ced lapels; a pink and white shirt striped
like an awnin'; a spotted butterfly tie; yellow shoes in the latest
oleomargarin tint; and a caffy-o-lay bean pot derby with a half-inch
brim to finish off the picture. It was a sizzler, all right.

For a minute I stands there with my mouth open and my eyes bugged,
takin' in the details. If I could, I would have skipped without sayin'
a word, for I see I'd butted in on somethin' that was sacred and
secret. But Swifty's heard me come in, and he's turned around waitin'
for me to give a verdict. Not wantin' to hurt his feelin's, I has to
go careful.

"Swifty," says I, "is that you?"

He only grins kind of foolish, sticks his chin out, and saws his neck
against his high collar, like a cow usin' a scratchin' post.

"Blamed if I didn't take you for Henry Dixey, first shot," says I,
walkin' around and gettin' a new angle. "Gee! but that's a swell
outfit!"

"Think so?" says he. "Will it make 'em sit up?"

"Will it!" says I. "Why, you'll have 'em on their toes."

I didn't know how far I could go on that line without givin' him a
grouch; but he seems to like it, so I tears off some more of the same.

"Swifty," says I, "you've got a bunch of tiger lilies lookin' like a
faded tea rose. You've got a get-up there that would win out at a
Cakewalk, and if you'll take it over to Third-ave. Sunday afternoon
you'll be the best bet on the board."

"Honest?" says he, grinnin' way back to his ears. "I was after
somethin' a little fancy, I'll own up."

"Well, you got it," says I. "Where'd you have it built?"

"Over the bridge," says he.

Say, it's a wonder some of them South Brooklyn cloth carpenters don't
get the blind staggers, turnin' out clothes like that; ain't it?

"Must be some special occasion?" says I.

"D'jer think I'd be blowin' myself like this if it wa'n't?" says he.
"You bet, it's extra special."

"With a skirt in the background?" says I.

"Uh-huh," says he, springin' another grin.

"Naughty, naughty!" says I.

"Ahr, say," says he, tryin' to look peevish, "you oughter know better'n
that! You never heard of me chasin' the Lizzies yet, did you? This is
a real lady,--nice and classy, see?"

"Some one on Fifth-ave.?" says I, unwindin' a little string. But he
whirls round like I'd jabbed him with a pin.

"Who tipped you off to that?" says he.

"Guessed it by the clothes," says I.

That simmers him down, and I could see he wanted to be confidential the