About then I gets a squint at Sadie and Mrs. Purdy-Pell, and they're
almost chokin' to death in a funny fit.

Well, say, that was the finish of Toodleism with the Rockywold bunch. The
Doc. didn't have a scratch nor a bruise on him, and after he'd been
helped up and scraped off, he was almost as good as new. But his
conversation works is clogged for good, and he has his chin down on his
collar. They sends him and Violet down to catch the next train, and Sadie
and Mrs. Purdy-Pell spends the rest of the day givin' imitations of how
Toodle hugged up the eggs and grunted that he was a child of light.

"Not that I don't believe there was something in what he said," Sadie
explains to me afterwards; "only--only----"

"Only he was a false alarm, eh?" says I. "Well, Violet wa'n't that kind,
anyway."

"Pooh!" says she. "I suppose you'll brag about Violet for the rest of
your life."

Can you keep 'em guessin' long, when it comes to things of that kind? Not
if they're like Sadie.

CHAPTER XV

THE CASE OF THE TISCOTTS

What I had on the slate for this part'cular afternoon was a brisk walk up
Broadway as far as the gasoline district and a little soothin'
conversation with Mr. Cecil Slattery about the new roadster he's tryin'
to Paladino me into placin' my order for. I'd just washed up and was in
the gym. giving my coat a few licks with the whisk broom, when Swifty Joe
comes tiptoein' in, taps me on the shoulder, and points solemn into the
front office.

"That's right," says I, "break it to me gentle."

"Get into it quick!" says he, grabbin' the coat.

"Eh?" says I. "Fire, police, or what?"

"S-s-sh!" says he. "Lady to see you."

"What kind," says I, "perfect, or just plain lady? And what's her name?"

"Ahr-r-r chee!" he whispers, hoarse and stagy. "Didn't I tell you it was
a lady? Get a move on!" and he lifts me into the sleeves and yanks away
the whisk broom.

"See here, Swifty," says I, "if this is another of them hot air
demonstrators, or a book agent, there'll be trouble comin' your way in
bunches! Remember, now!"

Here was once, though, when Swifty hadn't made any mistake. Not that he
shows such wonderful intelligence in this case. With her wearin' all them
expensive furs, and the cute little English footman standin' up straight
in his yellow topped boots over by the door, who wouldn't have known she
was a real lady?

She's got up all in black, not exactly a mournin' costume, but one of
these real b