n girl that had a room on the top floor
over the Physical Culture Studio, and was makin' a stab at the
sculpture game--the one that we got out to Rockywold as a ringer in the
snow carvin' contest. Got her placed now?

Well, you know how that little trick of makin' a snow angel brought her
in orders from Mrs. Purdy Pell, and Sadie, and the rest? And she
didn't do a thing but make good, either. I hadn't seen her since she
quit the building; but I'd heard how she was doin' fine, and here the
other day I gets a card sayin' she'd be pleased to have my company on a
Wednesday night at half after eight, givin' an address on Fifth avenue.

"Corny must be carvin' the cantaloup," thinks I, and then forgets all
about it until Sadie holds me up and wants to know if I'm goin'.

"Nix," says I. "Them art studio stunts is over my head."

"Oh, pshaw!" says Sadie. "How long since you have been afraid of Miss
Belter? Didn't you and I help her to get her start? She'll feel real
badly if you don't come."

"She'll get over that," says I.

"But Mrs. Pell and I will have to go alone if you don't come with us,"
says she. "Mr. Pell is out of town, and Pinckney is too busy with
those twins and that Western girl of his. You've got to come, Shorty."

"That settles it," says I. "Why didn't you say so first off?"

So that was what I was doin' at quarter of eight that night, in my open
face vest and dinky little tuxedo, hustlin' along 42d-st., wonderin' if
the folks took me for a head waiter late to his job. You see, after I
gets all ragged out I finds I've left my patent leathers at the Studio.
Swifty has said he was goin' to take the night off too, so I'm some
surprised to see the front office all lit up like there was a ball
goin' on up there. I takes the steps three at a time, expectin' to
find a couple of yeggs movin' out the safe; but when I throws the door
open what should I see, planted in front of the mirror, but Swifty Joe.

Not that I was sure it was him till I'd had a second look. It was
Swifty's face, and Swifty's hair, but the costume was a philopena. It
would have tickled a song and dance artist to death. Anywhere off'n
the variety stage, unless it was at a Fourth Ward chowder party, it
would have drawn a crowd. Perhaps you can throw up a view of a
pin-head check in brown and white, blocked off into four-inch squares
with red and green lines; a double breasted coat with scalloped cuffs
on the sleeves, and silk fa