limpse, no more."

"Is it the style where you come from," says I, "to gumshoe around and
peek in the windows to see old friends?"

"In my country," says he, "men do not--but then we have our own customs.
I have explain. Now I may depart."

"Not so fast, old scout!" says I. "If it's so you're a friend of Lindy,
she'll be wantin' to see you, and all we got to do is to step inside and
call her down."

"But thanks," says he. "It is very kind. I will not trouble, however. It
need not be."

"Needn't, eh?" says I. "Look here, Pasha So and So, you can't put over
anything so thin on me! You're up to something or other. You sure look
it. Anyway, I'm goin' to march you in and find out from Lindy herself
whether she knows you or not. Understand?"

He sighs resigned. "Since you are a professor of fists, it must be so,"
says he. "But remark this, I do not make the request to see her,
and--and you may say to her that it is Don Carlos who is here."

"Ah-ha!" says I. "Another pen name, eh? Don Carlos! Low Dago, or
Hidalgo?"

"My father," says he, "was a Spanish gentleman of Hebrew origin. My
mother was French."

"Some combination!" says I. "And Lindy knows you best as Don Carlos,
does she? We'll soon test that."

So I escorts him in by the side door, plants him in the livin' room
where I can keep an eye on him, and hoohoos gentle up the stairs to
Sadie.

"Yes?" says she.

"Shut the sewin' room door," says I.

"All right," says she. "Well?"

"There's a gent down here, Sadie," says I, "that looks like a cross
between a stage pirate and an Armenian rug peddler."

"For goodness' sake!" says Sadie. "Not in the house! What on earth did
you let him in for?"

"Because," says I, "he claims to be an old friend of Lindy's."

"Of Lindy's!" she gasps. "Why, what----"

"I don't know the rest," says I. "You spring it on her. Tell her it's
Don Carlos, and then let me know what she says."

That seems like a simple proposition; but Sadie takes a long time over
it. I could hear her give a squeal of surprise at something, and then
she seems to be askin' a lot of fool questions. In the course of five or
six minutes, though, she leans over the stair rail lookin' sort of
excited.

"Well?" says I. "Does she know him?"

"Know him!" says Sadie. "Why, she says he's her husband!"

"Not Lindy's!" I gasps.

"That's what she says," insists Sadie.

"Great Scott!" says I. "Must be some mistake about this. Wait a minute.
Here, you, Pash