thirty thousand a year. How about him? Will he do?"

"Why--why----" says Sadie, and it's one of the few times I ever saw her
rattled.

"Just flash that ring again, Oscar," says Maizie.

"O-o-oh!" says Sadie, when Oscar has pulled out the white satin box and
snapped back the cover. "What a beauty! Yes, Maizie, I should say that,
if you like Oscar, he would do nicely."

"That goes!" says Maizie. "Here, Occie dear, slide it on. But remember:
Phemey has got to live with us until I can pick out some victim of
nervous prostration that needs a wife like her. And for goodness' sake,
Occie, give that waiter an order for something wet!"

"Well!" says Sadie afterwards, lettin' out a long breath. "To think that
we ever worried about her!"

"She's a little bit of all right, eh?" says I. "But say, I'm glad I ain't
Occie, the heir to the brewery. I wouldn't know whether I was engaged to
Maizie, or caught in a belt."

CHAPTER III

WHERE SPOTTY FITTED IN

Also we have a few home-grown varieties that ain't listed frequent. And
the pavement products are apt to have most as queer kinks to 'em as those
from the plowed fields. Now take Spotty.

"Gee! what a merry look!" says I to Pinckney as he floats into the studio
here the other day. He's holdin' his chin high, and he's got his stick
tucked up under his arm, and them black eyes of his is just sparklin'.
"What's it all about?" I goes on. "Is it a good one you've just
remembered, or has something humorous happened to one of your best
friends?"

"I have a new idea," says he, "that's all."

"All!" says I. "Why, that's excuse enough for declarin' a gen'ral
holiday. Did you go after it, or was it delivered by mistake? Can't you
give us a scenario of it?"

"Why, I've thought of something new for Spotty Cahill," says he,
beamin'.

"G'wan!" says I. "I might have known it was a false alarm. Spotty Cahill!
Say, do you want to know what I'd advise you to do for Spotty next?"

No, Pinckney don't want my views on the subject. It's a topic we've
threshed out between us before; also it's one of the few dozen that we
could debate from now until there's skatin' on the Panama Canal, without
gettin' anywhere. I've always held that Spotty Cahill was about the most
useless and undeservin' human being that ever managed to exist without
work; but to hear Pinckney talk you'd think that long-legged,
carroty-haired young loafer was the original party that philanthropy was
invented for.