f water was
that he might get careless some time and swallow a little."

"Quite so," says Mr. Robert, grinnin'.

You see, this Ambrose Wood party is only an in-law once removed. Maybe
you remember Ferdy, who had the nerve to marry Marjorie Ellins, the
heavyweight sister of Mr. Robert's, here a few years back? Well, that
was when the Ellinses acquired a brunette member of the flock. Ambrose
is a full brother of Ferdy's. In every sense. That is, he was in the
good old days when Mr. Volstead was only a name towards the end of roll
call.

I ought to know more or less about Amby for we had him here in the
general offices for quite some time, tryin' to discover if there wasn't
some sphere of usefulness that would excuse us handin' him a pay
envelope once a week. There wasn't. Course, we didn't try him as a paper
weight or a door stop. But he had a whirl at almost everything else. And
the result was a total loss.

For one thing, time clocks meant no more to Amby than an excursion ad.
would to a Sing Sing lifer. Amby wasn't interested in 'em. He'd drift
in among the file room or bond clerks, or whatever bunch he happened to
be inflicted on that particular month, at any old hour, from 10 A. M. up
to 2:30 P. M. Always chirky and chipper about it, too. And his little
tales about the parties he'd been to on the night before was usually
interestin'. Which was bad for the general morale, as you can guess.
Also his light and frivolous way of chuckin' zippy lady stenogs under
the chin and callin' 'em "Dearie" didn't help his standin' any. Yeauh!
He was some boy, Amby, while he lasted. Three different times Brother
Ferdie was called from his happy home at night to rush down with enough
cash bail to rescue Ambrose from a cold-hearted desk sergeant, and once
he figured quite prominent on the front page of the morning papers when
he insisted on confidin' to the judge that him and the young lady in the
taxi was really the king and queen of Staten Island come over to visit
upper Broadway. I don't doubt that Amby thought he was something of the
kind at the time, too, but you know how the reporters are apt to play up
an item of that kind. And of course they had to lug in the fact that
Ambrose was a near-son-in-law of the president of the Corrugated Trust.

That was where Old Hickory pushed the button for me. "Young man," says
he, chewin' his cigar savage, "what should you say was the longest
steamer trip that one could buy a ticket for di