to think he did. And, havin' been on the inside of
his deal, I got to takin' a sort of pride in this hit, almost as much as
if I'd discovered the Captain myself. I used to go up about every
afternoon to see old Spiller do his stunt and get 'em goin'. Gen'rally
I'd lug along two or three friends, so I could tell 'em how it happened.

Last Friday I was a little late for the act, and was just rushin' by the
boxoffice, when I hears language floatin' out that I recognizes as a
brand that only Chunk Tracey could deliver when he was good and warm
under the collar. Peekin' in through the window, I sees him standin'
there, fairly tearin' his hair.

"What's up, Chunk?" says I. "You seem peeved."

"Peeved!" he yells. "Why, blankety blank the scousy universe, I'm stark,
raving mad! What do you think? Spiller has quit!"

"Somebody overbid that hundred a week?" says I.

"I wish they had; then I could get out an injunction and hold him on his
contract," says Peter K. "But he's skipped, skipped for good. Read
that."

It's only a scrawly note he'd left pinned up in his dressin' room, and,
while it ain't much as a specimen of flowery writin', it states his case
more or less clear. Here's what it said:

Mister P. K. Tracey;

Sir:--I'm through being a fool actor. The money's all right if I needed
it, which I doant, but I doant like makin' a fool of myself twict a day
to please a lot of citty foalks I doant give a dam about annie way, I
doant like livin' in a blamed hotel either, for there aint annie wheres
to set and smoak and see the sun come up. I'd ruther be on my old bote,
and that's whare I'm goin'. You needn't try to find me and git me to come
back for I wont. You couldn't git me to act on that staige agin, ever.
It's foolish.

Yours, TODD SPILLER.

"Now what in the name of all that's woolly," says Chunk, "would you say
to a thing like that?"

"Me?" says I. "I don't know. Maybe I'd start in by admittin' that to card
index the minds of the whole human race was a good deal of a job for one
party to tackle, even with a mighty intellect like yours. Also, if it was
put up to me flat, I might agree with Spiller."

CHAPTER IX

HANDING BOBBY A BLANK

Say, what do you make out of this plute huntin' business, anyway? Has the
big money bunch got us down on the mat with our wind shut off and our
pockets inside out; or is it just campaign piffle? Are we ghost dancin',
or waltz dreamin', or what? It sure has me twisted up