ling to try keeping Bentley out of mischief until
I get back?" says he.

"Sure as ever," says I. "I don't s'pose he's any holy terror; is he?"

Pyramid said he wa'n't quite so bad as that. He told me that Bentley'd
been brought up on a big cattle ranch out there, and that now he was
boss.

"He's been making a lot of money recently, too," says Mr. Gordon, "and
he insists on a visit East. Probably he will want to let New York know
that he has arrived, but you hold him down."

"Oh, I'll keep him from liftin' the lid, all right," says I.

"That's the idea, Shorty," says he. "I'll write a note telling him all
about you, and giving him a few suggestions."

I had a synopsis of Bentley's time card, so as soon's he'd had a chance
to open up his trunk and wash off some of the car dust I was waitin' at
the desk in the Waldorf.

Now of course, bein' warned ahead, and hearin' about this cattle ranch
business, I was lookin' for a husky boy in a six inch soft-brim and
leather pants. I'd calculated on havin' to persuade him to take off
his spurs and leave his guns with the clerk.

But what steps out of the elevator and answers to the name of Bentley
is a Willie boy that might have blown in from Asbury Park or Far
Rockaway. He was draped in a black and white checked suit that you
could broil a steak on, with the trousers turned up so's to show the
openwork silk socks, and the coat creased up the sides like it was made
over a cracker box. His shirt was a MacGregor plaid, and the band
around his Panama was a hand width Roman stripe.

"Gee!" thinks I, "if that's the way cow boys dress nowadays, no wonder
there's scandals in the beef business!"

But if you could forget his clothes long enough to size up what was in
'em, you could see that Bentley was a mild enough looker. There's lots
of bank messengers and brokers' clerks just like him comin' over from
Brooklyn and Jersey every mornin'. He was about five feet eight, and
skimpy built, and he had one of these recedin' faces that looked like
it was tryin' to get away from his nose.

But then, it ain't always the handsome boys that behaves the best, and
the more I got acquainted with Bentley, the better I thought of him.
He said he was mighty glad I showed up instead of Mr. Gordon.

"Uncle Henry makes me weary," says he. "I've just been reading a
letter from him, four pages, and most of it was telling me what not to
do. And this the first time I was ever in New York si