new methods. I just adapt, pick out lines of proved success, and
develop. Now, your business here--why, I could take hold of it, and in
six months' time I'd have you occupying this entire building, with
classes on every floor, a solarium on the roof, a corps of assistants
working day and night shifts, and----"

"Yes," I breaks in, "and then the Sheriff tackin' a foreclosure notice on
the front door. I know how them boom methods work out, Tutty."

But talk like that don't discourage Tutwater at all. He hangs onto his
great scheme, keepin' his eyes and ears open, writin' letters when he can
scare up money for postage, and insistin' that sooner or later he'll get
his chance.

"Here is the place for such chances to occur," says he, "and I know what
I can do."

"All right," says I; "but if I was you I'd trail down some pavin' job
before the paper inner soles wore clean through."

Course, how soon he hit the bread line wa'n't any funeral of mine
exactly, and he was a hopeless case anyway; but somehow I got to likin'
Tutwater more or less, and wishin' there was some plan of applyin' all
that hot air of his in useful ways. I know of lots of stiffs with not
half his brains that makes enough to ride around in taxis and order
custom made shirts. He was gettin' seedier every week, though, and I had
it straight from the agent that it was only a question of a few days
before that brass plate would have to come down.

And then, one noon as we was chinnin' here in the front office, in blows
a portly, red faced, stary eyed old party who seems kind of dazed and
uncertain as to where he's goin'. He looks first at Tutwater, and then at
me.

"Same to you and many of 'em," says I. "What'll it be?"

"McCabe was the name," says he; "Professor McCabe, I think. I had it
written down somewhere; but----"

"Never mind," says I. "This is the shop and I'm the right party. What
then?"

"Perhaps you don't know me?" says he, explorin' his vest pockets sort of
aimless with his fingers.

"That's another good guess," says I; "but there's lots of time ahead of
us."

"I--I am--well, never mind the name," says he, brushin' one hand over his
eyes. "I--I've mislaid it."

"Eh?" says I.

"It's no matter," says he, beginnin' to ramble on again. "But I own a
great deal of property in the city, and my head has been troubling me
lately, and I heard you could help me. I'll pay you well, you know.
I--I'll give you the Brooklyn Bridge."

"Wha-a-at'