fall for what's up is Cornelia Ann. She gets
him to help her pass out the teacups and the cake, and tells everyone
about how Swifty helped her out on the model business when she was
livin' on pickled pigs' feet and crackers. Fin'lly folks begins to dig
out their wraps and come up to tell her how they'd had a bully time.
But Joe never makes a move.

Sadie and Mrs. Pell wa'n't in any hurry either, and the first thing I
knows there's only the five of us left. I see Sadie lookin' from Joe
to Cornie, and then passin' Mrs. Pell the smile. Cornelia Ann sees it
too, and she has a synopsis of the precedin' chapters all in a minute.
But she don't get flustered a bit. She sails over to the coat room,
gets Swifty's lid, and comes luggin' it out.

"I'm awfully glad you came, Mr. Gallagher," says she, handin' out the
bean pot, "and I hope to see you again when I have another
reception--next year."

"Eh?" says Swifty, like he was wakin' up from a dream. "Next year!
Why, I thought that--"

"Yes, but you shouldn't," says she. "Good night."

Then he sees the hat, and a light breaks. He grabs the lid and makes a
dash for the door.

"Isn't he odd?" says Cornelia.

Well say, I didn't know whether I'd get word that night that Swifty had
jumped off the bridge, or had gone back to the fusel oil. He didn't do
either one, though; but when he shows up at the Studio next mornin' he
was wearin' his old clothes, and his face looks like he was foreman of
a lemon grove.

"Ah, brace up, Swifty," says I. "There's others."

He just shakes his head and sighs, and goes off into a corner as if he
wanted to die slow and lingerin'.

Then Saturday afternoon, when it turns off so warm and we begins the
noon shut down, I thinks I'll take a little run down to Coney and hear
the frankfurters bark. I was watchin' 'em load the boys and girls into
a roller coaster, when along comes a car that has something familiar in
it. Here's Swifty, wearin' his brass band suit, a cigar stickin' out
of one corner of his mouth, and an arm around a fluffy haired Flossie
girl that was chewin' gum and wearin' a fruit basket hat. They was
lookin' happy.

"Say, Swifty," I sings out, "don't forget about Cornie."

"Ahr, chee!" says he, and off they goes down the chute for another
ten-cent ride.

But say, I'm glad all them South Brooklyn art clothes ain't goin' to be
wasted.

XVIII

PLAYING WILBUR TO SHOW

It's all right. You can put the Teddy sig