sizzlin' sentiments that's
strained through a typewriter are apt to get delivered cold."

"But I'm not good at making fine speeches, either," he protests.

"You ain't exactly tongue-tied, though," says I. "And you ain't startin'
out on this expedition with both arms roped behind you, are you?"

For a minute he stares at me gaspy, while that simmers through the
oatmeal.

Then he chuckles. "Torchy," says he, givin' me the inside-brother grip,
"there's no telling how this will turn out, but I--I'm going up!"

I stayed long enough to see him start, too.

Then I goes home, not sure whether I'd set the scene for an ear cuffin',
or had plugged him in on a through wire.

CHAPTER XVII

MR. ROBERT GETS A SLANT

It's all wrong, Percy, all wrong. Somebody's been and rung in a revise
on this Romeo dope, and here we find ourselves tryin' to make the Cupid
Express on a canceled time-card. What do I mean--we? Why, me and Mr.
Robert. Ah, there you go! No, not Miss Vee. She's all right--don't
worry. We're gettin' along fine, Vee and me; that is, so far as we've
gone. Course there's 'steen diff'rent varieties of Vee; but I'm strong
for all of 'em. So there's no room for tragedy there.

But when it comes to this case of Mr. Robert and a certain party!

You see, after I've sent him back to Miss Hampton loaded up with all
them wise hints about rushin' her off her feet, and added that hunch as
to rememberin' that he has a pair of arms--well, I leave it to you.
Ain't that all reg'lar? Don't they pass it out that way in plays and
magazines? Sure! It's the hero with the quick-action strong-arm stuff
that wins out in the big scene. So why shouldn't it work for him?

I could tell, though, by the rugged set of his jaw as he marches into
the private office next mornin', that it hadn't. I expect maybe he'd
just as soon not have gone into the subject then, with me or anyone
else; but so long as he'd sort of dragged me into this fractured romance
of his I felt like I had a right to be let in on the results. So I
pivots round and springs a sympathetic grin.

"Did you pull it?" says I.

He shrugs his shoulders kind of weary. "Oh, yes," says he. "I--er--I
pulled it."

"Well?" says I, steppin' over and leanin' confidential on the roll-top.

"Torchy," says he, "please understand that I am in no way censuring you.
You--you meant well."

"Ah, say, Mr. Robert!" says I. "Not so rough. I only gave you the usual
get-busy line, and if