the mark, which she does, it wasn't
any funeral of mine. I never have yearned to be a volunteer chaperon.
But I was kind of sorry for little Miss Joyce. I expect I said something
of the kind to Vee, and she was all for having Mr. Piddie give her a
good talking to.

"No use," says I. "Piddie wouldn't know how. All he can do is hire 'em
and fire 'em, and even that's turnin' his hair gray. It'll all work out
one way or another, I expect."

It does, too. But not exactly along the lines I was looking for it to
develop. First off, Lester quits the Corrugated. As he'd been on the
same job for more'n six years, and gettin' worse at it right along, the
blow didn't quite put us out of business. We're still staggerin' ahead.

"What's the scheme, Lester?" says I. "Beatin' the office manager to
it?"

"Huh!" says Lester. "I've been plannin' to make a shift for more'n a
year. Just waitin' for the right openin'. I got it now."

"The Morgan people sent for you, did they?" says I.

"They might have, at that," says Lester, "only I'm through bein' an
office slave for anybody. I'm goin' in with some live wires this time,
where I'll have a chance."

But it turns out that he's been taken on as a sidewalk man by a pair of
ticket speculators--Izzy Goldman and his pal, who used to run the cigar
stand down in the arcade. They handled any kind of pasteboards, from
grandstand parade tickets to orchestra seats.

"Yes," says I, "that'll be a great career. Almost in the theatrical
game, eh? You'll be knowin' all the pippins now, I expect."

"Watch me," says Lester.

Well, I didn't strain my eyes. I'd have been just as pleased to know
that Lester was going to slip out of my young life forever and to forget
him complete within the next two days. Only I couldn't. There was Miss
Joyce to remind me. Not that she says a word. She ain't the chatty,
confidential kind. But it was natural for me to wonder now and then if
they was still as chummy as at the start.

He'd been away a month or more I expect, before either of us passed his
name, and then it came out accidental. I starts dictatin' a letter to a
firm in St. Louis, Lester & Riggs. The name sort of startles Miss Joyce.

"I beg pardon?" says she, her pencil poised over the pad.

"No, not Lester Biggs," says I. "By the way, how is he these days?"

"I'm sure I don't know," says she. "I--I haven't seen him for weeks."

"Oh!" says I. "Kind of thought you'd be droppin' him down the coal shute