser," says I. "Come upon the front stoop and sit by."

"My name," says he, "is Binger, CurtisBinger."

"What, Major Binger, late U. S. A.?" saysI. "The man that did the stunt at the battleof What-d'ye-call-it?"

"Mission Ridge, sir," says he, throwin' outhis chest.

"Sure! That was the place," says I. "Well,well! Who'd think it? I'm proud to knowyou. Put 'er there."

With that I had him goin'. He was up in theair, and before he'd got over it I'd landedhim in a porch rocker and chased Dennisin to dig a box of Fumadoras out of mysuit-case.

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"Ahem," says the Major, clearin' hisspeech tubes, "I came over, Mr. McCabe,on rather a delicate errand."

"If you're out of butter, or want to touchme for a drawin' of tea, speak right up,Major," says I. "The pantry's yours."

"Thank you," says he; "but it's nothing likethat; nothing at all, sir. I came over as therepresentative of several citizens ofPrimrose Park, to inquire if it is yourintention to reside here."

"Oh!" says I. "You want to know if I'lljoin the gang? Well, seein' as you've put itup to me so urgent, I don't care if I do.Course I can't sign as a reg'lar, this bein'my first jab at the simple life; but if youcan stand for the punk performance I'llmake at progressive euchre and croquet,

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you can put me on the Saturday night sublist, for a while, anyway."

Now, say, I was layin' out to do theneighborly for the best that was in me; butit seemed to hit the Major wrong. Heturned about two shades pinker, coughedonce or twice, and then got a fresh hold."I'm afraid you fail to grasp the situation,Mr. McCabe," says he. "You see, we leada very quiet life here in Primrose Park, avery domestic life. As for myself, I havetwo daughters"

"Chic, chic, Major!" says I, pokin' himgentle in the ribs with me thumb. "Don'tyou try to sick any girls on me, or I'll taketo the tall timber. I'm no lady's man, not alittle bit."

Then the explosion came. For a minute I

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thought one of them 'Frisco ague spellshad come east. The Major turns plumcolor, blows up his cheeks, and bugs hiseyes out. When the language flows it waslike turnin' on a fire-pressure hydrant. Anassistant district attorney summin' up forthe State in a murder trial didn't have alook-in with the Major. What did Imeanme, a rough-house scrapper from thered-light sectionby buttin' into a peacefulcommunity and insultin' the oldestinhabitants? Didn't I have no sense ofdecency? Did I suppose respectablepeople were goin' to stand for such?

Honest, that was the worst jolt I ever had.All I could do was to sit there with mymouth ajar and watch him prancin' up anddown, handin' me the layout.

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"Say," says I, after a bit, "you ain't got memixed up with Mock Duck, or Paddy theGouge, or Kangaroo Mike, or any of thatcrowd, have you?"

"You're known as Shorty McCabe, aren'tyou?" says he.

"Guilty," says I.

"Then there's no mistake," says he. "Whatwill you take, cash down, for thisproperty, and clear out now?"

"Say, Major," says I, "do you think itwould blight the buds or poison the airmuch if I hung on till Monday morning?That is, unless you've got the tar all hotand the rail ready?"

That fetched a grunt out of him. "All wedesire to do, sir," says he, "is to maintain

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the respectability of the neighborhood."

"Do the other folks over there feel thesame way about me?" says I.

"Naturally," says he.

"Well," says I, "I don't mind telling you,Major, that you've thrown the hooks intome good an' plenty, and it looks like I'dhave to make a new book. I didn't comeout here' to break up any peacefulcommunity; but before I changes myprogram I'll have to sleep on it. Supposeyou slide over again some time to-morrow, when your collar don't fit sotight, and then we'll see if there's anythingto arbitrate."

"Very well," says he, does a salute to thecolors, and marches back stiff-kneed to

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tell his crowd how he'd read the riot act tome.

Now, say, I ain't one of the kind to losesleep because the conductor speaks roughwhen I asks for a transfer. I generallytakes what's comin' and grins. But thistime I wa'n't half so joyful as I might havebeen. Even the sight of Mother Whaley'shot biscuits and hearin' her singin' "CushlaMavourneen" in the kitchen couldn't chirkme up. I'd been keen for lookin' the houseover and seein' what I'd got in the grab;but it was all off. Course I knew I had therights of the thing. I'd put down me goodmoney, and there wa'n't any rules thatcould make me pull it out. But I've livedquite some years without shovin' in whereI knew I'd get the frigid countenance, and I

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didn't like the idea of beginnin' now.

I couldn't go back on my record, either. Inmy time I've stood up in the ring and putout my man for two thirds of the gatereceipts. I ain't so proud of that now as Iwas once; but I ain't never had any call tobe ashamed of the way I done it. What'smore, no soubrette ever had a chance tocall herself Mrs. Shorty McCabe, and Inever let 'em put my name over the door ofany Broadway jag parlor.

You got to let every man frame up his ownargument, though. If these PrimroseParkers had listed me for a tough citizen,that had come out to smash crockery andkeep the town constable busy, it wa'n't mycue to hold any debate. All the campaign Icould figure out was to back into the

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wings and sell to some well-behavedstock-broker or life-insurance grafter.

It was goin' to be tough on the Whaleys,though. I didn't let on to Dennis, and aftersupper we sat on the back steps while hesmoked his cutty and gassed away aboutthe things he was goin' to raise, and howthe flower-beds would look in a month orso. About nine o'clock he shows me aplace where I can turn in, and I listens tothe roosters crowin' most of the night.

Next mornin' I had Dennis get me aSunday paper, and after I'd read thesportin' notes, I turns to the suburban realestate ads. "Why not own a home?" mostof 'em asks. "I know the answer to that,"says I. And say, a Luna Park Zulu that hadstrayed into young Rockefeller's Bible

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class would have felt about as much athome as I did there on my own porch. Theold Major was over on his porch, walkin'up and down like he was doin' guard duty,and once in a while I could see some ofthe women-folks takin' a careful squint atme from behind a window blind. If I'mever quarantined, it won't be any newsensation.

It wasn't exactly a weddin' breakfast kindof a time I was havin'; but I didn't dodgeit. I was just lettin' it soak in, "for the goodof me soul," as Father Connolly used tosay, when I sees a pair of everfed blacks,hitched to a closed carriage, switch infrom the pike and make for the Major's."Company for dinner," says I. "That'snice."

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I didn't get anything but a back view as heclimbed out on the off side and was led inby the Major; but you couldn't fool me onthem short-legged, baggy-kneed pants, orthat black griddle-cake bonnet. It was mylittle old Bishop, that I keeps the fat offfrom with the medicine-ball work.

"Lucky he didn't see me," says I, "or he'dhollered out and queered himself with thewhole of Primrose Park."

I was figurin' on fadin' away to the otherside of the house before he showed upagain; but I didn't hurry about it, and whenI looks up again there was the Bishop,with them fat little fingers of his stuck out,and a three-inch grin on his face, pikin'across the road right for me. He'd comeout to wig-wag his driver, and, gettin' his

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eyes on me, he waddles right over. I triedto give him the wink and shoo him off, butit was no go.

"Why, my dear professor!" says he,walkin' up and givin' me the inside-brother grip with one hand and the old-college-chum shoulder-pat with the other.

I squints across the way, and there was theMajor and the girls, catchin' their breathand takin' it all in, so I sees it's no usethrowin' a bluff.

"How's the Bishop?" says I. "You've madea bad break; but I guess it's a bit too lateto hedge."

He only chuckles, like he always does."Your figures of speech, professor, aretoo subtle for me, as usual. However, I

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suppose you are as glad to see me as I amto find you."

"Just what I was meanin' to spring next,"says I, pullin' up a rocker for him.

We chins awhile there, and the Bishoptells me how's he been out to lay acornerstone, and thought he'd drop in onhis old friend, Major Binger.

"Well, well, what a charming place youhave here!" says he. "You must take me allover it, professor. I want to see if you'veshown as good taste on the inside as youapparently have on the out." And before Ihas time to say a word about Jarvis's Aunt'Melie, he has me by the arm and we'reheaded for the parlor. I hadn't evenopened the door before, but we blazesright in, runs up the shades, throws open

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the shutters, and stands by for a look.

Say, it was worth it! That was the mostladyfied room I ever put me foot in. Firstplace, I never see so many crazy lookin'little chairs, or bow-legged tables, orfancy tea-cups before in my life. Therewa'n't a thing you could sit on withouthavin' to call the upholstery man inafterward. Even the gilt sofa looked like itought to have been in a picture.

But what had me button-eyed was the walldecorations. If I hadn't been ridin' on thesprinker for so long I'd thought it was timefor me to hunt a D. T. institute right then.First off I couldn't make 'em out at all; butafter the shock wore away I see they weredolls, dozens of 'em, hangin' all over thewalls in rows and clusters, like hams in a

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pork shop. And say, that was the wooziestcollection ever bunched together! Theywa'n't ordinary Christmas-tree dolls, thestore kind. Every last one of 'em washome-made, white cotton heads, withhand-painted faces. Course, I tumbled.This was some of that half-batty Aunt'Melie's work. This was what she'd put inher time on. And she sure had produced.

For face paintin' it was well done, I guess,only she must have been shut up so longaway from folks that she'd sort of forgotjust how they looked. Some of the headshad sunbonnets on, and some nightcaps;but they were all the same shape, like ahardshell clam, flat side to. The eyes werepainted about twice life-sizesome rolledup, some canted down, some squintin'

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sideways, and a lot was just cross-eye.There was green eyes, yellow eyes, pinkeyes, and the regular kinds. They gave methe creeps.

When I turns around, the Bishop standsthere with his mouth open. "Why," sayshe"why, professor!" That was as far as hecould get. He gasps once or twice and getsout something that sounds like"Remarkable, truly remarkable!"

"That's the word," says I. "I'll bet thereain't another lot like this in the country."

"II hope not," says he. "No offence meant,though. Do youerdo this sort of thingyourself?"

Well, I had to loosen up then. I told himabout Aunt 'Melie, and how I'd bought the

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place unsight and unseen. And when hefinds this was my first view of the parlorit gets him in the short ribs. He has a funnyfit. Every time he takes a look at themdolls he has another spasm. I gets him outon the porch again, and he sits thereslappin' his knees and waggin' his headand wipin' his eyes.

By-'m'-by the Bishop calms down andsays I've done him more good than a tripto Europe. "You must let me bring MajorBinger over," says he. "I want him to seethose dolls. You two are bound to be greatcronies."

"I've got my doubts about that," says I."But don't you go to mixin' up in thisaffair, Bishop. I don't want to lug you infor any trouble with any of your old

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friends."

You couldn't stave the Bishop off, though.He had to hear the whole yarn, and theminute he gets it straight he jumps up.

"Binger's a hot-headed oldwell," says he,catchin' himself just in time, "the Majorhas a way of acting first, and then thinkingit over. I must have a talk with him."

I guess he did, too; for they were at itsome time before the Bishop waves by-byto me and drives off.

I'd just got up from one of Mrs. Whaley'sbest chicken dinners, when I hears ahurrah outside, and horses stampin' and ahorn tootin'. I rushes out front, and therewas Pinckney, sittin' up on a coach box,just pullin' his leaders out of Dennis's

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pansy bed. There was about a dozen of hiscrowd on top of the coach, includin' Mrs.DipworthySadie Sullivan that wasandMrs. Twombley Crane, and a lot more.

"Hello, Shorty!" says Pinckney. "Is thedoll exhibition still open? If it is, we wantto come in."

They'd met the Bishop; see? And he'dsteered 'em along.

Well say, I might have begun the day kindof lonesome, but it had a lively finish, allright. Inside of ten minutes Sadie has onone of Mother Whaley's white aprons andis takin' charge. She has some of themfancy tables and chairs lugged out on theporch, and the first thing I knows I'mholdin' forth at a pink tea that's theswellest thing of the kind Primrose Park

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ever got its eyes on.

CHAPTER XI

No, Nightingale Cottage ain't in themarket, and it looks like I'd got a steadyjob introducin' Aunt 'Melie's dollcollection to society; for Pinckney cartsdown a new gang every Sunday. AsSadie's generally on hand to help out, I'mready to stand for it. Anyways, I've bought

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a fam'ly ticket and laid in a stock of fancygroceries.

The Maje? Oh, him and me made it uphandsome. He comes over and tells meabout that Mission Ridge stunt of his everychance he gets. But say, I'm beginnin' tofind out there's others. It's a great place,Primrose Park is, and when I sized it up asa sort of annex to a cemetery I'd mistookthe signs.

It don't make much difference where youare, all you've got to do to keep yourblood from thinnin' out, is to mix in withfolks. Beats all how much excitement youcan dig up that way.

Now, I wa'n't huntin' for anything of thekind, but I was just usin' my eyes andkeepin' my ears open, so I notices that out

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on the main road, in front of the Park, isone of those swell big ranches that hog theshore front all the way from Motthaven upto the jumpin'-off place. From the outsideall you can see is iron gates and stonewall and stretches of green-plush lawn.Way over behind the trees you can get asquint at the chimney tops, and you knowthat underneath is a little cottage about thesize of the Grand Central station. That'sthe style you live in when you've hit thestock-market right, or in case you've got tobe a top-notch grafter that the muck-rakersain't jungled yet.

I'd been wonderin' what kind of folks hungout in there, but I'd never seen any of 'emout front, only gardeners killin' time, andcoachmen exercisin' the horses. But one

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mornin' I gets a private view that wasworth watchin' for.

The first thing on the program was an oldduffer dodgin' in and out around thebushes and trees like he was tryin' to losesomebody. That got me curious rightaway, and I begins to pipe him off. Hewas togged out in white ducks, somethin'like a window cook in a three-off joint,only he didn't sport any apron, and his caphad gold braid on it. His hair was white,too, and his under lip was decorated withone of them old-fashioned teasersjust alittle bunch of cotton that the barber hadshied. He was a well-built old boy, buthis face had sort of a sole leather tint to itthat didn't look healthy.

From his motions I couldn't make out

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whether he was havin' a game of hide-and-go-seek or was bein' chased by a dog.The last thought seemed more likely, so Istrolls over to the stone wall and getsready to hand out a swift kick to thekioodle, in case it was needed.

When he sees me the old gent begins tododge livelier than ever and make signalswith his hands. Well, I didn't know hiscode. I couldn't guess whether he wantedme to run for a club, or was tryin' to keepme from buttin' in, so I just stands therewith my mouth open and looks foolish.

Next thing I sees is a wedge-faced, long-legged guy comin' across the lawn on thejump. First off I thought he was pushin'one of these sick-abed chairs, like theyuse on the board walk at Atlantic City. But

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as he gets nearer I see it was a greenwicker tea-wagonyou know. I ain't got tothe tea-wagon stage myself, but I've seen'em out at Rockywold and them places.Handy as a pocket in a shirt, they are.When you've got company in the afternoonthe butler wheels the thing out on theveranda and digs up a whole tea-makin'outfit from the inside. When it's shut itlooks a good deal like one of them laundrypush-carts they have in Harlem.

Now, I ain't in love with tea at any time ofthe day except for supper, and I surewould pass it up just after breakfast, but Idon't know as I'd break my neck to getaway from it, same's the old gent wasdoin'. The minute he gets a look at thewagon comin' his way he does some

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lively side-steppin'. Then he jumps behinda bush and hides, givin' me the sign not tolet on.

The long-legged guy knew his business,though. He came straight on, like he wasfollowin' a scent, and the first thing oldWhitey knows he's been run down. Hegives in then, just as if he'd been tagged.

"Babbitt," says he, "I had you hull down atone time, didn't I?"

But either Babbitt was too much out ofbreath, or else he wasn't the talkative kind,for he never says a word, but just opensup the top of the cart and proceeds to haulout some bottles and a glass. First hespoons out some white powder into atumbler. Then he pours in some water andstirs it with a spoon. When the mess is

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done he sticks it out to the old gent. Theold one never lifts a finger, though.

"Salute, first, you frozen-faced scum of theearth!" he yells. "Salute, sir!"

Babbitt made a stab at salutin' too, andmighty sudden.

"Now, you white-livered imitation of aman," says the old gent, "you may handover that villainous stuff! Bah!" and hetakes a sniff of it.

Babbitt keeps his eyes glued on him untilthe last drop was down, then he jumped.Lucky he was quick on the duck, for theglass just whizzed over the top of hishead. While he was stowin' the thingsaway the old fellow let loose. Say, youtalk about a cussin', I'll bet you never

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heard a string like that. It wasn't thelongshoreman's kind. But the way he puttogether straight dictionary words wasenough to give you a chill. It was therattlin' style he had of rippin' 'em out, too,that made it sound like swearin'. If therewas any part of that long-legged guy thathe didn't pay his respects to, from his earsto his toe-nails, I didn't notice it.

"It's the last time you get any of that slushinto me, Babbitt," says he. "Do you hearthat, you peanut-headed, scissor-shankedwhelp?"

"Ten-thirty's the next dose, Commodore,"says he as he starts off.

"It is, eh, you wall-eyed deck swab?"howls the Commodore. "If you mix anymore of that infant food for me I'll skin

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you alive, and sew you up hind sidebefore. Do you hear that, you?"

I was wearin' a broad grin when the oldCommodore turns around to me.

"If that fellow keeps this up," says he, "Ishall lose my temper some day. Ever drinkmedicated milk, eh? Ugh! It tastes the wayburnt feathers smell. And I'm dosed with iteight times a day! Think of it, milk! Butwhat makes me mad is to have it ladledout to me by that long-faced, fish-eyedfood destroyer, whose only joy in life is tohunt me down and gloat over my misery.Oh, I'll get square with him yet, sir; Iswear I will."

"I wish you luck," says I.

"Who are you, anyway?" says he.

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"Nobody much," says I, "so there's two ofus. I'm livin' in the cottage across theway."

"The deuce you say!" says he. "Thenyou're Shorty McCabe, aren't you?"

"You're on," says I. "How'd you guess it?"

Well, it seems one of my reg'lars was apartner of his son-in-law, who owned thebig place, and they'd been talkin' about mejust the day before. After that it didn't takelong for the Commodore and me to get aline on each other, and when I finds outhe's Roaring Dick, the nervy old chap thatstood out on the front porch of his ship allthrough the muss at Santiago Bay andhammered the daylights out of the Spanishfleet, I gives him the hand.

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"I've read about you in the papers," says I.

"Not so often as I used to read about you,"says he.

And say, inside of ten minutes we waslike a couple of G. A. R. vets, at areunion. Then he told me all about themedicated-milk business.

It didn't take any second sight to see thatthe Commodore was a gay old sport. He'dbeen on the European station for threeyears, knockin' around with kings andprinces, and French and Russian navalofficers that was grand dukes and suchwhen they was ashore; and he'd carriedalong with him a truck-driver's thirst andthe capacity of a ward boss. The fizzystuff he'd stowed away in that time musthave been enough to sail a ship on. I guess

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he didn't mind it much, though, for he'dbeen in pickle a long time. It was theseventeen-course night dinners and theforeign cooking that gave him theknockout.

All of a sudden his digester had thrown upthe job, and before he knew it he was in astate where a hot biscuit or a piece offried potato would lay him out on his backfor a week. He'd come home on sick leaveto visit his daughter, and his rich son-in-law had steered him up against aspecialist who told him that if he didn'tquit and obey orders he wouldn't last threeweeks. The orders was to live on nothin'but medicated milk, and for a man that hadbeen livin' the way he had it was an awfuljolt. He couldn't be trusted to take the stuff

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himself, so they hired valets to keep himdoped with it.

"I scared the first one half to death," saysthe Commodore, "and the next one Ibribed to smuggle out ham sandwiches.Then they got this fellow Babbitt to followme around with that cursed gocart, and Ihaven't had a moment's peace since. He'sjust about equal to a job like that, Babbittis. I make him earn his money, though."

You'd have thought so if you could haveseen the old Commodore work up gamesto throw Babbitt off the track. I put in mostof the day watchin' 'em at it, and it was asgood as a vaudeville act. About a quarterof an hour before it was time for the dosethe valet would come out and begin tolook around the grounds. Soon as he'd

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located the Commodore he'd slide offafter his tea wagon. That was just wherethe old boy got in his fine work. Theminute Babbitt was out of sight theCommodore makes a break for a newhidin' place, so the valet has to wheel thatcart all over the lot, playin' peek-a-boobehind every bush and tree until he nailedhis man.

Now you'd think most anyone with a headwould have cracked a joke now and thenwith the old gent, and kind of made it easyall round. But not Babbitt. He'd been hiredto get medicated milk into theCommodore, and that was all the idea hisnut could accommodate at one time. Hewas one of these stiff-necked, cold-blooded flunkies, that don't seem much

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more human than wooden Indians. He hadan aggravatin' way, too, of treatin' the oldchap when he got him cornered. He waspolite enough, so far as what he had tosay, but it was the mean look in his rattylittle eyes that grated.

With every dose the Commodore gotmadder and madder. Some of the names hethought up to call that valet was worthputtin' in a book. It seemed like a shame,though, to stir up the old gent that way, andI don't believe the medicine did him anymore good. He took it, though, becausehe'd promised his daughter he would.Course, I had my own notions of that kindof treatment, but I couldn't see that it wasup to me to jump in the coacher's box andgive off any advice.

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Next mornin' I'd been out for a little leg-work and I was just joggin' into the parkagain, when I hears all kinds of a ructiongoin' on over behind the stonewall. Therewas screams and yells and shouts, like aSaturday-night riot in Double Alley. Ipokes up a giraffe neck and sees a coupleof women runnin' across the lawn. Prettysoon what they was chasin' comes intoview. It was the Commodore. He waspushin' the tea-wagon in front of him, andin the top of that, with just his legs andarms stickin' out, was Babbitt.

I knew what was up in a minute. He'd losthis temper, just as he was afraid hewould, and before he'd got it back againhe'd grabbed the valet and jammed himhead first into the green cart. But where he

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was goin' with him was more'n I couldguess. Anyway, it was somewhere that hewas in a hurry to get to, for the old boywas rushin' the outfit across the front yardfor all he was worth.

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In the top of the tea wagon, was Babbitt.

"Oh, stop him, stop him!" screams one ofthe women, that I figures out must be thedaughter.

"Stop 'im! Stop 'im!" yells the other. Shelooked like one of the maids.

"I'm no backstop," thinks I to myself."Besides, this is a family affair."

I'd have hated to have blocked that run,too; for it was doin' me a lot of good, justwatchin' it and thinkin' of the bumpsBabbitt was gettin', with his head downamong the bottles.

I follows along on the outside though, andin a minute or so I sees what theCommodore was aimin' at. Out to one side

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was a cute little fish-pond, about ahundred feet across, and he was makin' abee line for that. It was down in a sort ofhollow, with nice smooth turf slopin' clearto the edge.

When the Commodore gets half-way downhe gives the cart one last push, and fiveseconds later Mr. Babbitt, with his headstill stuck in the wagon, souses into thewater like he'd been dropped from aballoon. The old boy stays just longenough to see the splash, and then hekeeps right on goin' towards New York.

At that I jumps the stone wall andprepares to do some quick divin', butbefore I could fetch the pond Babbittcomes to the top, blowin' muddy water outof his mouth and threshin' his arms around

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windmill fashion. Then his feet touchesbottom and he finds he ain't in any dangerof bein' drowned. The wagon comes up,too, and the first thing he does is to grabthat. By the time I gets there he was wadin'across with the cart, and the women hadmade up their minds there wa'n't any usefainting.

"Babbitt," says the Commodore'sdaughter, "explain your conduct instantly.What were you doing standing on yourhead in that tea-wagon?"

"Please, ma'am, II forget," spluttersBabbitt, wipin' the mud out of his eyes.

"You forget!" says the lady. And say,anyone that knew the old Commodorewouldn't have to do any guessin' as to whoher father was. "You forget, do you? Well,

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I want you to remember. Out with it,now!"

"Yes, ma'am," says Babbitt, tryin' to propup his wilted collar. "I'd just give him hisfirst dose for the day, and I'd dodged theglass, when somethin' catches me frombehind, throws me into the tea-wagon, andoff I goes. But that dose counts, don't it,ma'am? He got it down."

I sees how it was then; Babbitt had beengettin' a commission for every glass of themedicated stuff he pumped into theCommodore.

"Will you please run after my father andtell him to come back," says the lady tome.

"Sorry," says I, "but I'm no antelope.

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You'd better telegraph him."

I didn't stay to see any more, I was thatsore on the whole crowd. But I hoped theold one would have sense enough to clearout for good.

I didn't hear any more from my neighborsall day, but after supper that night, justabout dusk, somebody sneaks in throughthe back way and wabbles up to theveranda where I was sittin'. It was the oldCommodore. He was about all in, too.

"Diddid I drown him?" says he.

"You made an elegant try," says I; "butthere wasn't water enough."

"Thank goodness!" says he. "Now I candie calmly."

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"What's the use dyin'?" says I. "Ain't thereno thin' else left to do but that?"

"I've got to," says he. "I can't live on thatcursed stuff they've been giving me, and ifI eat anything else I'm done for. Thespecialist said so."

"Oh, well," says I, "maybe he's made awrong guess. It's your turn now. Supposeyou come in and let me have MotherWhaley broil you a nice juicy hunk ofsteak?"

Say, he was near starved. I could tell thatby the way he looked when I mentionedbroiled steak. He shook his head, though."If I did, I'd die before morning," says he.

"I'll bet you a dollar you wouldn't," says I.

That almost gets a grin out of him.

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"Shorty," says he, "I'm going to risk it."

"It's better'n starving to death," says I.

And he sure did eat like a hungry man.When he'd put away a good square meal,includin' a dish of sliced raw onions andtwo cups of hot tea, I plants him in an armchair and shoves out the cigar box. Helooks at the Fumadoras regretful.

"They've kept those locked away from mefor two weeks," says he, "and that wasworse than going without food."

"Smoke up, then," says I. "There's one dueyou."

"As it will probably be my last, I guess Iwill," says he.

Honest, the old gent was so sure he'd

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croak before mornin' that he wanted towrite some farewell letters, but he wastoo done up for that. I tucked him into aspare bed, opened all the windows, andbefore I could turn out the light he wassawin' wood like a hired man.

He was still workin' the fog horn when Iwent in to rout him out at five o'clock. Itwas a tough job gettin' him up, but I gothim out of his trance at last.

"Come on," says I, "we've got to do ourthree miles and have a rub-down beforebreakfast."

First off he swore he couldn't move, and Iguess he was some stiff from his sprint theday before, but by the time he'd got outwhere the birds was singin', and the treesand grass looked like they'd been done

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over new durin' the night, I was able tocoax him into a dog-trot. It was a gentlelittle stunt we did, but it limbered the oldboy up, and after we'd had a cold showerand a quick rub he forgot all about hisjoints.

"Well, are you set on keepin' that date inthe obituary column, or will we havebreakfast?" says I.

"I could eat cold lobscouse," says he.

"Mother Whaley's got somethin' better'nthat in the kitchen," says I.

"I suppose this will finish me," says he,tacklin' the eggs and corn muffins.

Now, wouldn't that give you the pip? Why,with their specialists and medicated dope,they'd got the old chap so leery of good

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straight grub that he was bein' starved todeath. And even after I'd got him bracedup into something like condition, he didn'tthink it was hardly right to go on eatin'.

"I expect I ought to go back and start in onthat slop diet again," says he.

I couldn't stand by and see him do that,though. He was too fine an old sport to bepolished off in any such style. "See here,Commodore," says I, "if you're dead stuckon makin' a livin' skeleton of yourself,why, I throws up me hands. But if you'llstay here for a couple of weeks and dojust as I say, I'll put you in trim to hit upthe kind of life I reckon you think is worthlivin'.

"By glory!" says he, "if you can do thatI'll"

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"No you won't," say I. "This is my blow."

Course, it was a cinch. He wa'n't anyinvalid. There was stuff enough in him tolast for twenty years, if it was handledright. He begun to pick up right away. Ionly worked him hard enough to make themeals seem a long ways apart and themattress feel good. Inside of a week I hadthe red back in his cheeks, and he waschuckin' the medicine ball around goodand hard, and tellin' me what a scrapperhe used to be when he first went to thecadet mill, down to Annapolis. You canalways tell when these old boys feelkinkythey begin to remember things likethat. Before the fortnight was up he wasn'tshyin' at anything on the bill of fare, andhe was hintin' around that his thirst was

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comin' back strong.

"Can't I ever have another drink?" says he,as sad as a kid leavin' home.

"I'd take as little as I could get alongwith," says I.

"I'll promise to do that," says he.

He did, too. About the second day afterhe'd gone back to his son-in-law's place,he sends for me to come over. I finds himwalkin' around the grounds as spry as atwo-year-old.

"Well," says I, "how did the folks take it?"

He chuckles. "They don't know what tosay," says he. "They can't see how aspecialist who charges five hundreddollars for an hour's visit can be wrong;

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but they admit I'm as good as new."

"How's Babbitt?" says I.

"That's why I wanted you to come over,"says he. "Now watch." Then he lets out aroar you could have heard ten blocksaway, and in about two shakes old wash-day shows up. "Ha! You shark-nosedsculpin!" yells the Commodore. "Where'syour confounded tea cart? Go get it, sir."

"Yes, sir; directly, sir," says Babbitt.

He comes trottin' back with it in a hurry.

"Got any of that blasted decayed milk init?" says the Commodore.

"No, sir," says Babbitt.

"Are you glad or sorry? Speak up, now,"says the Commodore.

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"I'm glad, sir," says Babbitt, givin' thesalute.

"Good!" says the Commodore. "Then openup your wagon and mix me a Scotch high-ball."

And Babbitt did it like a little man.

"I find," says the Commodore, winkin' atme over the top of his glass, "that I can getalong with as few as six of these a day. Toyour very good health, ProfessorMcCabe."

Stand it? Well, I shouldn't wonder. He's atough one. And ten years from now, ifthere's another Dago fleet to be filled fullof shot holes, I shouldn't be surprised tofind my old Commodore fit and ready toturn the trick.

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CHAPTER XII

You'd most think after that I'd have cut outthe country for a while; but say, I'm gettin'so I can stand a whole lot of real breathin'air. Anyway, I've put the Studio onsummer schedule, and every Saturdayabout noon I pikes out to Primrose Park, tosee if me estate's growed any durin' theweek.

Well, the last time I does it, I drops offabout two stations too soon, thinkin' a

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little outdoor leg-work would do megood.

It was a grand scheme, and I'd been allright if I'd followed the trolley track alongthe post-road; but the gasolene carts wasso thick, and I got to breathin' so muchgravel, that I switches off. I takes a nice-lookin' lane that appears like it mightbring me out somewhere near the place Iwas headin' for; but as I ain't much onfindin' my way where they don't have sign-boards at the corners, the first thing Iknows I've made so many turns I don'tknow whether I'm goin' out or comin'back.

It was while I was doin' the stray act, andwonderin' if it was goin' to shower, orwas only just bluffin', that I bumps into

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this Incubator bunch, and the performancebegins.

First squint I took I thought somebody'dbeen settin' out a new kind of shrubbery,and then I sized it up for a lot of umbrellajars that had been dumped there. But prettysoon I sees that it's nothin' but a doublerow of kids, all dressed the same. Theremust have been more'n a hundred of 'em,and they was standin' quiet by the side ofthe road, just as much to home as if thatwas where they belonged. Now, it ain't thereg'lar thing to find any such aggregationas that on a back lane, and if I'd had asmuch sense as a family horse in a carryallI'd shied and rambled the other way. But Ihas to get curious to see what it's allabout, so I blazes ahead, figurin' on takin'

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a good look as I goes by.

At the head of the procession was a ladyand gent holdin' some kind of exercises,and as I comes up I notices somethingfamiliar about the lady's back hair. Sheturns around just then, gives a little squeal,and makes for me with both hands out.Sure, it was herSadie Sullivan, that was.Well, I knew that Sadie was liable to befloatin' around anywhere in WestchesterCounty, for that seems to be her regularstampin' ground since she got to travelin'with the country house set; but I wasn'tlookin' to run across her just then and inthat company.

"Oh, Shorty!" says she, "you're a life-saver! I've half a mind to hug you righthere."

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"If it wa'n't for givin' an exhibition," saysI, "I'd lend you the other half. But howdoes the life-savin' come in? And where'dyou collect so many kids all of a size? Isthat pop, there?" and I jerks me thumb atthe gent.

"Captain Kenwoodie," says Sadie, "I wantyou to know my friend, ProfessorMcCabe. Shorty, this is Captain SirHunter Kenwoodie, of the British waroffice."

"Woodie," says I, "how goes it?"

"Chawmed to meet you, I'm suah," says he.

"Oh, splash!" says I. "You don't mean it?"

Well, say! he was a star. His get-up wassomethin' between that of a mounted copand the leader of a Hungarian band, and he

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was as stiff as if he'd been dipped in theglue-pot the day before. I'd heardsomethin' about him from Pinckney. He'ddrawn plans and specifications for a newforage cap for the British army, and on thestrength of that he'd been sent over to theStates to inspect belt buckles, or somethin'of the kind. Talk about your cinch jobs!those are the lads that can pull 'em out. Onhis off daysand he had five or six aweekWoodie'd been ornamentin' the top oftally-hos, and restin' up at such places asRockywold and Apawamis Arms.

Seems like he'd discovered Sadie, too,and had booked himself for her steadycompany. From her story it looked likethey'd been takin' a little drive around thecountry, when they ran up against this

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crowd of kids in checked dresses from theIncubator home. There was a couple ofnurses herdin' the bunch, and they'd allbeen sent up the Sound on an excursionbarge, for one of these fresh-air blow-outsthat always seem like an invitation fortrouble. Everything had gone lovely untilthe chowder barge had got mixed up witha tow of coal scows and got bumped sohard that she sprung a leak.

There hadn't been any great danger, but theexcitement came along in chunks. Thecrew had run the barge ashore and landedthe whole crowd, but in the mix-up one ofthe women had backed off the gangplankinto three feet of water, and the other hadsprained an ankle. The pair of 'em was allto the bad when Sadie and the Cap came

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along and found 'em tryin' to lead theirflock to the nearest railroad station.

Course, Sadie had piled right out, loadedthe nurses into the carriage, tellin' thedriver to find the next place where thecars stopped and come back after the kidswith all the buggies he could find, whileshe and Woodie stood by to see that theIncubators didn't stampede and getscattered all over the lot.

"So, here we are," says Sadie, "with allthese children, and a shower coming up.Now, what shall we do and where shallwe go?"

"Say," says I, "I may look like aninformation bureau, but I don't feel thepart."

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Sadie couldn't get it through her head,though, that I wasn't a Johnny-on-the-spot.Because I'd bought a place somewhere inthe county, she thought I could draw a mapof the state with my eyes shut. "We oughtto start right away," says she.

She was more or less of a prophet, too.That thunder-storm was gettin' busy overon Long Island and there was everychance of its comin' our way. It lets loosea good hard crack, and the Englishmanbegins to look worried.

"Aw, I say now!" says he, "hadn't I betterjog off and hurry up that bloomin'coachman?"

"All right, run along," says Sadie.

You should have seen the start of that run.

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He got under way like a man on stilts, andhe was about as limber as a pair of fire-tongs. But then, them leather cuffs on hislegs, and the way his coat hugged thesmall of his back, wa'n't any help. I wasenjoyin' his motions so much that I hadn'tpaid any attention to the kids, and I guessSadie hadn't either; but the first we knowsthey all falls in behind, two by two, handin hand, and goes trottin' along behindhim.

"Stop 'em! Stop 'em!" says Sadie.

"Whoa! Cheese it! Come back here!" Iyells.

They didn't give us any more notice,though, than as if we'd been holdin' ourbreath. The head pair had their eyes gluedon the Captain. They were the leaders, and

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the rest followed like they'd been tiedtogether with a rope. They was all girlsand I guess they'd average about five yearsold. I thought at first they all had onaprons, but now I sees that every last oneof 'em was wearin' a life-preserver.They'd tied the things on after the bump,and I suppose the nurses had been toorattled to take 'em off since. Maybe itwa'n't a sight to see them bobbin' up anddown!

Woodie, he looks around and sees what'scomin' after him, and waves for 'em to goback. Not much. They stops when hestops, but when he starts again they'reright after him. He unlimbers a little andtries to break away, but the kids jump intothe double-quick and hang to him.

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I knew what was up then. They'd sizedhim up for a cop, and cops was what theywas used to. You've seen those lines ofHome kids bein' passed across the streetby the traffic squad? Well, havin' lost theirnurses, and not seein' anything familiar-lookin' about Sadie or me, they'd made uptheir minds that Woodie was it. Theymeant to stick to him until something bettershowed up. Once I got this through my nut,I makes a sprint to the head of the columnand gets a grip on the Cap.

"See here, Woodie!" says I, "you'reelected. You'll have to stay by the kidsuntil relieved. They've adopted you."

"Aw, I say now," says he, "this is toobeastly absurd, y'know. It's a bore. Why, ifI don't find some place or other very soon

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I'll get a wetting."

"You can't go anywhere without thosekids," says I; "so come along back with us.We need you in our business."

He didn't like it a little bit, for he'd figuredon shakin' the bunch of us; but he had togo, and when he came right-about-face theprocession did a snake movement there inthe road that would have done credit to theSeventh Regiment.

I'd been lookin' around for a place to makefor. Off over the trees toward the Soundwas a flag-pole that I reckoned stood onsome kind of a buildin' and there was aroad runnin' that way.

"We'll mosey down towards that," says I;"but we could make better time, Cap'n, if

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you'd get your party down to light-weightmarchin' order. Suppose you give thecommand for them to shed them corkjackets."

"Why, really, now," says he, lookin' overthe crowd kind of helpless, "I haven't thefaintest idea how to do it, y'know."

"Well, it's up to you," says I. "Make aspeech to 'em."

Say, that was the dopiest bunch of kids Iever saw. They acted like they wa'n'tmore'n half alive, standin' there in pairs,as quiet as sheep, waitin' for the word.But that's the way they bring 'em up inthese Homes, like so many machines, andthey didn't know how to act any other way.Sadie saw it, and dropped down on herknees to gather in as many as she could get

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her arms around.

"Oh, you poor little wretches!" says she,beginnin' to sniffle.

"Cut it out, Sadie!" says I. "There ain't anytime for that. Unbuckle them belts. Turn to,Cap, and get on the job. You're in this."

As soon as Woodie showed 'em what waswanted, though, they skinned themselvesout of those canvas sinkers in no time atall. We left the truck in the road, and withthe English gent for drum-major, Sadie inthe middle, and me playin' snapper on theend, we starts for the flag-pole. I thoughtmaybe it might be a hotel; but when we gotwhere the road opened out of the woods toshow us how near the Sound we was, Isees that it's a yacht club, with a lot offlags flyin' and a whole bunch of boats

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anchored off. About then we felt the firstwet spots.

"They've got to take us into that club-house," says Sadie.

We'd got as far as the gates, one of thesefancy kind, with a hood top over the posts,like the roof of a summer-house, when thesprinkler was turned on in earnest.Woodie was gettin' rain-drops on his newuniform, and he didn't like it.

"I'll stay here," says he, and bolts undercover.

The Incubator kids swings like they wason a pivot, and piles in after him. Therewasn't anything to do then but stop underthe gate, seein' as the club-house was ahundred yards or so off. I snaked Woodie

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out, though, and made him help me rangethe youngsters under the middle of theroof; and when we'd got 'em packed infour deep, with Sadie squeezed in too,there wa'n't an inch of room for either ofus left.

And was it rainin'? Wow! You'd thoughtfour eights had been rung in and all thewater-towers in New York was turnedloose on us. And the thunder kept rippin'and roarin', and the chain-lightnin'streaked things up like the finish of one ofColonel Pain's exhibits.

"Sing to them!" shouts Sadie. "It's the onlyway to keep them from being scared todeath. Sing!"

"Do you hear that, Woodie?" says I acrossthe top of their heads. "Sing to 'em, you

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lobster!"

The Captain was standing just on the otherside of the bunch. He'd got the front half ofhim under cover, but there wasn't room forthe rest; so it didn't do him much good, forthe roof eaves was leakin' down the backof his neck at the rate of a gallon a minute.

"Only fu-fu-fawncy!" says he. "I don't fu-feel like singing, y'know."

"Make a noise like you did then," says I."Come on, now!"

"But really, I cawn't," says he. "I n-neversing, y'know."

Say, that gave me the backache. "See here,Woodie," says I, lookin' as wicked as Iknew how, "you sing or there'll betrouble! Hit 'er up, now!"

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That fetched him. He opened his face likehe'd swallowed something bitter, madeone or two false starts, and strikes up"God save the King." I didn't know thewords to that, so I makes a stab at"Everybody Works but Father," and Sadietackles somethin' else.

For a trio that was the limit. The kidshadn't seemed to mind the thunder andlightnin' a whole lot, but when that three-cornered symphony of ours cut loose theybegins to look wild. Some of 'em wasdiggin' their fists into their eyes andpreparin' to leak brine, when all of asudden Woodie gets into his stride andlets go of three or four notes that soundedas if they might belong together.

That seemed to cheer those youngsters up

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a lot. One or two pipes up, kind of scaredand trembly, but hangin' onto the tune, andthe next thing we knew they was all at it,givin' us "My Country 'Tis of Thee" in asfine shape as you'd want to hear. We quitthen, and listened. They followed up witha couple of good old hymns and, if I hadn'tbeen afloat from my shoes up, I might haveenjoyed the program. It was a goodexhibition of nerve, too. Most kids of thatsize would have gone up in the air andhowled blue murder. But they didn't evenshow white around the gills.

Inside of ten minutes it was all over. Theshower had moved off up intoConnecticut, where maybe it was wantedworse, and we got our heads together tomap out the next act. Sadie had the say.

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She was for takin' the kids over to theswell yacht club there, and waitin' untilthe nurses or some one else came to take'em off our hands. That suited me; butwhen it came to gettin' Captain Sir Hunterto march up front and set the pace, hemade a strong kick.

"Oh, by Jove, now!" says he, "I couldn'tthink of it. Why, I've been a guest here,y'know, and I might meet some of thefellows."

"What luck!" says Sadie. "That'll belovely if you do."

"You come along, Woodie," says I."We've got our orders."

He might have been a stiff-lookin'Englishman before, but he was limp

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enough now. He looked like a linen collarthat had been through the wash and hadn'treached the starch tub. His coat-tails wasstill drippin' water, and when he walked itsounded like some one was moppin' up amarble floor.

"Only fancy what they'll think!" he keptsayin' to himself as we got under way.

"They'll take you for an anti-race-suicideclub," says I; "so brace up."

We hadn't more'n struck the club-houseporch, and the steward had rushed out todrive us away, when Sadie gives anotherone of them squeals that means she'ssighted something good.

"Oh, there's the Dixie Girl!" says she.

"You must have 'em bad," says I. "I don't

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see any girl."

"The yacht!" says she, pointin' to the endof the dock. "That big white one. It's Mrs.Brinley Cubbs' Dixie Girl. You wait hereuntil I see if she's aboard," and off shegoes.

So we lined up in front to wait, theIncubators never takin' their eyes off'nWoodie, and him as pink as a sportin'extra, and sayin' things under his breath.Every time he took a hitch sideways thewhole line dressed. All hands from theclub turned out to see the show, and therockin'-chair skippers made funny cracksat us.

"Ahoy the nursery!" says one guy. "Whereyou bound for?"

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"Ask popper," says I. "He's got thetickets."

Woodie kept his face turned and his jawshut, and if he had any friends in thecrowd I guess they didn't spot him. I'll bethe wa'n't sorry when Sadie shows up ondeck and waves for us to come on.

Mrs. Brinley Cubbs was there, all right.She was a tall, loppy kind of female,ready to gush over anything. As well as Icould size up the game, she was one of thenear-swells, with plenty of gilt but notenough sense to use it right. Her feelin'swere in good workin' order though, andshe was willin' to listen to any programthat Sadie had on hand.

"Bring the little dears right aboard," saysshe, "and we'll have them home before

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dark. Why, Sir Hunter, is it really you?"

"I'm not altogether sure," says Woodie,"whether it's I or not," and he made a diveto get below.

Well, say, that was a yacht and a half, thatDixie Girl! The inside of her was slicker'nany parlor car you ever saw. While theywas gettin' up steam, and all the waydown to the East river, Mrs. Cubbs hadthe hired hands luggin' up everythingeatable they could find, from chickensalad to ice-cream, and we all took a handpassin' it out to that Incubator bunch.

They knew what grub was, yes, yes! Therewasn't any holdin' back for an imitationcop to give the signal. The way they didstow in good things that they'd probablynever dreamed about before was enough

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to make a man wish he had John D.'s pileand Jake Riis's heart. I forgot all aboutbein' wet, and so did Woodie. To see himjugglin' stacks of loaded plates you'd thinkhe'd graduated from a ham-and factory. Heseemed to like it, too, and he was wearin'what passes for a grin among the Englisharistocracy. By the time we got to the dockat East 34th-st. there was more solidcomfort and stomach-ache in that cabinthan it'll hold again in a thousand years.

Sadie had me go ashore and telephone fortwo of them big rubber-neck wagons. Thatgave us time to get the sleepers woke upand arrange 'em on the dock. Just as wewas gettin' the last of the kids loaded infor their ride up to the Home, a roundsmanshows up with two cops.

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"Where do you kids belong?" he sings out.

With that there comes a howl, and thewhole bunch yells:

Hot pertatercoldtermateralligaterRome!We're the girls from the IncubatorHome!

"Caught with the goods!" says he, turnin'to the Cap'n and me. "You're arrested forwholesale kidnappin'. There's a generalalarm out for youse."

"Ah, back to the goats!" says I. "You don'tthink we look nutty enough to steal awhole orphan asylum, do you, Rounds?"

"I wouldn't trust either of you alone with abrick block," says he. "And your sidepartner with the Salvation Army coat on

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looks like a yegg man to me."

"Now will you be nice, Cap?" says I.

At this Sadie and Mrs. Cubbs tries to buttin, but that roundsman had a head like achoppin' block. He said the two nurseshad come to town and reported that they'dbeen held up in the woods and that all thekids had been swiped. As Woodie fittedone of the descriptions, we had to go tothe station, that was all there was about it.

And say, if the Sarge hadn't happened tohave been one of my old backers, we'dhave put in the night with the drunk anddisorderlies. Course, when I tells me littletale, the Sarge give me the ha-ha andscratches our names off the book. Wedidn't lose any time either, in hittin' theStudio, where there was a hot bath and dry

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towels.

But paste this in your Panama: Next timeme and Woodie goes out to rescue thefatherless, we takes along our raincoats.We've shook hands on that.

CHAPTER XIII

How's Woodie and Sadie comin' on? Ah,say! you don't want to take the things shedoes too serious. It's got to be a real live

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one that interests Sadie. And, anyway,Woodie's willing to take oath that she putup a job on him. So it's all off.

And I guess I ain't so popular with her as Imight be. Anyway, I wouldn't blame her,after the exhibition I made the other night,for classin' me with the phonies. It wastrouble I hunted up all by myself.

Say, if I hadn't been havin' a dopey streakI'd a known something was about due.There hadn't a thing happened to me formore'n a week, when Pinckney blows intothe Studio one mornin', just casual like, asif he'd only come in 'cause he found thedoor open. That should have put me leary,but it didn't. I gives him the hail, and tellshim, he's lookin' like a pink just off theice.

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"Shorty," says he, "how are you oncharity?"

"I'm a cinch," says I. "Every panhandlernorth of Madison Square knows he canwork me for a beer check any time he canrun me down."

"Then you'll be glad to exercise yourtalents in aid of a worthy cause," says he.

"It don't follow," says I. "The deservin'poor I passes up. There's too much donefor 'em, as it is. It's the unworthy kind thatwins my coin. They enjoys it more and hasa harder time gettin' it."

"Your logic is good, Shorty," says he,"and I think I agree with your sentiments.But this is a case where charity is only anexcuse. The ladies out at Rockywold are

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getting up an affair for the benefit ofsomething or other, no one seems to knowjust what, and they've put you down for alittle bag punching and club swinging."

"Then wire 'em to scratch the entry," saysI. "I don't make any orchestra circle playsthat I can dodge, and when it comes tofightin' the leather before a bunch ofpeacock millinery I renigs every time. I'llput on Swifty Joe as a sub., if you've gotto have some one."

Pinckney shook his head at that. "No,"says he, "I'll tell Sadie she must leave youoff the program."

"Hold on," says I. "Was it Sadie billed mefor this stunt?"

He said it was.

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"Then I'm on the job," says I. "Oh, you cangrin your ears off, I don't care."

Well, that was what fetched me out toRockywold on a Friday night, when I hada right to be watchin' the amateur try-outsat the Maryborough Club instead. Theshow wasn't until Saturday evenin', butPinckney said I ought to be there for thedress rehearsal.

"There's only about a dozen guests therenow, so you needn't get skittish," says he.

And a dozen don't go far towards fillin' upa place like Rockywold. Say, if I had theprice, I'd like a shack where I could takecare of more or less comp'ny withoutsettin' up cot beds, but I'll be blistered if Ican see the fun in runnin' a free hotel likethat.

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These amateur shows are apt to be prettypunk, but I could see that, barrin' myself,there was a fair aggregation of talent onhand. The star was a googoo-eyed girlwho did a barefoot specialty, recitin'pomes to music, and accompanyin' herselfwith a kind of parlor hoochee-coocheethat would have drawn capacity houses atDreamland. Then there was a pretty boywho could do things to the piano, afuneral-faced duck that could tell funnystories, and a bunch of six or eight likely-lookin' ladies and gents who'd laidthemselves out to prance through whatthey called a minuet. Lastly there was mean' Miriam.

She was one of these limp, shingle-chested girls, Miriam was. She didn't have

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much to say, so I didn't take any particularnotice of her. But at the rehearsal I gotnext to the fact that she could tease musicout of a violin in great style. It was allright if you shut your eyes, for Miriamwasn't what you'd call a pastel. She wasbuilt a good deal on the lines of an L-roadpillar, but that didn't bar her from wearin'one of these short-sleeved square-necked,girly-girly dresses that didn't leave youmuch in doubt as to her framework.

Yes, Miriam could have stood a few well-placed pads. She'd lived long enough tohave found that out, too, but they wasmissin'. I should guess that Miriam hadbegun exhibitin' her collar-bones tosociety about the time poor old John L.fought the battle of New Orleans. Yet

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when she snuggled the butt end of thatviolin down under her chin and squinted atyou across the bridge, she had all themotions of a high-school girl.

'Course, I didn't dope all this out to myselfat the time; for, as I was sayin', I didn'tsize her up special. But it all came to meafterwardsyes, yes!

The excitement broke loose along aboutthe middle of that first night. I'd turned inabout an hour before, and I was poundin'my ear like a circus hand on a Sunday lay-over, when I hears the trouble cry. Firstoff I wasn't goin' to do any more than turnover and get a fresh hold on the mattress,for I ain't much on routin' out for firesunless I feel the head-board gettin' hot. Butthen I wakes up enough to remember that

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Rockywold is a long ways outside themetropolitan fire district, and I begins tothrow clothes onto myself.

Inside of two minutes I was outdoorslookin' for a chance to win a Carnegiemedal. There wasn't any show at all,though. The fire, what there was of it, wasin the kitchen, in the basement of the wingwhere the help stays. Half a dozenstablemen had put it out with the gardenhose, and were finishin' the job by soakin'one of the cooks, when I showed up.

I watched 'em for a while, and then startedback to my room. Somehow I got twistedup in the shrubbery, and instead of goin'back the way I came, I gets around on theother corner. Just about then a ground-floor window is shoved up, and a female

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in white floats out on a little stonebalcony. She waves her arms and beginsto call for help.

"You're late," says I. "It's all over."

That didn't satisfy her at all, though. Somesmoke and steam was still comin' from thefar side of the buildin', and it was blowin'in through another window.

"Help, help!" she squeals. "Help, before Ijump!"

"I wouldn't," says I, "they've gone homewith the life net."

"The smoke, the smoke!" says she. "Oh, Imust jump!"

"Well, if you've got the jumpin' fit," says I,"jump ahead; but if you can hold yourself

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in a minute, I'll bring a step-ladder."

"Then hurry, please hurry!" says she, andstarts to climb up on the edge of thebalcony.

It wa'n't more'n six feet to the turf anyway,and it wouldn't have been any killingmatter if she had jumped, less'n she'dlanded on her neck; but she was as looneyas if she'd been standin' on top of theFlatiron Buildin'. Bein' as how I'd forgotto bring a step-ladder with me, I chasesaround after something she could comedown on. The moon wasn't shinin' verybright though, and there didn't seem to beany boxes or barrels lyin' around loose, soI wasn't makin' much headway. But afterawhile I gets hold of something that wasthe very ticket. It was one of these wooden

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stands for flower-pots. I lugs that over andsets it up under the window.

"Now if you'll just slide down onto thateasy," says I, "your life is saved."

She looks at it once, and begins to flop herarms and take on again. "I never can do it,I know I can't!" says she. "I'll fall, I'llfall!"

Well, it was a case of Shorty McCabe tothe rescue, after all. "Coming up!" says I,and hops on the thing, holdin' out mepaws.

She didn't need any more coaxin'. Shescrabbled over that balcony rail and got ashoulder clutch on me that you couldn'thave loosened with a crowbar. I gatheredin the rest of her with my left hand and

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steadied myself with the other. Lucky shewasn't a heavy-weight, or that pot-holderwouldn't have stood the strain. It creakedsome as we went down, but it heldtogether.

"Street floor, all out!" says I, as I hit thegrass.

But that didn't even get a wiggle out ofher.

"It's all over," says I. "You're rescued."

Talk about your cling-stones! She was it.Never a move. I couldn't tell whethershe'd fainted, or was too scared to let go.But it was up to me to do something. Icouldn't stand there for the rest of the nightholdin' a strange lady draped the way shewas, and it didn't seem to be just the right

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thing to sit down to it. Besides, one of herelbows was tryin' to puncture my rightlung.

"If you're over the fire panic, I'll try andhoist you back through the window, miss,"says I.

She wasn't ready to do any conversin'then, though. She was just holdin' onto melike I was too good a thing to let slip.

"Well, it looks to me as though we'd got tomake a front entrance," says I; "but I hopethe audience'll be slim," and with that Istarts to finish the lap around the houseand make for the double doors.

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One of her elbows was tryin' to puncture my rightlung.

I've carried weight before, but never thatkind, and it seemed like that blamed housewas as big around as a city block. Once ortwice we butted into the bushes, andanother time I near tumbled the two of usinto the pool of a fountain; but after awhileI struck the front porch, some out ofbreath, and with a few wisps of black hairin my eyes, but still in the game. The ladyhadn't made a murmur, and she hadn'tslacked her clinch.

I was hopin' to slide in quiet, without bein'spotted by anyone, for most of the womenhad gone back to bed, and I could hear themen down in the billiard room clickin'

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glasses over an extra dream-soother. Luckwas against me, though. Right under thenewel-post light stood Pinckney, wearin' asilk pajama coat outside of a pair of blackbroadcloth trousers. When he sees me andwhat I was luggin' he looks kind ofpleased.

"Hello, Shorty!" says he. "What have youthere?"

"It might be a porous-plaster, by the way itsticks," says I, "but it ain't. It's a lady I'vebeen rescuin' while the rest of you guyswas standin' around watchin' a wet cook."

"By Jove!" says Pinckney, steppin' up andtakin' a close look. "Miriam!"

"Thanks," says I. "We ain't beenintroduced yet. Do you mind unhookin' her

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fingers from the back of my neck?"

But all he did was to stand there with hismouth corners workin', and them blackeyes of his winkin' like a pair of arclights.

"It's too pretty a picture to spoil," says he."So touching! Reminds me of Andromedaand What's-his-name. Just keep that pose aminute, will you, until I bring up the restof the fellows?"

"You'll bring up nothin'," says I, reachin'out with one hand and gettin' a grip on thecollar of his silk jacket. "Now get busy, oroff comes your kimono."

With that he quits kiddin' and goes to workon Miriam's fingers, and in about a minuteshe gives a little jump, like she'd just

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heard the breakfast bell.

"Why!" says she. "Where am I?"

"Right where you landed five minutesago," says I.

Then she shudders all over and squeals:"Oh! A man! A man!"

"Sure," says I, "you didn't take me for aMorris chair, did you?"

Miriam didn't linger for any more. She letsloose a holler that near splits me ear open,slides down so fast that her bare tootsieshit the floor with a spat, grabs her what-d'ye-call-it up away from her ankles withboth hands, and sprints down the hall as ifshe was makin' for the last car.

"Say," says I, gettin' me neck out of crook,

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"I wish that thought had come to hersooner. I feel as if I'd been squeezed by apair of ice-tongs. If she can hug like that inher sleep, what could she do when shewas wide awake?"

"Shorty," says Pinckney, with his face assolemn as a preacher's, "I'm pained andastonished at this."

"Me, too," says I.

"Don't jest," says he. "This looks to melike an attempt at kidnapping."

"If you'd had that grip on you, I guessyou'd have thought it was the real thing,"says I. "But here's a little tip I want topass on to you: Don't go spreadin' thisjosh business around the lot, or yourshow'll be minus a star act. I'll stand for

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all the private kiddin' you can hand out,but I've got my objections to playin' apublic joke-book part. Now, will youquit?"

He was mighty disappointed at havin' todo it, but he gave his word, and I makestracks up stairs, glad enough to be let offso easy.

"It was a queer kind of a faint, if that'swhat it was," says I to myself. "I'll bet Ifights shy of anything more of the kind thatI sees comin' my way. This is what I getsfor strayin' so far from Broadway."

But a little thing like that don't interferewith my sleepin', when slumber's on thecard, and I proceeds to tear off what wasdue me on the eight-hour sched., andmaybe a little more.

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I didn't get a sight of Miriam all day long.Not that I was strainin' my eyes any. Therewas somethin' better to look atSadie, forinstance. 'Course Pinckney was bossin' theshow, but she was bossin' him, and anyoneelse that was handy. They were goin' topull off the racket in the ball-room, andSadie found a lot to do to it. She's ahummer, Sadie is. Maybe she wa'n'tbrought up among bow-legged Englishbutlers and a lot of Swedish maids, butshe's learned the trick of gettin' 'em tobreak their necks for her whenever shesays the word.

All the forenoon more folks kept comin'on every train, and there was two rows ofthem big, deep-breathin' tourin' cars in thestables. By dinnertime Rockywold looked

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like a Saratoga hotel durin' the racin'season. Chappies were playin' lawntennis, and luggin' golf bags around, andkeepin' the ivories rollin', while the frontwalks and porches might have been Fifth-ave. on a Monday afternoon, from the dry-goods that was bein' sported there.

I stowed myself away in a corner of thebilliard-room and didn't mix much, but Iwas takin' it all in. Not that I was feelin'lonesome, or anything like that. I likes tosee any sort of fun, even if it ain't just mykind. And besides, there was more or lessin the bunch that I knew first-rate. But Idon't care about pushin' to the front until Igets the call.

So everything runs along smooth, and Iwas figurin' on makin' a late train down to

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Primrose Park after I'd done my little turn.I didn't care much about seein' the show,so I stuck to the dressin'-room until theysends word that it was my next. We'd hadthe punchin'-bag apparatus rigged up in theforenoon, and there wasn't anything left tobe done but hook on the leather and spreadout the mat.

Pinckney was doin' the announcin' and thejolly he gives me before he lugs me outwas somethin' fierce. I reckon I wasblushin' some when I went on. I took justone squint at the mob and felt a chill downmy spine. Say, it's one thing to step upbefore a gang of sports in a hall, andanother to prance out in ring clothes on aplatform in front of two or three hundredreal ladies and gents wearin' their evenin'

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togs.

There I was, though, and the crowd doin'the hurrah act for all it was worth. When Igets the bag goin' I feels better, andwhatever grouch I has against Pinckneyfor not lettin' me wear my gym. suit I putsinto short-arm punches on the pigskin. Thestunt seemed to take. I could tell that bythe buzz that came over the footlights. Nomatter what you're doin', whether it'smakin' campaign speeches, or stoppin' acomer in six rounds, it's always a help toknow that you've got the crowd with you.

By the time I'd got well warmed up, andwas throwin' in all the flourishes that'sbeen inventeddouble ducks, side-step andswing, shoulder work, and so onI felt realchipper. I makes a grandstand finish, and

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then has the nerve to face the audience anddo a matinée bend. As I did that I gets mylamps fixed on some one in the front row.

Say, if you've ever done much on theplatform, you know how sometimes you'llget a squint at a pair of eyes down frontand can't get yourself away from 'em afterthat. Well, that was the way with me then.There was rows and rows of faces that alllooked alike, but this one phiz seemed tostand right out; and to save me, all I coulddo was to stare back.

It belonged to Miriam. She had her chintucked down, and her head canted to oneside, and her mouth puckered into themushiest kind of a grin you ever saw. Hereyes were rolled up real kittenish, too.Oh, it was a combination to make a man

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strike his grandmother, that look she wassendin' up to me. I wanted to dodge it andpick up another, but there was no moregettin' away from it than as if I was bein'followed by a search-light. Worst of itwas, I could feel myself grinnin' back ather just as mushy. I was gettin' sillierevery breath, and I might have got as faras blowin' kisses at her if I hadn't pulledmyself together and begun to juggle theIndian clubs, for the second half of my act.

All the ginger had faded out of me, though,and I cut the rest of it mighty short. As Icomes off, Sadie grabs me and begins totell me what a hit I'd made, and howtickled she was, but I shakes her off.

"What's your great rush, Shorty?" says she.

"I've got a date to fill down the road,"

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says I, and I makes a quick break for thedressin'-room. Honest, I was gettin' rattledfor fear if Miriam should get another lookat me she'd mesmerize me so I'd neverwake up. I skins into my sack-suit, leavesword to have my bag expressed to town,and was just about to make a sudden exitwhen I bumps into some one at the frontdoor.

"Oh, Mr. McCabe! How did you knowwhere to find me?" says she.

Say, I'll give you one guess. Sure, it wasMiriam again. She was got up expensive,all real lace and first-water sparks, andjust as handsome as a towel rack. But theminute she turns on that gushy look I'mnailed to the spot, same as the rabbits theyfeed to the boa-constrictors up at the Zoo.

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"You didn't think you could lose me soeasy, did you?" says I.

"What a persistent fellow you are!" saysshe. "But, after you behaved so heroicallylast night, I suppose I must forgive you.Wasn't it silly of me to be so frightened?"

"Oh, well," says I, "the best of us is apt togo off our nut sometimes."

"How sweet of you to put it that way!"says she, and then she uncorks a giggle."You did carry me so nicely, too."

That was a sample. I wouldn't go on andgive you the whole book of the opera formoney. It's somethin' I'm tryin' to forget.But we swapped that kind of slush fornear half an hour, and when the showbroke up and the crowd began to swarm

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towards the buffet lunch, we was sittin'out on the porch in the moonlight, still atit. Pinckney says we was holdin' handsand gazin' at each other like a couple ofspoons in the park. Maybe we was; Iwouldn't swear different.

All I know is that after a while I looks upand sees Sadie standin' there pipin' us off,with her nose in the air and the heatlightnin' kind of glimmerin' in them blueeyes of hers. The spell was brokequicker'n when the curtain goes down andthe ushers open the lobby doors. 'Course,Sadie's nothin' more'n an old friend ofmine, and I'm no more to her, but you seeit hadn't been so long ago that I'd beentellin' her what a sweat I was in to getaway. She never said a word, only just

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sticks her chin up and laughs, and thengoes on.

Next minute there shows up in front of us afat old lady, with three chins and a waistlike a clothes hamper.

"Miriam!" says she, and there was wirenails and broken glass in the way she saidit, "Miriam, I think it was high time youretired."

"Bully for you, old girl!" I sings out. "Andsay, I'll give you a dollar if you'll lock herin until I can get away."

Perhaps that was a low-down thing to say,but I couldn't help lettin' it come. I didn'twait for any more remarks from either of'em, but I grabs my hat and makes a dashacross lots. I never stopped runnin' until I

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fetched the station, and it wasn't until afterthe train pulled out that I breathed realeasy.

Bein' safe here in the Studio, with Swiftyon guard, I might grin at the whole thing, ifit wasn't for that laugh of Sadie's. That cutin deep. Two or three days later I hearsfrom Pinckney.

"Shorty," says he, "you're a wonder. Ifancy you don't know what you did ingetting so chummy with Miriam under thevery nose of that old watch-dog aunt ofhers. Why, I know of fellows who'vewaited years for that chance."

"Back up!" says I. "She's a freak."

"But Miriam's worth three or fourmillions," says he.

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"I don't care if she owns a bond factory,"says I. "I'm no bone connoisseur, nor Idon't make a specialty of collectin' autumnleaves. Do you know what I'd do if I washer aunt?"

"What?" says he.

"Well," says I, "I'd hang a red lantern onher."

CHAPTER XIV

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You never can tell, though. The next thingI hears from Sadie is that she's so tickledover that Miriam mix-up that she wakes upin the night to snicker at it.

That makes me feel a lot easier in mymind, and just by way of bein' reckless, Istarts out to buy a bull pup. I'd have gothim, too, if it hadn't been for DocPinphoodle. Seein' the way things turnedout, though, I don't bear no grudge.

It was the Doc I met first. I'd noticed himdriftin' up and down the stairs once ortwice, but didn't pipe him off special.There's too many freaks around 42nd-st.'to keep cases on all of 'em.

But one day about a month ago I was sittin'in the front office here, gettin' the ear-achefrom hearing Swifty Joe tell about what he

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meant to do to Gans that last time, whenthe door swings open so hard it most takesthe hinges off, and we sees a streak ofarms and legs and tall hat makin' a diveunder the bed couch in the corner.

"They've most got the range, Swifty," saysI. "Two feet to the left and you'd been abull's-eye. What you got your mouth openso wide for? Goin' to try to catch the nextone in your teeth?"

Swifty didn't have time to uncork anyrepartee before someone struck thelanding outside like they'd come down aflight of foldin' steps feet first, and a little,sharp-nosed woman, with purple flowersin her hat, bobs in and squints once at eachof us. Say, I don't want to be looked atoften like that! It felt like bein' sampled

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with a cheese tester.

"Did Montgomery Smith just come inhere?" says she. "Did he? Don't lie, now!Where is he?" and the way she jerkedthem little black eyes around was enoughto tear holes in the matting.

"Lady" says I.

"Don't lady me, Mr. Fresh," says she,throwin' the gimlets my way. "And tell thatbroken-nosed child stealer over there totake that monkey grin off'm his face or I'llscratch his eyes out."

"Hully chee!" yells Swifty, throwin' aback somersault through the gym. door andsnappin' the lock on his side.

"Anything more, miss?" says I. "We'rehere to please."

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"Humph!" says she. "It'd take somethin'better than you to please me."

"Glad I was born lucky," thinks I, but Ithought it under my breath.

"Is my Monty hiding in that room?" saysshe, jabbin' a finger at the gym.

"Cross my heart, he ain't," says I.

"I don't believe you could think quickenough to lie," says she, and with that sheflips out about as fast as she came in.

I didn't stir until I hears her hit the lowerhall. Then I bolts the door, goes and callsSwifty down off the top of the swingin'rope, and we comes to a parade restalongside the couch.

"Monty, dear Monty," says I, "the

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cyclone's passed out to sea. Come out andgive up your rain check."

He backs out feet first, climbs up on thecouch, and drops his chin into his handsfor a minute, while he gets over the worstof the shock. Say, at first sight he wa'n't aman you'd think any woman would loseher breath tryin' to catch, less'n she washis landlady, and that was what I figuresout that this female peace disturber was.

Monty might have been a winner once, butit was a long spell back. Just then he wassome out of repair. He had a head bigenough for a college professor, and a cropof hair like an herb doctor, but his eyeswere puffy underneath, and you could seeby the café au lait tint to his face that hisliver'd been on a long strike. He was

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fairly thick through the middle, but his legsdidn't match the rest of him. They were toothin and too short.

"If I'd known you was comin', I'd had thescrub lady dust under there," says I; "but itwon't need it now for a couple of weeks."

He makes a stab at sayin' something, buthis breath hadn't come back yet. Herevives enough though, to take a look athis clothes. Then he works his silk dicerup off'm his ears, and has a peek at that. Itwas a punky lid, all right, but it had saveda lot of wear on his koko when he madethat slide for home plate and struck thewall.

"Was this a long-distance run, or just ahundred-yard sprint?" says I. "Nevermind, if it comes hard. I don't blame you a

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bit for side-steppin' a heart to heart talkwith any such a rough-and-readyconverser as your friend. I'd do the samemyself."

He looks up kind of grateful at that, andsticks out a soft, lady-like paw for me toshake. Say, that wasn't such a slow play,either! He was too groggy to say a word,but he comes pretty near winnin' me rightthere. I sets Swifty to work on him withthe whisk-broom, hands out a glass of ice-water, and in a minute or so his voicecomes back.

Oh, yes, he had one. It was a little shaky,but, barrin' that, it was as smooth asmayonnaise. And language! Why, justtellin' me how much obliged he was, henear stood the dictionary on its head.

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There wa'n't no doubt of his warm feelin'for me by the time he was through. It wasalmost like bein' adopted by a rich uncle.

"Oh, that's all right," says I. "You can usethat couch any time the disappearin' fitcomes on. She was hot on the trail; eh,Monty?"

"It was all a painful, absurd error," sayshe, "a mistaken identity, I presume. Permitme to make myself known to you," and heshoves out his card.

Rasmulli Pinphoodle, J. R. D.that was theway it read.

"Long ways from Smith, ain't it?" says I."The first of it sounds like a Persian rug."

"My Hindu birth name," says he.

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"I'd have bet you wa'n't a domestic filler,"says I. "The Pinphoodle is English, ain'tit?"

He smiles like I'd asked him to split a pintwith me, and says that it was.

"But the tag on the endJ. R. D.I passes up,"says I. "Don't stand for Judge of RentDodgers, does it?"

"Those letters," says he, makin' anothermerry face, "represent the symbols of myVedic progression."

"If I'd stopped to think once more, I'dfetched that," says I.

It was a jolly. I've never had the Vedicprogressionanyways, not had enough toknow it at the timebut I wasn't goin' to lethim stun me that way.

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Later on I got next to the fact that he wassome kind of a healer, and that the properthing to do was to call him Doc. Seems hehad a four-by-nine office on the top floorback, over the Studio, and that he was juststartin' to introduce the Vedic stunt to NewYork. Mostly he worked the mailorderracket. He showed me his ad in theSunday personal column, and it was all tothe velvet. Accordin' to his ownspecifications he was a head-liner in theEast Indian philosophy business, whateverthat was. He'd just torn himself away fromthe crowned heads of Europe for anAmerican tour, and he stood ready to ladleout advice to statesmen, tinker up brokenhearts, forecast the future, and map out theroad to Wellville for millionaires who'dgone off their feed.

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He sure had a full bag of tricks to drawfrom; but I've noticed that the more glassballs you try to keep in the air at once, thesurer you are to queer the act. AndPinphoodle didn't look like a gent that keptthe receivin' teller workin' overtime.

There was something about him, though,that was kind of dignified. He was thestyle of chap that would blow his lastdime on havin' his collar 'n' cuffspolished, and would go without eatin'rather than frisk the free lunch at a beerjoint. He was willin' to talk about anythingbut the female with the gimlet eyes and thekeen-cutter tongue.

"She is a mistaken, misguided person,"says he. "And by the way, ProfessorMcCabe, there is a fire-escape, I believe,

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which leads from my office down to yourback windows. Would it be presuming toomuch if I should ask you to admit me thereoccasionally, in the event of mybeingerpursued again?"

"It ain't a board bill, is it, Doc?" says I.

"Nothing of the kind, I assure you," sayshe.

"Glad to hear it," says I. "As a rule, I don'trun no rock-of-ages refuge, but I likes tobe neighborly, so help yourself."

We fixed it up that way, and about everyso often I'd see Doc Pinphoodle slidin' inthe back window, with a worried look onhis face, and iron rust on his trousers. Hewas a quiet neighbor, thoughdidn't torturethe cornet, or deal in voice culture, or get

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me to cash checks that came back withremarks in red ink written on 'em.

I was wonderin' how the Vedic stunt wascatchin' on, when all of a sudden he budsout in an eight-dollar hat, this year'smodel, and begins to lug around an iv'ry-handled cane.

"I'm glad they're comin' your way, Doc,"says I.

"Thanks," says he. "If I can in any measurerepay some of the many kindnesses whichyou have"

"Sponge it off," says I. "Maybe I'll want tothrow a lady off the scent myself, someday."

A week or so later I misses himaltogether, and the janitor tells me he's

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paid up and moved. Well, they come andgo like that, so it don't do to feellonesome; but I had the floor swept underthe couch reg'lar, on a chance that he mightshow up again.

It was along about then that I hears aboutthe bull pup. I'd been wantin' to have oneout to Primrose Parkwhere I goes to propup the weekend, you know. Pinckney wastellin' me of a friend of his that owns alikely-lookin' litter about two months old,so one Saturday afternoon I starts to hoofit over and size 'em up.

Now that was reg'lar, wa'n't it? Youwouldn't think a two-eyed man like mecould go astray just tryin' to pick out a bullpup, would you? But look what I runs into!I'd gone about four miles from home, and

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was hittin' up a Daddy Weston clip on theside path, when I sees one of them bigbay-windowed bubbles slidin' past like atrain of cars. There was a girl on the backseat that looks kind of natural. She seesme, too, shouts to François to put on theemergency brake, and begins wavin' herparasol at me to hurry on. It was SadieSullivan.

"Hurry up, Shorty! Run!" she yells. "Thereisn't a minute to lose."

I gets up on my toes at that, and I hadn't nomore'n climbed aboard before the machinewas tearin' up the macadam again.

"Anybody dyin'," says I, "or does thebargain counter close at five o'clock?"

"Aunt Tillie's eloping," says she, "and if

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we don't head her off she'll marry an oldvillain who ought to be in jail."

"Not Mr. Pinckney's Aunt Tillie, the oldgirl that owns the big place up nearBlenmont?" says I.

"That's the one," says Sadie.

"Why she's qualified for an old ladies'home," says I. "You don't mean to sayshe's got kittenish at her age."

"There's no age limit to that kind offoolishness," says Sadie, "and this lookslike a serious attack. We've got to stop it,though, for I promised Pinckney I'd standguard until he came back from Newport."

I hadn't seen the old girl myself, but Iknew her record, and now I got it revisedto date. She'd hooked two husbands in her

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time, but neither of 'em had lasted long.Then she gave it up for a spell and itwa'n't until she was sixty-five that shebegins to wear rainbow clothes again, andcaper around like one of the squab octet.Lately she'd begun to show signs ofwantin' to sit in a shady corner with aman.

Pinckney had discouraged a bald-headedminister, warned off an old bachelor, anddropped strong hints to a couple ofwidowers that took to callin' frequent forafternoon tea. Then a new one had showedup.

"He's a sticker, too," says Sadie. "I don'tknow where Aunt Tillie found him, butPinckney says he's been coming out fromthe city every other day for a couple of

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weeks. She's been meeting him at thestation and taking him for drives. She sayshe's some sort of an East Indian priest, andthat he's giving her lessons in a new faithcure that she's taking up. To-day, though,after she'd gone off, the housekeeper foundthat her trunk had been smuggled to thestation. Then a note was picked up in herroom. It said something about meeting herat the church of St. Paul's-in-the-Wood, atfour-thirty, and was signed, 'Your darlingMulli.' Oh, dear, it's almost half-past now!Can't you go any faster, François?"

I thought he couldn't, but he did. Hejammed the speed lever up another notch,and in a minute more we were hittin' onlythe high places. We caromed against themred-leather cushions like a couple of

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pebbles in a bottle, and it was a case ofholdin' on and hoping the thing would stayright side up. I hadn't worked up muchenthusiasm about gettin' to St. Paul's-in-the-Wood before, but I did then, all right.Never was so glad to see a church loomup as I was that one.

"That's her carriage at the chapel door,"says Sadie. "Shorty, we must stop thisthing."

"It's out of my line," says I, "but I'll helpall I can."

We made a break for the front door andbutted right in, just as though they'd sent uscards. It wasn't very light inside, but downat the far end we could see a little bunchof folks standin' around as if they waswaitin' for somethin' to happen.

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Sadie didn't make any false motions. Shesailed down the center aisle and took AuntTillie by the arm. She was a dumpy, pie-faced old girl, with plenty of ballast tokeep her shoes down, and a lot of genuinestore hair that was puffed and waved likethe specimens you see in the Sixth-ave.show cases. She was actin' kind ofnervous, and grinnin' a silly kind of grin,but when she spots Sadie she quit that andputs on a look like the hired girl wearswhen she's been caught bein' kissed by thegrocery boy.

"You haven't done it, have you?" saysSadie.

"No," says Aunt Tillie; "but it's going tobe done just as soon as the rector gets onhis other coat."

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"Now please don't, Mrs. Winfield," saysSadie, gettin' a waist grip on the old girl,and rubbin' her cheek up against hershoulder in that purry, coaxin' way shehas. "You know how badly we should allfeel if it didn't turn out well, andPinckney"

"He's a meddlesome, impertinent youngscamp!" says Aunt Tillie, growin' redunder the layers of rice powder. "Haven'tI a right to marry without consulting him,I'd like to know?"

"Oh, yes, of course," says Sadie, soothingher down, "but Pinckney says"

"Don't tell me anything that he says, not aword!" she shouts. "I won't listen to it. Hehad the impudence to suggest that my dearMulli was aa corn doctor, or something

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like that."

"Did he?" says Sadie. "I wouldn't havethought it of Pinckney. Well, just to showhim that he was wrong, I would put thisaffair off until you can have a regularchurch wedding; with invitations, andushers, and pretty flower girls. And youought to have a gray-silk wedding-gownyou'd look perfectly stunning in graysilk, you know. Wouldn't all that be muchnicer than running off like this, as thoughyou were ashamed of something?"

Say, it was a slick game of talk that Sadiehanded out then, for she was playin' fortime. But Aunt Tillie was no come-on.

"Mulli doesn't want to wait another day,"says she, "and neither do I, so that settlesit. And here comes the rector, now."

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"Looks like we'd played out our hand,don't it?" I whispered to Sadie.

"Wait!" says she. "I want to get a goodlook at the man."

He was trailin' along after the minister,and it wa'n't until he was within six feet ofme that I saw who it was.

"Hello, Doc!" says I. "So you're the dearMulli, are you?"

He near jumped through his collar,Pinphoodle did, when he gets his lamps onme. It only lasted a minute, though, for hewas a quick recoverer.

"Why, professor!" says he. "This is anunexpected pleasure."

"I guess some of that's right," says I.

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And say, but he was dressed for the joyfulbridegroom partstriped trousers, frockcoat, white puff tie, and white gloves!He'd had a close shave and a shampoo,and the massage artist had rubbed outsome of the swellin' from under his eyes.Didn't look much like the has-been thatdone the dive under the couch at theStudio.

"Well, well!" says I. "This is where theprivate cinch comes in, eh? Doc, you'vegot a head like a horse."

"I should think he'd be ashamed ofhimself," says Sadie, "running off with asilly old woman who might be hismother."

The Sullivan temper had got the best ofher. After that the deep lard was all over

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the cook stove. Aunt Tillie throws fourcat-fits to the minute, and lets loose onSadie with all kinds of polite jabs that shecan lay her tongue to. Then Doc steps up,puts a manly arm half-way round her beltline, and lets her weep on the silk facingof his Sunday coat.

By this time the preacher was all brokeup. He was a nice healthy-lookin' youngchap, one of the strawb'ry-blond kind,with pink and white cheeks, and hair assoft as a toy spaniel's. It turns out that hewas new to the job, and this was his firstcall to spiel off the splicin' service.

"I trust," says he, "that there isnothingerthat no one has any validobjection to the uniting of this couple?"

"I will convince you of that," says Doc

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Pinphoodle, speakin' up brisk and cocky,"by putting to this young lady a fewpertinent questions."

Well, he did. As a cross-examiner for thedefense he was a regular Joe Choate.Inside of two minutes he'd made tornmosquito netting of Sadie's kick, shownher up for a rank outsider, and put us boththrough the ropes.

"Now," says he, with a kind of calm,satisfied I've-swallowed-the-canarysmile, "we will proceed with theceremony."

Sadie was near cryin with the mad in her,she bein' a hard loser at any game. "You'rean old fraud, that's what you are!" shespits out. "And you're just marryingPinckney's silly old aunt to get her

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money."

But that rolls off Doc like a damage suitoff'm a corporation. He just smiles back ather, and goes to chirkin' up Aunt Tillie.Doc was it, and knew where he stood. Hehad us down and out. In five minutes morehe'd have a two-hundred-pound wife and afifty-thousand-dollar income.

"It strikes me," says he, over his shoulder,"that if I had got hold of a fortune in theway you got yours, young woman, Iwouldn't make any comments aboutmercenary marriages."

Well, say, up to that time I had a half-baked idea that maybe I wasn't called onto block his little game, but when hebegins to rub it into Sadie I sours on Docright away. And it always does take one

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or two good punches to warm me up to ascrap. I begins to do some swift thinkin'.

"Hold on there, Doc," says I. "I'll give inthat you've got our case quashed as itstood. But maybe there's someone elsethat's got an interest in these doin's."

"Ah!" says he. "And who might that be?"

"Mrs. Montgomery Smith," says I.

It was a chance shot, but it rung the bell.Doc goes as limp as a straw hat that'sbeen hooked up after a dip in the bay, andhis eyes took on that shifty look they hadthe first time I ever saw him.

"Why," says he, swallowin' hard, anddoing his best to get back the stiff fronthe'd been puttin' up"why, there's no suchperson."

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"No?" says I. "How about the one thatcalls you Monty and runs you under thecouch?"

"It's a lie!" says he. "She's nothing to me,nothing at all."

"Oh, well," says I, "that's between you andher. She says different. Anyway, she'scome clear up here to put in her bid; so it'sno more'n fair to give her a show. I'll justbring her in."

As I starts towards the front door Docgives me one look, to see if I meanbusiness. Then, Sadie says, he turns thecolor of pie-crust, drops Aunt Tillie as ifshe was a live wire, and jumps through theback door like he'd been kicked by a mule.I got back just in time to see him hurdle afive-foot hedge without stirrin' a leaf, and

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the last glimpse we got of him he washeadin' for a stretch of woods upConnecticut way.

"Looks like you'd just missed assistin' at acase of bigamy," says I to the youngpreacher, as we was bringin' Aunt Tillieout of her faint.

"Shocking!" says he. "Shocking!" as hefans himself with a hymn book. He wastakin' it hard.

Aunt Tillie wouldn't speak to any of us,and as we bundled her into her carriageand sent her home she looked as mad as asettin' hen with her feet tied.

"Shorty," says Sadie, on the way back,"that was an elegant bluff you put up."

"Lucky my hand wa'n't called," says I.

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"But it was rough on the preacher chap,wa'n't it? He had his mouth all made up tomarry some one. Blamed if I didn't want tooffer him a job myself."

"And who would you have picked out,Shorty?" says she.

"Well," says I, lookin' her over wishful,"there ain't never been but one girl that I'dchoose for a side partner, and she's out ofmy class now."

"Was her name Sullivan once?" says she.

"It was," says I.

She didn't say anything more for a spellafter that, and I didn't; but there's timeswhen conversation don't fit in. All I knowis that you can sit just as close on the backseat of one of them big benzine carts as

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you can on a parlor sofa; and with Sadiesnuggled up against me I felt like it wasalways goin' to be summer, with Sousa'sband playin' somewhere behind the rubbertrees.

First thing I knows we fetches up at myshack in Primrose Park, and I was standin'on the horse block, alongside the bubble.Sadie'd dropped both hands on myshoulders and was turnin' them eyes ofhers on me at close range. François waslookin' straight ahead, and there wasn'tanyone in sight. So I just took a good lookinto that pair of Irish blues.

"What a chump you are, Shorty!" shewhispers.

"Ah, quit your kiddin'," says I. But I didn'tmake any move, and she didn't.

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"Well, good-by," says she, lettin' out along breath.

"By-by, Sadie," says I, and off she goes.

Say, I don't know how it was, but I'vebeen feelin' ever since that I'd missedsomethin' that was comin' to me. Maybe itwas that bull pup I forgot to buy.

CHAPTER XV

Flag it, now, and I'll say it for you. Yes,

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you read about it in the papers, and saysyou: "Is it all so?" Well, some of it was,and some of it wasn't. But what do youexpect? No two of the crowd would tell itthe same way, if they was put on the standthe next minute. Here's the way it lookedfrom where I stood, though; and I wassome close, wa'n't I?

You see, after I woke up from that lasttrance, I gets to thinkin' about Sadie, andMiriam, and all them false alarms I'vebeen ringin' in; and, says I to myself:"Shorty, if I couldn't make a better showin'than that, I'd quit the game." So I quits. Ichases myself back to town for good, sayshello to all the boys, and tells Swifty Joe,if he sees me makin' another movetowards the country, to heave a sand bag

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at me.

Not that there was any loud call for me totend out so strict on the physical culturegame. I'd been kind of easin' up on thatlately, and dippin' into outside things; andit was them I needed to keep closer trackof. You know I've got a couple of flathouses up on the West side, and if you letthem agents run things their own wayyou'll be makin' almost enough to buy newhall carpets once a year.

Then there was ripe chances I was afraidof missin'. You see, knockin' around somuch with the fat wads, I often sees spotswhere a few dollars could be plantedright. Sometimes it's a hunch on themarket, and then again it's a straight steeron a slice of foot front that's goin' cheap. I

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do a lot of dickerin' that way.

Well, I'd just pushed through a deal thatleaves me considerable on velvet, and Iwas feelin' kind of flush and sassy, whenMr. Ogden calls me up, and wants toknow if I can make use of a gilt edgedbargain.

"Oh, I don't know," says I. "What's it looklike?"

"It's The Toreador," says he.

"Sounds good," says I. "How much?"

"Cost me forty thousand two years ago,"says he, "but I'm turning it over for twenty-five to the first bidder."

Well, say, when old man Ogden slingscold figures at you like that, you can

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gamble that he's talkin' straight.

"I'm it, then," says I. "Fifteen down, ten onmortgage."

"That suits me," says he. "I'll have thepapers made out to-day."

"And say," says I, "what is this Toreador,anyway; a race horse, or an elevatorapartment?"

Would you guess it? He'd hung up thereceiver. That's what I got for bein' sporty.But I wa'n't goin' to renig at that stage. Ifills out me little blue check and sends herin, and that night I goes to bed withoutknowin' what it is that I've passed up mycoin for.

It must have been near noon the next day,for I'd written a letter and got my check

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book stubs added up so they come withintwo or three hundred of what the bankfolks made it, when a footman in whitepanties and a plum colored coat driftsthrough the Studio door.

"Is this Professor McCabe, sir?" says he.

"Yep," says I.

"There's a lady below, sir," says he. "Canshe come up?"

"It ain't reg'lar," says I, "but I s'posethere's no dodgin' her. Tell her to comeahead."

Say, I wa'n't just fixed up for receivin'carriage comp'ny. When I writes andfigures I gets more mussed up than as if I'dbeen in a free-for-all. I'd shed my coat onone chair, my vest on another, slipped off

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my suspenders, rumpled my hair, and gotink on me in seventeen places. But I didn'thave sense enough to say I was out.

In a minute or so there was a click-clickon the stairs, I gets a whiff of l'IssoirDanube, and in comes a veiled lady. Shewas a brandied peach; from the outsidelines, anyway. Them clothes of herscouldn't have left Paris more'n a monthbefore, and they clung to her like a wetundershirt to a fat man. And if you had anydoubts as to whether or no she had thegoods, all you had to do was to squint atthe big amethyst in the handle of the goldlorgnette she wore around her neck. For aFelix-Tiffany combination, she was it.You've seen women of that kindreg'larwalkin' expense accounts.

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"So you are Shorty McCabe, are you?"says she, givin' me a customs inspectorlook-over, and kind of sniffin'.

"Sorry I don't suit," says I.

"How odd!" says she. "I must make a noteof that."

"Help yourself," says I. "Is there anythingelse?"

"Is it true," says she, "that you have boughtThe Toreador?"

"Who's been givin' you that?" says I,prickin' up my ears.

"Mr. Ogden," says she.

"He's an authority," says I, "and what hesays along that line I don't dispute."

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"Then you have bought it?" says she."How exasperating! I was going to get Mr.Ogden to let me have The Toreador thisweek."

"The whole of it?" says I.

"Why, of course," says she.

"Gee!" thinks I. "It can't be an apartmenthouse, then. Maybe it's an oil paintin', or aparlor car."

"But there!" she goes on. "I suppose youonly bought it as a speculation. Now whatis your price for next week?"

Say, for the love of Pete, I couldn't tellwhat it was gave me a grouch. Maybe itwas only the off-hand way she threw itout, or the snippy chin-toss that goes withit. But I felt like I'd been stroked with a

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piece of sand paper.

"It's too bad," says I, "but you've made awrong guess. I'm usin' The Toreador nextweek myself."

"You!" says she, and through the gauzecurtain I could see her hump hereyebrows.

That finished the job. Even if TheToreador turned out to be a new operahouse or a tourin' balloon, I was goin' tokeep it busy for the next seven days.

"Why not me?" I says.

"All alone?" says she.

Well, I didn't know where it would landme, but I wa'n't goin' to have her tag mefor a solitaire spender.

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"Not much," says I. "I was just makin' upmy list. How do you spell Mrs.Twombley-Crane's last namewith a k?"

"Really!" says she. "Do you mean to saythat she is to be one of your guests? Thenyou must be going just where I'd plannedto goto the Newport evolutions?"

"Sure thing," says I. I'd heard of theirhavin' all kinds of fool doin's at Newport,but evolutions wa'n't one of 'em. The bluffhad to be made good, though.

The lady pushes up her mosquito nettin'drop, like she wanted to see if I wasunwindin' the string ball or not, and thenfor a minute she taps her chin with themfoldin' eyeglasses. I wanted to sing out toher that she'd dent the enamel if she didn'tquit bein' so careless, but I held in. Say,

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what's the use eatin' carrots and takin'buttermilk baths, when you can have amercerized complexion like that laid on atthe shop?

All of a sudden she flashes up a littlesilver case, and pushes out a visitin' card.

"There's my name and address," says she."If you should change your mind aboutusing The Toreador, you may telephoneme; and I hope you will."

"Oh!" says I, spellin' out the old Englishletters. "I've heard Pinckney speak of you.Well, say, seein' as you're so anxious, I'lltell you what I'll do; I'll just put you downfor an in-vite. How does that hit you?"

I had an idea she might blow up, at that.But say, there was nothin' of the kind.

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"Why," says she, "I'm not sure but thatwould be quite a novelty. Yes, you maycount on me. Good day," and she wasgone without so much as a "thank youkindly."

When I came to, and had sized the thing allup, it looked like I'd got in over my head. Iwas due to stand for some kind of aracket, but whether it was a picnic, or asurprise party, I didn't know. What Iwanted just then was information, and forcertain kinds of knowledge there's nobodylike Pinckney.

I was dead lucky to locate him, too; but Itook a chance on his bein' in town, so Ifound him at his special corner table in thepalm room, just lookin' a dry Martini inthe face.

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"Hello, Shorty!" says he. "Haven't lunchedyet, have you? Join me."

"I will," says I, "if you'll answer me twoquestions. First off, what is it that Mr.Ogden owns that he calls The Toreador?"

"Why," says Pinckney, "that's his steamyacht."

"Steam yacht!" says I, gettin' a good gripon the chair, to keep from falling out."And me dead sure it was a bunch of six-room-and-baths! Oh, well, let that pass.What's done is done. Now what's thisevolution stunt they're pullin' off up atNewport next week?"

"The naval evolutions, of course," saysPinckney. "You should read thenewspapers, Shorty."

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"I do," says I, "but I didn't see a wordabout it on the sportin' page."

He gave me the program, though; how theywas goin' to have a sham torpedo battle,windin' up with a grand illumination of thefleet.

"You ought to run up and see it," says he.

"It looks like I had to," says I.

"But what about The Toreador?" says he.

"Nothin' much," says I,"only I've boughtthe blamed thing."

It was Pinckney's turn to grow bug-eyed;but when I'd told him all about the deal,and how the veiled lady had stung me intosayin' what I had, he's as pleased as if he'dbeen readin' the joke column.

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"Shorty," says he, "you're a genius. Why,that's the very thing to do. Get togetheryour party, steam up there, anchor in theharbor, and see the show. It's deuced goodform, you know."

"That's all I want," says I. "Just so long'sI'm sure I'm in good form, I'm happy. Butsay, I wouldn't dare tackle it unless youwent along."

I found out later that Pinckney'd turneddown no less than three parties of thatkind, but when I puts it up to him, he neverfiddles short at all.

"Why, I'd be delighted," says he.

With that we finishes our cold fried eggsalad, or whatever fancy dish it was wehad on the platter, and then we pikes off to

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the pier where he says the yacht's tied up.And say, she was somethin' of a boat. Shemade that Dixie Girl, that Woodie and mebrought the Incubator kids down in, looklike a canoe. She was white all over,except for a gold streak around her, and acouple of dinky yellow masts.

I didn't go down stairs. We plantsourselves in some green cushioned easychairs under the back stoop awnin', and Isends one of the white-wing hired handsafter the conductor.

"It's the sailing master you want," saysPinckney.

"Well, bring him along, too," says I.

But there was only the one. He was asolid built, quiet spoken chap, with a full

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set of red whiskers and a state of Maineaccent. He said his name was Bassett, andthat he was just packin' his things to goashore, havin' heard that the boat had beensold.

"The shore'll be there next month," says I."What'll you take to stay on the job?"

Well, he didn't want no iron worker'swages, bein' content with a captain'ssalary, so I tells him to take hold rightwhere he left off and tell the rest of thegang they could do the same. So inside ofhalf an hour I has a couple of dozen menon the pay roll.

"Gee!" says I to Pinckney, "I'm glad theyachtin' season's most over when I begin;if it wa'n't I'm thinkin' I'd have to go outnights with a jimmy."

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But Pinckney's busy with his silver pencil,writin' down names.

"There!" says he. "I've thought of a dozennice people that I'm sure of, and perhapsI'll remember a few more in the meantime."

"Say," says I, "have you got theTwombley-Cranes and Sadie on that list?"

"Oh, certainly," says he, "especiallySadie." And then he grins.

Well, for about four days I'm the busiestman out of a job in New York. I carries abunch of railroad stocks on margin, tradesoff some Bronx buildin' lots for a coldwater tenement, and unloads a streetopenin' contract that I bought off'm aTammany Hall man. Every time I thinks of

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that steam yacht, with all them handsburnin' up my money, I goes out and doessome more hustlin'. Say, there's nothin'like needin' the dough, for keepin' a fellerup on his toes, is there? And when thetime came to knock off, and I'd reckonedup how much I was to the good, I feelslike Johnny Gates after he's cashed hischips.

Yes, indeed, I was a gay boy as I goesaboard The Toreador and waits for thecrowd to come along. I'd made myself apresent of a white flannel suit and a WillieCollier yachtin' cap, and if there'd been anorchestra down front I could have done ayo-ho-ho baritone solo right off the reel.

Pinckney shows up in good season, andhe'd fetched his people, all right. There

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was a string of tourin' cars and carriageshalf a block long. They was all friends ofmine, too; from Sadie to the little oldbishop. And they was nice, decent folks.Maybe they don't have their picturesprinted in the Sunday editions as often assome, but they're ice cutters, just the same.They all said it was lovely of me toremember 'em.

"Ah, put it away!" says I. "You folks hasbeen blowin' me, off'n on for a year, andthis is my first set-up. I ain't wise to theway things ought to be done on one ofthese boudoir boats, but I wants everyoneto be happy. Don't wait for the Who-wants-the-waiter call, but just act like youwas all star boarders. Everything in sightis yours, from, the wicker chairs on deck,

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to what's in the ice box below. And I wantto say right here that I'm mighty gladyou've come. Now, Mr. Bassett, I guessyou can tie her loose."

Honest, that was the first speech I evershot off, in or out of the ring, but it seemedto go. They was all pattin' me on the back,and givin' me the grand jolly, when a cabcomes down the pier on the jump,someone waves a red parasol, and outfloats the veiled lady, with a maid. I'd senther an invite, just as I said I would, but Inever thought she'd have the front to take itup.

"We came near missin' you," says I,steppin' up to the gang plank.

But say, she was so busy shakin' handsand callin' the rest of 'em by their front

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names, that she didn't see me at all. It wasthat way all day long, while we was goin'up the Sound. She cornered almosteveryone else, and chinned to 'em realearnest about somethin' or other, but Inever seemed to get in range. Well, I washavin' too good a time to feel cut up aboutit, but I couldn't help bein' curious.

It wa'n't until dinner time that I got a lineon her. Say, she was a converser. Nomatter what was opened up, she heard hercue. And knock! Why, she had a tackhammer in each hand. They was cute,spiteful little taps, that made you snickerfirst, and then you got ashamed of yourselffor doin' it.

"Ain't she got any friends besides what'shere?" says I to Sadie, after we'd got

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through and gone up front by ourselves tosee the moon rise.

"I'm not so sure about even these," saysSadie.

"Then why didn't someone cut in with acome-back?" says I.

"It isn't exactly safe," says she.

"Oh!" says I. "She's that kind, is she?You'd think from her talk that she knewonly two sorts of women: them that hadbeen divorced, and them that ought to be."

"I'm afraid that's her specialty," saysSadie.

"Sort of a lady muck-raker, eh?" says I."Well I hope all she says ain't so. Howabout it?"

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Well, that was the beginnin' of a heart toheart talk that lasted for a good manymiles. Somehow Sadie and I'd never had areal quiet chance like that before, and itcame out that we had a lot to say to eachother. I don't know how it was, but the restof 'em seemed to let us alone. Some wasback under the awnin' and others wasdown stairs, playin' whist. There wassingin' too, but we couldn't make out justwho was doin' it, and didn't care a wholelot.

Anyway, it was the bulliest ride I everhad. The moon come up over Long Island,as big as a bill board and as yellow as achorus girl's hair; the air was kind of softand warm, like you gets it in the frontroom of a Turkish bath place; and there

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wa'n't anything on either side nearer'n theshore lights, way off in the dark. It wa'n'tany time for thinkin' hard of anyone, so weagrees that the lady muck-raker must havebeen born with a bad taste in her mouthand can't help it, lettin' her slide at that.

I forgot what it was we did talk about. Itwas each other mostly, I guess. You cando that when you've known anyone as longas we had; and it's a comfort, once in awhile.

After a bit, though, we didn't say much ofany thing. I was just lookin' at Sadie. Andsay, I've seen her when I thought shelooked mighty nice, but I'd never got justthat view of her before, with the moonkind of touchin' up her red hair, and hercheeks and neck lookin' like white satin.

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She has a way, too, of starin' off at nothin'at all, sometimes, and then there's a lookin her eyes, and a little twist to her mouthcorners, that just sets me tinglin' all overwith the wantin' to put me arm around herand tell her that no matter who else goesback on her, there'll always be ShortyMcCabe to fall back on. It wa'n't anythingnew or sudden for me. I'd felt like thatmany a time, and as far back as when hermother ran a prune dispensary next door tomy house, and she an' I used to sit on thefront steps after supper. She'd have spellsof starin' that way then, 'choppin' off alaugh in the middle to do it, and maybefinishin' up with a giggle. I guess that'sonly the Irish in her, but it always caughtme.

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She must have been lookin' that way then,for the first thing I knows I'd reached outand pulled her up close. She never kicks,but just snuggles her head down on myshoulder, with them blue eyes turned so Icould look way down into 'em. At that Idraws a deep breath.

"Sadie," says I, husky like, "you're the bestever!"

She only smiles, kind of sober, but kind ofcontented, too.

"And if I had the nerve," says I, "I'd askyou to be Mrs. Shorty McCabe."

"It's too bad you've lost your nerve sosudden," says she.

"Wha-a-at!" says I. "Will you, Sadie; willyou?"

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"Silly!" says she. "Of course I will."

"Bless the saints!" says I. "When?"

"Any time, Shorty," says she. "You'vebeen long enough about it, goodnessknows."

Well say! You talk about your whirlwindfinishes! I guess the crowd that wasbunched there in the cabin, sayin' goodnight, must have thought I'd gone clear offmy pivot, the way I comes down the stairs.

"Where's the bishop?" says I.

"Right here, my boy," says he. "What's thematter?"

"Matter?" says I. "Why, it's the greatestthing ever happened, and nobody to it.Folks," I says, "if the bishop is willin',

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and hasn't forgot his lines, there's goin' tobe a weddin' take place right here in themain tent inside of fifteen minutes.Whoop-e-e!" I yells. "Sadie's said shewould!"

That's the way we did it, too; and for ashort notice affair, it was done in style;even to a weddin' march that someonefeeds into the pianola and sets goin'.Pinckney digs up a ring, and the bishopgives us the nicest little off-hand talk youever listens to. I blushes, and Sadieblushes, and Mrs. Twombley-Crane hugsboth of us when it's over. Then I has thesteward lug up a lot of cold bottles and Ibreaks a ten year drouth with a wholeglass of fizz water.

Right in the middle of the toast the sailin'

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master shows up on the stairs and says:"We're just makin' the harbor, sir."

"Forget it, Bassett," says I. "I want you todrink to the health of Mrs. McCabe."

And when he hears what's been goin' on,he's the most flabbergasted sailor man Iever saw. After that we all has to go upand take a look at Newport and thewarships, but they was all as black andquiet as a side street in Brooklyn after teno'clock.

"Say, it's a shame all them folks ain't in onthis," says I. "Bassett, can't you make alittle noise, just to let 'em know we'recelebratin'?"

Bassett thought he could. He hadn't madeany mistake, either. In two shakes we had

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all the lights aboard turned on, andskyrockets whizzin' up as fast as theycould be touched off.

Did we wake up them warships? Well,rather. First we hears a lot of dinner gongsgoin' off. Then colored lanterns was sentup, whistles blew, bugles bugled, andinside of three minutes by the watch therewas guns bang-bangin' away like it wasthe Fourth of July.

"Great Scott!" says Pinckney, "I neverknew before that the United States navywould turn out in the middle of the night tosalute a private yacht."

"It depends on who owns the yacht. Eh,Sadie?" says I.

By the time the guns got through bangin'

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we had a dozen search-lights turned on us,and a strong lunged gent on the nearestwarship was yellin' things at us through amegaphone.

"He wants to know, sir," says Bassett, "ifwe've got the Secretary of the Navy onboard."

"Tell him not guilty," says I, and Bassettdid.

That didn't satisfy Mr. Officer though."Then why in thunder," says he, "do youmake such a fuss coming into the harbor atthis time of night?"

"Because I've just been gettin' married,"says I, in my Bosco voice.

"And who the blazes are you?" says he.

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"Can't you guess?" says I. "I'm ShortyMcCabe."

"Oh!" says he, and you could hear the ha-ha's come across the water from all alongthe line. There was a wait for a minute,and then he hails again. "Ahoy, ShortyMcCabe!" says he. "The Commodorepresents his compliments and says hehopes you liked your wedding salute; andif you don't mind, the gun crews want togive three cheers for Mrs. McCabe."

So Sadie and I stands up by the rail, withmore lime light on us than we ever hadbefore or since, and about six hundredJackies gives us their college cry. Therewa'n't anything slow about that as a sendoff for a weddin' tour, was there? Butthen, as I says to Sadie: "Look who we

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are."

And say, if you'll be on the dock when wecome back from Bar Harbor, we'll takeyou along down to Old Point with us. Eh?Think it over.

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