"Nothin' but my clothes," says I.

"Good!" says he. "Come with me, then."

"Sure you know where you're goin'?" says I.

Oh, yes, he was--almost. It was some pier or other he was headed for,
and he has the number wrote down on a card--if he could find the card.
By luck he digs it up out of his cigarette case, where his man has put
it on purpose, and then he proceeds to whistle up a cab. Say, if it
wa'n't for them cabbies, I reckon Pinckney would take root somewhere.

"Meetin' some one, or seein' 'em off?" says I, as we climbs in.

"Hanged if I know yet," says Pinckney.

"Maybe it's you that's goin'?" says I.

"Oh, no," says he. "That is, I hadn't planned to, you know. And come
to think of it, I believe I am to meet--er--Jack and Jill."

"Names sound kind of familiar," says I. "What's the breed?"

"What would be your guess?" says he.

"A pair of spotted ponies," says I.

"By Jove!" says he, "I hadn't thought of ponies."

"Say," says I, sizin' him up to see if he was handin' me a josh, "you
don't mean to give out that you're lookin' for a brace of something to
come in on the steamer, and don't know whether they'll be tame or wild,
long haired or short, crated or live stock?"

"Live stock!" says he, beamin'. "That's exactly the word I have been
trying to think of. That's what I shall ask for. Thanks, awfully,
Shorty, for the hint."

"You're welcome," says I. "It looks like you need all the help along
that line you can get. Do you remember if this pair was somethin' you
sent for, or is it a birthday surprise?"

With that he unloads as much of the tale as he's accumulated up to
date. Seems he'd just got a cablegram from some firm in London that
signs themselves Tootle, Tupper & Tootle, sayin' that Jack and Jill
would be on the _Lucania_, as per letter.

"And then you lost the letter?" says I.

No, he hadn't lost it, not that he knew of. He supposes that it's with
the rest of last week's mail, that he hasn't looked over yet. The
trouble was he'd been out of town, and hadn't been back more'n a day or
so--and he could read letters when there wa'n't anything else to do.
That's Pinckney, from the ground up.

"Why not go back and get the letter now?" says I. "Then you'll know
all about Jack and Jill."

"Oh, bother!" says he. "That would spoil all the fun. Let's see what
they're like first, and read about them afterwards."

"If it suits you," says I, "it's all the same to me. Only you won't