. "If you come
back here before to-morrow morning," says he, "I'll discharge you on
the spot."

Now wouldn't that bump you?

"All right," says I: "but this'll cost Cliffy just twenty."

"I'll pay it," says Mr. Robert.

"It's a whizz," says I, wavin' the cane. "Come on, you Sneezowskis! I'll
show you where the one fifty per grows on bushes."

What did I do with 'em? Ah, say, it was a cinch! I runs 'em down seven
flights of stairs, marches 'em three blocks up town, and then rushes up
to a big stiff in a green and gold uniform that's hired to stand outside
a flower shop and open carriage doors. He and me had some words a couple
of months ago, because I butted him in the belt when I was in a hurry
once.

"Here," says I, rushin' up and jammin' the cane into his hand, "hold
that till I come back!" and before he has time to pipe off the bunch of
Polackers that's come to a parade rest around us, I makes a dive in
amongst the cars and beats it down Broadway.

Nah, I don't know what becomes of him, or the Zinskis either. All I know
is that I'm twenty to the good, and that Cousin Clifford's been shipped
back to Bubble Creek, glad to get out of New York alive. But, as I says
to Mr. Robert, "What do you look for from a guy that buttons his ears up
in flannel?"

CHAPTER X

BACKING OUT OF A FLUFF RIOT

They will turn up, won't they? Here I was only yesterday noontime
loafin' through the arcade, when who should I get the hail from but
Hunch Leary, with a bookful of rush messages and his cap down over his
ears.

Now I ain't sayin' he's the toughest lookin' A. D. T. that ever sat on a
call bench, for maybe I've seen worse; but with his bent-in nose, and
his pop eyes, and that undershot jaw--well, he ain't one you'd send in
to quiet a cryin' baby. Hunch didn't pose for that picture of the sweet
youth on the blue signs outside the district offices. They don't pick
him out for these theater-escort snaps, either.

Which shows how far you can go on looks, anyway; for, if I was going to
trust my safety-vault key with anyone, it would be Hunch. Not that
they'll ever use him to decorate any stained-glass window; but I never
look for him to land on the rock pile.

Course, I don't see much of Hunch and the rest these days; but it ain't
a case of dodgin' old friends on my part, so me and him hangs up
against a radiator in the main corridor and talks it over. I wants to
know if Stiff Miller is still manager down at No. 11 b