he tumbler. Then I walks up to the Baron and taps him on the
chest.

"Patchouli," says I, "you come with me. I'll get you a Romeo outfit
that'll astonish the natives."

It took me about two hours, chasin' him down to the Bureau of Licenses,
and huntin' up me old side partner, Jimmy Fitzpatrick, that's the main
guy there. But I didn't grudge the time. Jimmy helped me out a lot. He's
a keen one, Jimmy is, and when he'd got next, he threw in a lot of
flourishes just where they was needed most. He never cracked a smile,
either, when the Baron tipped him a dime.

I didn't let loose of Patchouli until I'd seen him stow away that sealed
envelope, and had put him aboard the right train at the Grand Central.
Then I went back to the Studio lookin' so contented that Swifty struck
me for a raise.

That was on a Monday. Long about Thursday I thought I might get word
from Pinckney, or some of 'em; but there was nothin' doin'.

"Somebody's put Curly Locks wise," thinks I, "or else he's sneaked away
to jump off the dock."

I didn't have anyone on that afternoon; so I was just workin' off a
little steam on a punchin'-bag, doing the long roll and a few other
stunts. I was getting nicely warmed up, and hittin' the balloon at the
rate of about a hundred and fifty raps a minute, when I hears somebody
break past Swifty and roar out:

"Where he iss? Let me to him!"

It was the Baron, his mustache bristlin' out like a bottle-cleaner, and
blood in his eye. "Ha-r-r-r!" says he in real heavy-villain style. "You
make me a joke, you?"

"G'wan!" says I over me shoulder. "You was born a joke. Sit down and
cool off; for it's your next," and with that I goes at the bag again.

Say, it ain't much of a trick to fight the bag, y'know. Most any
Y. M. C. A. kid can get the knack of catchin' it on his elbows and
collarbone, makin' it drum out a tune like the finish of a Dutch opera.
And that's about all I was doin', only chuckin' a few extra pounds into
it maybe. But if you don't know how easy it is, it looks like a
curtain-raiser for manslaughter. And I reckon the Baron hadn't any idea
I'd strip as bunchy as I do.

Course, there's no tellin' just what went on in his mind while he stood
there. Swifty says his mouth come open gradual, like a bridge draw
that's being swung for a tug; and his eyes began to bug out, and the
noble Austrian assault-and-battery blood faded out of his face same's
the red does in one of Belasco's sunsets. And pretty soo