es up cloth enough in his vest to
make me a whole suit.

He's a ripe old sport, with a complexion like an Easter egg, and a pair
o' blinks that'd look a hole through a chilled steel vault. He runs us
over without losin' step, sticks out a finger as he goes by, and says
over his shoulder, "Piddie, take that one!"

Me, I was in range. Piddie made a bluff at goin' on with the third
degree business; but the other entries begins to edge for the door. I
was the one best bet; so what was the use? See what it is to have a
thirty-two candle power thatch? He couldn't have missed me, less'n he'd
been color blind. There's worse things can happen to you than red hair,
all right.

Piddie was sore on me from the start, though. He'd made up his mind to
tag a nice little mommer's boy, with a tow colored top and a girly
voice. Them's the kind that forgets to bring back change and always has
stamps to sell. Oh, I sized up Piddie for a two by four right at the get
away; but I've been keepin' him jollied along just for the fun of it.

"J. Hemmingway Piddie" is the way he has it printed. Think of wastin'
all them letters, when just plain Piddie is as good as seein' a strip
of pingpong pictures of him! He's mostly up and down, Piddie is, like
he'd been pulled out of a bundle of laths, and he's got one of these
inquisitive noses that's sharp enough to file bills on.

Refined conversation is Piddie's strong hold. It bubbles out of him like
steam out of the oatmeal kettle. Sounds that way, too. You know these
mush eaters, with their, "Ah, I'm su-ah, quite su-ah, doncher know"?
He's got that kind of lingo down to an art. I'll bet he could talk it in
his sleep. I've heard 'em before; but I never looked to hold a sit.
under one.

It's a privilege, though, bein' so close to Piddie. If I don't forget
all the things he tells me, and follows 'em, I'll be made over new in a
month more. He begins with my name. Torchy don't fit right with him. It
might do for some places he didn't mention, but not for the home offices
of the Corrugated Trust.

"Maybe you'd like Reginald better!" says I.

"But--er--aw--is that your baptismal name, my boy?" says he.

"Nix," says I. "I'm no Baptist. And, anyway, I couldn't give up my real
name, cause I'm travelin' incog., and me noble relatives would be
shocked if they knew I was really workin'. You can call me Torchy, or
Reginald, whichever you think of first, and if you be careful to say it
real nice maybe I'll