sant ways of spending time
and money; from sailing a 90-footer in a cup race, to qualifying in the
second flight at Pinehurst. No shark at anything particular, I
understand, but good enough to kick in at most any old game you can
propose.

Also he's an original I. W. W. Uh-huh. Income Without Work. That was
fixed almost before he was born, when his old man horned in on a big
mill combine and grabbed off enough preferred stock to fill a packing
case. Maybe you think you have no interest in financin' Babe Cutler's
career. But you have. Can't duck it. Every time you eat a piece of
bread, or a slice of toast or a bit of pie crust you're contributin' to
Babe's dividends. And he knows about as much how flour is made as he
does about gettin' up in the night to warm a bottle for little
Tootsums. Which isn't Babe's fault any more than it's yours. As he'd
tell you himself, if the case was put up to him, it's all in the
shuffle.

He must have had some difficulty organizin' his expedition, for that
same afternoon, when I eases myself off the 4:03 at Piping Rock--having
quit early, as a private sec-de-luxe should now and then--who should
show up at the station but Mr. Cutler in his robin's-egg blue sport
phaeton with the white wire wheels.

"I say," he says, "didn't Bob come out, too?"

"No," says I. "I think he and Mrs. Ellins have a dinner party on in
town."

"Bother!" says Babe. "I was counting on him for an hour or so of
billiards and another go at talking up the cruise. We'll land him yet,
eh, Torchy? Hop in and I'll run you out home."

So I climbs aboard, Babe opens the cut-out, and we make a skyrocket
start.

"How about swinging around the country club and back through the middle
road? No hurry, are you?" he asks.

"Not a bit," says I, glancin' at the speedometer, which was touchin'
fifty.

"Nor I," says Babe. "I'm spending my annual week-end with Sister Mabel,
you know. Good old scout, Mabel, but I can't say I enjoy visiting there.
Runs her house too much for the children. Only three of 'em, but
they're all over the place--climbing on you, mauling you, tripping you
up. Nurses around, too. Regular kindergarten effect. And the youngsters
are always being bathed, or fed, or put to sleep. So I try to keep out
of the way until dinner."

"I see," says I. "You ain't strong for kids?"

"Oh, I don't mind 'em when they're kept in their place," says Babe. "But
when they insist on giving you oatmealy kisses, or paw you w