out Aloysius."

"What's that?" says he. "Aloysius Dillon, did you say?"

"He's the one that's playin' the part of the missing prod.," says I.

"What is he like?" says Pinckney, gettin' interested.

"Accordin' to descriptions," says I, "he's a useless little runt, about
four feet nothin' high and as wide as a match, with the temper of a
striped hornet and the instincts of a yellow kyoodle. But he's his
mother's pet, just the same, and if he ain't found she threatens to
throw fits. Don't happen to know him, do you?"

"Why," says Pinckney, "I'm not sure but I do."

It looks like a jolly; but then again, you never can tell about
Pinckney. He mixes around in so many sets that he's like to know 'most
anybody.

"Well," says I, "if you run across Aloysius at the club, tell him
what's on for Sunday afternoon."

"I will," says Pinckney, lettin' out a chuckle and climbin' into his
cab.

I was hoping that maybe Sadie would renige before the time come; but
right after dinner Sunday she makes up in her second best afternoon
regalia, calls a hansom, and starts for Tenth-ave., leavin'
instructions how I was to show up in about an hour with Pinckney, and
not to forget about handin' out our cards just as if this was a swell
affair. I finds Pinckney got up in his frock coat and primrose pants,
and lookin' mighty pleased about something or other.

"Huh!" says I. "You seem to take this as a reg'lar cut-up act. I call
it blamed nonsense, encouragin' folks like the Dillons to----"

But there ain't any use arguin' with Pinckney when he's feelin' that
way. He only grins and looks mysterious. We don't have to hunt for
the number of the Dillons' flat house, for there's a gang of kids on
the front steps and more out in the street gawpin' up at the lighted
windows. We makes a dive through them and tackles the four flights,
passin' inspection of the tenants on the way up, every door bein' open.

"Who's comin' now?" sings out a women from the Second floor back.

"Only a couple of Willies from the store," says a gent in his shirt
sleeves, givin' us the stare.

From other remarks we heard passed, it was clear the Dillons had been
tootin' this party as something fine and classy, and that they wa'n't
making good. The signs of frost grows plainer as we gets nearer the
scene of the festivities. All the Dillon family was there, right
enough, from the youngest kid up. Old Larry has had his face scraped
till it shines like a copp