good lookin' chap, dressed
neat and quiet in black; and if it wa'n't for the sort of aimless,
wanderin' look in his eyes, you might have suspected he was somebody in
partic'lar.

"Oh, him!" says Snick, shootin' a careless glance over his shoulder.
"Yes, of course he's with me. It's him I want to talk to you about."

"Well," says I, "don't he--er----Is it a dummy, or a live one? Got a
name, ain't it?"

"Why, sure!" says Snick. "That's Hermy. Hey you, Hermy, shake hands with
Professor McCabe!"

"Howdy," says I, makin' ready to pass the grip. But Hermy ain't in a
sociable mood, it seems.

"Oh, bother!" says he, lookin' around kind of disgusted and not noticin'
the welcomin' hand at all. "I don't want to stay here. I ought to be
home, dressing for dinner."

And say, that gives you about as much idea of the way he said it, as
you'd get of an oil paintin' from seein' a blueprint. I can't put in the
pettish shoulder wiggle that goes with it, or make my voice behave like
his did. It was the most ladylike voice I ever heard come from a
heavyweight; one of these reg'lar "Oh-fudge-Lizzie-I-dropped-my-gum"
voices. And him with a chest on him like a swell front mahog'ny bureau!

"Splash!" says I. "You mean, mean thing! So there!"

"Don't mind what he says at all, Shorty," says Snick. "You wait! I'll fix
him!" and with that he walks up to Hermy, shakes his finger under his
nose, and proceeds to lay him out. "Now what did I tell you; eh, Hermy?"
says Snick. "One lump of sugar in your tea--no pie--and locked in your
room at eight-thirty. Oh, I mean it! You're here to behave yourself.
Understand? Take your fingers off that necktie! Don't slouch against the
wall there, either! You might get your coat dusty. Dress for dinner!
Didn't I wait fifteen minutes while you fussed with your hair? And do you
think you're going to go through all that again? You're dressed for
dinner, I tell you! But you don't get a bit unless you do as you're told!
Hear?"

"Ye-e-es, sir," sniffles Hermy.

Honest, it was a little the oddest exhibition I ever saw. Why, he would
make two of Snick, this Hermy would, and he has a pair of shoulders like
a truck horse. Don't ever talk to me about chins again, either! Hermy has
chin enough for a trust buster; but that's all the good it seems to do
him.

"You ain't cast the hypnotic spell over him, have you, Snick?" says I.

"Hypnotic nothing!" says Snick. "That ain't a man; it's only a music
box!"

"A whic