that, but the
lower hall is crowded, and they line the stairs halfway up. And such a
bunch! Waps, Dagoes, Matzers, Syrians, all varieties.

"By Jove, though!" says Pinckney. "What's all this?"

"Looks like someone was openin' a sweatshop in the buildin', don't it!"
says I. "If that's so, here's where I break my lease."

"Really," says Mr. Hubbard, eyin' the crowd doubtful, "I hardly believe
I care to----"

"Ah, I'll clear 'em out in two shakes," says I. "Just follow after me.
Hey, you! _Heim gagen_. Mushong! Gangway, gangway!" and I motions
threatenin'. "Ah, beat it, you garlic destroyers!" I sings out. "Back up
there, and take your feet with you! Back, you fatheads!" and I sends one
caromin' to the right and another spinnin' to the left.

The best I could do, though, was to open a three-foot lane through 'em,
and there they stuck, lined up on either side like they was waitin' for
a parade. It was something like that too,--me leadin' the way, Pinckney
steerin' J. Q. by the arm. We'd got inside the doorway without a word
bein' said, when a bright-eyed Dago girl with a rainbow-tinted
handkerchief about her neck breaks the spell.

"Picture, Meester--take-a da picture?" says she pleadin'. With that the
others breaks loose. "Picture, Meester! Please-a, Meester? Picture,
picture!" They says it in all sorts of dialects, with all sorts of
variations, all beggin' for the same thing. "Picture, picture!" They
reaches out, grabbin' at our coat sleeves. Three of 'em had hold of J.
Q. at once when I whirls on 'em.

"Ah, ditch the chorus!" I yells at 'em. "What do you think this is,
anyway, a movie outfit? Get back there! Hands off, or I call the cops!"

It's strenuous work; but I manages to quiet 'em long enough for Pinckney
and Mr. Hubbard to get through and slip up to the studio. Then I tries
to shoo the bunch into the street; but they don't shoo for a cent. They
still demands to have their pictures taken.

"Say, you Carlotta, there!" says I, singlin' out the Dago girl. "Who
gave you this nutty picture hunch?"

"Why, Meester Hama," says she. "Nice-a man, Meester Hama."

"Is he?" says I. "Well, you wait here until I see him about this.
Wait--understand?" With that I skips upstairs, and explains the mystery
of our bein' mobbed. "It's a whiskered freak on the top floor they're
after," says I. "Swifty, run up and get that Ham and Eggs gent. I'm
yearnin' for speech with him. I don't know what this is all about; but
I'll so