that Skid had got chummy with when he was doin' his
great quarterback act and havin' his picture printed in the sportin'
extras.

"How's that affair comin' on?" says I; for I ain't heard him mention her
in quite some time.

"It's all off," says he, shruggin' them wide shoulders of his. "That is,
there never was anything in it, you know, to begin with."

"Oh, there wa'n't, eh?" says I. "Forgot all about that picture you used
to carry around in the little leather case, have you?"

Skid, he flushes up a bit at that, and one hand goes up to his left
inside pocket. Then he laughs foolish. "It isn't I who have forgotten,"
says he.

"Oh-ho!" says I. "Well, I wouldn't have thought her the kind to shift
sudden, when she seemed so----"

But Mallory gives me the choke off sign, and as we walks up Broadway he
gradually opens up more and more on the subject until I've got a fair
map of the situation. Seems that Sis ain't exactly set him adrift
without warnin'. He'd sort of helped cut the cable himself. She'd begun
by writin' to him every week, tellin' him all about the lively season
she was havin' in Washington, and how much fun she was gettin' out of
life. She even put in descriptions of her new dresses, and some of her
dance orders, and now and then a bridge score, or a hand painted place
card from some dinner she'd been to.

And Skid, thinkin' it all over in the luxury of his nine by ten boudoir,
got to wonderin' what attractions along that line he could hold out to a
young lady that was used to blowin' in more for one new spring lid than
he could earn in a couple of weeks.

"And orchids are her favorite flowers!" says he. "Ever buy any orchids,
Torchy?"

"Not guilty," says I; "but they ain't so high, are they, that you
couldn't splurge on a bunch now and then? What's the tariff on 'em,
anyway?"

"At times you can get real nice ones for a dollar apiece," says he.

"Phe-e-e-ew!" says I. "She has got swell tastes."

"It isn't her fault," says he. "She's never known anything different."

So what does Skid do but slow up on the correspondence, skippin' an
answer here and there, and coverin' only two pages when he did write.
For one thing, he didn't have so much to tell as she did. I knew that;
for I'd seen more or less of Mallory durin' the last few months, and I
knew he was playin' his cards close to his vest.

Not that he was givin' any real lifelike miser imitation; but he didn't
indulge in high priced cafe lunc