im give Mr. Schott a
flyin' start down the stairs. No finesse about that. Besides, I needed a
party about his size just then. I steps back into the directors' room
and rouses Mr. Dowd from his trance by tappin' him on the shoulder.

"Maybe you'd be willin', Mr. Dowd," says I, "to sketch out some of that
psychic golf experience of yours to a young gent who claims to be
something of a wizard himself."

Would he? Say, I had to push him back in the chair to keep him from
followin' me right out.

"Just a minute," says I, "and I'll bring him in. There's only one thing.
He's quite a talker himself. Might want to unload a line of his own
first, but after that--"

"Yes, yes," says Dowd. "I shall be delighted to meet him."

"It's goin' to be mutual," says I.

Why, I kind of enjoyed my little part, which consists in hurryin' out to
the gate with my right forefinger up and a confidential smirk wreathin'
my more or less classic features.

"Right this way, Mr. Schott," says I.

He shrugs his shoulders, shoots over a glance of scornful contempt, like
a room clerk in a tourist hotel would give to a guest who's payin' only
$20 or $30 a day, and shoves past Vincent with his chin up. Judgin' by
the name and complexion and all there must have been a lot of noble
Prussian blood in this Schott person, for the Clown Prince himself
couldn't have done the triumphal entry any better. And I expect I put
considerable flourish into the business when I announces him to Dowd,
omittin' careful to call the Hon. Matt, by name.

Schott aint wastin' any precious minutes. Before Dowd can say a word
he's started in on his spiel. As I'm makin' a slow exit I manages to get
the openin' lines. They was good, too.

"As you may know," begins Schott, "I represent the International
Historical Committee. Owing to the recent death of prominent members we
have decided to fill those vacancies by appointment and your name has
been mentioned as----"

Well, you know how it goes. Only this was smooth stuff. It was a shame
to have it all spilled for the benefit of Matthew Dowd, who can only
think of one thing these days--250-yard tee shots and marvelous mid-iron
pokes that always sail toward the pin. Besides, I kind of wanted to see
how a super-book agent would work.

Openin' the private office door easy I finds Old Hickory has settled
back in his swing chair and is lightin' a fresh Fumadora satisfied. So I
slips in, salutes respectful and jerks my thumb towa