make
a few negatives. So I flashes the photo of Ducky on him.

"Who's the wide one?" says I.

"Why, don't you know who that is, Shorty?" says he.

"Say, do you think I'd be chasin' up any flashlight pirate like you, if
I did?" says I. "What's her name?"

"That's Madam Brooklini, of course," says he.

"What, the thousand-dollar-a-minute warbler?" says I. "And me seein'
her lithographs all last winter! Gee, Bishop! I thought you followed
grand opera closer'n that."

"I should have recalled her," says the Bishop; "but I see so many
faces----"

"Only a few like that, though," says I. "Vandy, where do you reckon
Mrs. Greater New York could be located just about now?"

Vandy has the whole story down pat. Seems she's been over here out of
season bringin' suit against her last manager; but havin' held him up
for everything but the gold fillin' in his front teeth, she is booked
to sail back to her Irish castle at four in the mornin'. He knows the
steamer and the pier number.

"Four A. M., eh?" says I. "That means she's likely to be aboard now,
gettin' settled. Bishop, if that Ducky business was a straight steer,
it's ten to one that a friend of ours is there sayin' good-bye. Shall
we follow it up?"

"I can hardly credit it," says he. "However, if you think----"

"It's no cinch," says I; "but this is a case where it won't do to bank
on past performances. From all the signs, Ferdy has struck a new gait."

The Bishop throws up both hands. "How clearly you put it," says he,
"and how stupid of me not to understand! Should we visit the steamer,
or not?"

"Bishop," says I, "you're a good guesser. We should."

And there wa'n't any trouble about locatin' the high artist. All we
has to do is to walk along the promenade deck until we comes to a suite
where the cabin stewards was poppin' in and out, luggin' bunches of
flowers and baskets of fruit, and gettin' the book signed for
telegrams. The Bishop was for askin' questions and sendin' in his
card; but I gets him by the sleeve and tows him right in.

I hadn't made any wrong guess, either. There in the corner of the
state room, planted in a big wicker arm chair, with a jar of long
stemmed American beauts on one side, was Madam Brooklini. On the other
side, sittin' edgeways on a canvas stool and holdin' her left hand, was
Ferdy.

I could make a guess as to how the thing had come around; Ferdy
breakin' from his shell at the house party, runnin' across