that.

"I don't mind your friends droppin' in now and then, Swifty," says I;
"but there ain't any room here for statuary. I don't care how gentle you
break it to him, only run him out."

So that's why I don't enthuse much when Pinckney says he's thought up
some new scheme for Spotty. "Goin' to have him probed for hookworms?"
says I.

No, that ain't it. Pinckney, he's had a talk with Spotty and discovered
that old Peter had a brother Aloysius, who's settled somewhere up in
Canada and is superintendent of a big wheat farm. Pinckney's had his
lawyers trace out this Uncle Aloysius, and then he's written him all
about Spotty, suggestin' that he send for him by return mail.

"Fine!" says I. "He'd be a lot of use on a wheat farm. What does Aloysius
have to say to the proposition?"

"Well, the fact is," says Pinckney, "he doesn't appear at all
enthusiastic. He writes that if the boy is anything like Peter when he
knew him he's not anxious to see him. However, he says that if Spotty
comes on he will do what he can for him."

"It'll be a long walk," says I.

"There's where my idea comes in," says Pinckney. "I am going to finance
the trip."

"If it don't cost too much," says I, "it'll be a good investment."

Pinckney wants to do the thing right away, too. First off, though, he has
to locate Spotty. The youth has been at large for a week or more now,
since he was last handed the fresh air, and Pinckney ain't heard a word
from him.

"Maybe Swifty knows where he roosts," says I.

It was a good guess. Swifty gives us a number on Fourth-ave. where he'd
seen Spotty hangin' around lately, and he thinks likely he's there yet.

So me and Pinckney starts out on the trail. It leads us to one of them
Turkish auction joints where they sell genuine silk oriental prayer rugs,
made in Paterson, N. J., with hammered brass bowls and antique guns as a
side line. And, sure enough, camped down in front on a sample rug, with
his hat off and the sun full on him, is our friend Spotty.

"Well, well!" says Pinckney. "Regularly employed here, are you, Spotty?"

"Me? Nah!" says Spotty, lookin' disgusted at the thought. "I'm only
stayin' around."

"Ain't you afraid the sun will fade them curly locks of yours?" says I.

"Ah, quit your kiddin'!" says Spotty, startin' to roll a fresh
cigarette.

"Don't mind Shorty," says Pinckney. "I have some good news for you."

That don't excite Spotty a bit. "Not another job!" he groans.

"No, no," s