rouped ourselves around the room with our mouths open, in they
floats.

In the lead, wearin' the oleo coat with yellow silk facin's, was a
squizzled up little squirt with rat eyes and a mean little face about
as thick as a slice of toast, and the same colour. His clothes,
though, is a pome in browns and yellows, from the champagne tinted No.
3 shoes to the tobacco coloured No. 5 hat, leavin' out the necktie,
which was a shade somewhere between a blue store front and a bottle of
purple ink.

Even if I hadn't seen the face, I could have guessed who it was, just
by the get-up. Course, there's been a good many noisy dressers
floatin' around the grill room district this winter, but there always
has to be one real scream in every crowd; and this was it.

"If it ain't Shrimp!" says I.

"Hello, Shorty!" says he, in that little squeak of his.

And at that some one swoops past me. There's a flapping of green silk
skirt, and Mother Dillon has given him the high tackle.

"Aloysius! My little 'Loyshy!" she squeals.

And say, you could have pushed me over with one finger. Here I'd been
hearin' for the last two seasons about this jock that had come up from
stable helper in a night, and how he'd been winning on nine out of
every ten mounts, and how all the big racing men was overbiddin' each
other to get him signed for their stables. Some of Pinckney's sportin'
friends had towed Shrimp into the Studio once or twice, and besides
that I'd read in the papers all about his giddy wardrobe, and his big
Swede valet, and the English chorus girl that had married him. But in
all this talk of Sadie's about the Dillon fam'ly, I'd never so much as
guessed that Aloysius, the stray, was one and the same as Shrimp Dillon.

Here he was, though, in the Dillon flat, with Mother Dillon almost
knockin' his breath out pattin' him on the back, and all the little
Dillons jumpin' around and yellin', "Uncle 'Loyshy, Uncle 'Loyshy!" and
Kate and Maggie and Nora waitin' their turns; and the rest of us,
includin' old Larry and me and Sadie, lookin' foolish. The only one
that acts like he wa'n't surprised is Pinckney.

Well, as soon as Shrimp can wiggle himself clear, and shake the little
Dillons off his legs, he hauls Mrs. Shrimp to the front and does the
honours. And say, they make a pair that would draw a crowd anywhere!
You know the style of chorus ladies the Lieblers bring over,--the
lengthy, high chested, golden haired kind? Well, she's on