on ought to take on something of the kind.

"But he wants to see you first," says Pinckney. "You understand. They're
rather particular persons, the Hubbards,--fine old Plymouth stock, and
all that."

"Me too," says I. "I'm just as fussy as the next--old Ellis Island
stock, remember."

"Oh, bother!" says Pinckney. "Will you come up and meet him, or won't
you?"

It wa'n't reg'lar; but as long as he's a friend of Pinckney's I said I
would.

And, say, Joshua Q. looks the part, all right. One of these imposin',
dignified, well kept old sports, with pink cheeks, a long, straight
nose, and close-set, gray-blue eyes. They're the real crusty stuff,
after all, them Back Bay plutes. For one thing, most of 'em have been at
it longer. Take J. Q. Hubbard. Why, I expect he begun havin' his nails
manicured before he was ten, and has had his own man to lay out his
dinner clothes ever since he got into long pants.

Nothin' provincial about him, either. Takes his trip across every winter
reg'lar, and I suppose he's as much at home on Unter den Linden, or the
Place de Concord or Neva Prospect as he is on Tremont-st. And, sittin'
there sippin' his hock and seltzer, gazin' languid out on Fifth-ave., he
gives kind of a classy tone to one of the swellest clubs in New York.
There ain't any snobbish frills to him, though. He gets right down to
brass tacks.

"McCabe," says he, "what class of persons do you have as patrons."

"Why," says I, "mostly Wall Street men, with a sprinklin' of afternoon
tea Johnnies, such as Pinckney here."

"No objectionable persons, I trust?" says he.

"Any roughneck gets the quick dump," says I.

"Ah, I think I catch your meaning," says he, "and I've no doubt your
establishment can supply precisely what my son needs in the way of
exercise. I suppose, however, I'd best see for myself. May we go now?"

"Sure," says I. "No special visitin' days."

"Then I'll 'phone Winthrop to meet us there," says he.

Seems he couldn't get Son direct; but he leaves word at his office, and
then off we goes in Pinckney's limousine de luxe. It ain't often I worry
any about the outside looks of things at the joint; but somehow, with
this elegant old party comin' to inspect, I was kind of hopin' the
stairs had been swept and that Swifty Joe wouldn't have any of his Red
Hook friends callin' on him.

So I most gasps when we piles out in front of the studio and finds a mob
that extends from the curb to the front door. Not only