time
assassinators, at Rockywold, or some such place as that, I says to
myself, "Shorty," says I, "you stick to the physical-culture game and
whittle out the by-plays."

That's just what I was doin', too, when an A. D. T. shows up with a
prepaid josh from Pinckney, givin' me a special invite to run out and
help 'em celebrate.

"Any come-back?" says the boy.

"No, sonny," says I; "you can cut the wire."

Say, Pinckney means all right, and he's done me some good turns; but
that don't put me in his class, does it? Nay, nay, says I. Here's one
dinner party that I ducks. And with that I gets busy on one of my
reg'lars who's bein' trained to go against two months of foreign
cookin'. I hadn't more'n finished with him, though, when there comes
another yellow envelop. This one was from Sadie, and it was a hurry
call. She didn't say much; but I could see heel-prints of trouble all
over it.

"Me for Rockywold," says I, chuckin' a collar in a suit-case and
grabbin' a time-table off the rack.

Yes, that was different. Maybe I'm a jay to cast myself for any such
part; but since Sadie an' me had that little reunion, I've kind of felt
that sooner or later she might be let in for a mix-up where I'd come in
handy, and when it was pulled off I wanted to be within hail.

Course, I wasn't layin' out no hero act; like showin' up with a can of
gasolene just as the tank ran dry, or battin' the block off'm a villyun
in a dress suit. I was just willin' to hang around on the edges and make
myself useful generally. Not that I'm followin' the she-male protectin'
business regular. But with Sadie it's another thing. We used to play in
the same alley, you know; and she don't forget it, even if she has come
into a bunch of green money as big as a haystack.

She was on hand when I dropped off the smoker, sittin' in the Rockywold
station rig and lookin' for me with both eyes. And say, what a
difference it makes to clothes who wears 'em!

"It's bully of you to come, Shorty," says she.

"Oh, I don't know," says I. "I guess good judges wouldn't call it a
medal play. What's loose?"

"Buddy," says she.

For a minute I was lost, until she asks if I don't remember the
youngster. "Oh, sure!" says I. "That kid brother of yours, with the
eighteen-karat ringlets and a girly kind of face? The Sisters used to
dress him up in a Fauntleroy suit for the parochial school fair, and
make him look like a picture on an Easter card. Nice, cute little chap,
eh