f his head he could see behind him. Wouldn't that grind
you?

But it all comes out happy. Sir Hunter was a little late for dinner,
but he shows up two eyed before the girl, makes a hit with her folks,
and has engaged Snick to give him private lessons on how to make a fake
optic behave like the real goods.

VIII

PINCKNEY AND THE TWINS

Say, when it comes to gettin' himself tangled up in ways that nobody
ever thought of before, you can play Pinckney clear across the board.
But I never knew him to send out such a hard breathin' hurry call as
the one I got the other day. It come first thing in the mornin' too,
just about the time Pinckney used to be tearin' off the second coupon
from the slumber card. I hadn't more'n got inside the Studio door
before Swifty Joe says:

"Pinckney's been tryin' to get you on the wire."

"Gee!" says I, "he's stayin' up late last night! Did he leave the
number?"

He had, and it was a sixty-cent long distance call; so the first play I
makes when I rings up is to reverse the charge.

"That you, Shorty?" says he. "Then for goodness' sake come up here on
the next train! Will you?"

"House afire, bone in your throat, or what?" says I.

"It's those twins," says he.

"Bad as that?" says I. "Then I'll come."

Wa'n't I tellin' you about the pair of mated orphans that was shipped
over to him unexpected; and how Miss Gertie, the Western blush rose
that was on the steamer with 'em, helps him out? Well, the last I
hears, Pinckney is gone on Miss Gertie and gettin' farther from sight
every minute. He's planned it out to have the knot tied right away,
hire a furnished cottage for the summer, and put in the honeymoon
gettin' acquainted with the ready made family that they starts in with.
Great scheme! Suits Pinckney right down to the ground, because it's
different. He begins by accumulatin' a pair of twins, next he finds a
girl and then he thinks about gettin' married. By the way he talked, I
thought it was all settled; but hearin' this whoop for help I
suspicioned there must be some hitch.

There wa'n't any carnation in his buttonhole when he meets me at the
station; he hasn't shaved since the day before; and there's trouble
tracks on his brow.

"Can't you stand married life better'n this?" says I.

"Married!" says he. "No such luck. I never expect to be married,
Shorty; I'm not fit."

"Is this a decision that was handed you, or was it somethin' you found
out for yo