in'-off place. From
the outside all you can see is iron gates and stone wall and stretches
of green-plush lawn. Way over behind the trees you can get a squint at
the chimney tops, and you know that underneath is a little cottage about
the size of the Grand Central station. That's the style you live in when
you've hit the stock-market right, or in case you've got to be a
top-notch grafter that the muck-rakers ain't jungled yet.

I'd been wonderin' what kind of folks hung out in there, but I'd never
seen any of 'em out front, only gardeners killin' time, and coachmen
exercisin' the horses. But one mornin' I gets a private view that was
worth watchin' for.

The first thing on the program was an old duffer dodgin' in and out
around the bushes and trees like he was tryin' to lose somebody. That
got me curious right away, and I begins to pipe him off. He was togged
out in white ducks, somethin' like a window cook in a three-off joint,
only he didn't sport any apron, and his cap had gold braid on it. His
hair was white, too, and his under lip was decorated with one of them
old-fashioned teasers--just a little bunch of cotton that the barber had
shied. He was a well-built old boy, but his face had sort of a sole
leather tint to it that didn't look healthy.

From his motions I couldn't make out 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 I strolls over to the stone wall and gets ready to hand
out a swift kick to the kioodle, in case it was needed.

When he sees me the old gent begins to dodge livelier than ever and make
signals with his hands. Well, I didn't know his code. I couldn't guess
whether he wanted me to run for a club, or was tryin' to keep me from
buttin' in, so I just stands there with my mouth open and looks foolish.

Next thing I sees is a wedge-faced, long-legged guy comin' across the
lawn on the jump. First off I thought he was pushin' one of these
sick-abed chairs, like they use on the board walk at Atlantic City. But
as he gets nearer I see it was a green wicker tea-wagon--you know. I
ain't got to the 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 afternoon the butler wheels the thing out on
the veranda and digs up a whole tea-makin' outfit from the inside. When
it's shut it looks a good deal like one of them laundry push-carts they
h