We'll label him 'Next,' or
'Number Five Elect,' or something like that. Line 'em up outside, will
you?"

"Oh, pshaw!" says Madam Brooklini. "What a nuisance these press agents
are! But Larry is so enterprising. Come, we'll make a splendid group,
the four of us. Come, Ferdy."

"Reporters!" Ferdy lets it come out of him kind of hoarse and husky,
like he'd just seen a ghost.

But I knew the view that he was gettin'; his name in the headlines, his
picture on the front page, and all the chappies at the club and the
whole Newport crowd chucklin' and nudgin' each other over the story of
how he was taggin' around after an op'ra singer that had a syndicate of
second hand husbands.

"No, no, no!" says he. It was the only time I ever heard Ferdy come
anywhere near a yell, and I wouldn't have believed he could have done
it if I hadn't had my eyes on him as he jumps clear of the corner,
makes a flyin' break through the bunch, and streaks it down the deck
for the forward companionway.

Me and the Bishop didn't wait to see the finish of that group picture.
We takes after Ferdy as fast as the Bishop's wind would let us, he
bein' afraid that Ferdy was up to somethin' desperate, like jumpin' off
the dock. All Ferdy does, though, is jump into a cab and drive for
home, us trailin' on behind. We was close enough at the end of the run
to see him bolt through the door; but Kupps tells us that Mr. Dobson
has left orders not to let a soul into the house.

Early next mornin', though, the Bishop comes around and asks me to go
up while he tries again, and after we've stood on the steps for ten
minutes, waitin' for Kupps to take in a note, we're shown up to Ferdy's
bed room. He's in silk pajamas and bath robe, lookin' white and hollow
eyed. Every mornin' paper in town is scattered around the room, and
not one of 'em with less than a whole column about how Madam Brooklini
sailed for Europe.

"Any of 'em got anything to say about Number Five?" says I.

"Thank heaven, no!" groans Ferdy. "Bishop, what do you suppose poor
dear Alicia thinks of me, though?"

"Why, my son," says the Bishop, his little eyes sparklin', "I suppose
she is thinking that it is 'most time for you to arrive in Newport, as
you promised."

"Then she doesn't know what an ass I've been?" says Ferdy. "No one has
told her?"

"Shorty, have you?" says the Bishop.

And when Ferdy sees me grinnin', and it breaks on him that me and the
Bishop are the only ones