und the country in such a rattle-trap machine I--I think
I'd better be with you--always."

And say, I don't think I ever heard so much pep thrown into the weddin'
march as when Barry Crane pumps it out that afternoon. He's wearin' a
broad grin, too.

Soon as I has a chance I whispers the news to Vee. "Really?" says she.
"Isn't that fine! And I must say Barry is a lucky chap."

"Well, he's some whizz himself," says I. "Bound to be or else he
couldn't run a car a mile and a half just on his breath."

CHAPTER XIV

SUBBING FOR THE BOSS

How's that? Has something happened to me? Course there has. Something
generally does, and if I ever get to the point where it don't I hope I
shall have pep enough left to use the self-starter. Uh-huh. That's the
way I give the hail to a new day--grinnin' and curious.

Now some folks I know of works it just opposite, and they may be right,
too. Mr. Piddie, our office manager, for instance. He's always afraid
something will happen to him. I've heard him talk about it enough. Not
just accidents that might leave him an ambulance case, or worse, but
anything that don't come in his reg'lar routine; little things, like
forgettin' his commutation ticket, or gettin' lost in Brooklyn, or
havin' his new straw lid blow under a truck and walkin' bareheaded a few
blocks. Say, I'll bet he won't like it in Heaven if he can't punch a
time card every mornin', or if they shift him around much to different
harp sections.

While me, I ain't worryin' what tomorrow will be like if it's only some
different from yesterday. And generally it is. Take this last little
whirl of mine. I'll admit it leaves me a bit dizzy in the head, like
I'd been side-swiped by a passing event. Also my pride had had a bump
when I didn't know I had such a thing. Maybe that's why I look so dazed.

What led up to it all was a little squint into the past that me and Old
Hickory indulged in here a week or so back. I'd been openin' the mornin'
mail, speedy and casual as a first-class private sec. ought to do, and
sortin' it into the baskets, when I runs across this note which should
have been marked "Personal." I'd only glanced at the "Dear old pal"
start and the "Yours to a finish, Bonnie," endin' when I lugs it into
the private office.

"I expect this must have been meant for Mr. Robert; eh, Mr. Ellins?"
says I, handin' it over.

It's written sort of scrawly and foreign on swell stationery and Old
Hickory don't get many