the remark, taken in connection with the gesture which
accompanied it, was plain enough to my understanding; but for the nonce
I could not classify the idiom in which Scandalous couched his request.
It could not be Underworld jargon; it was too direct and at the same
time too picturesque. Moreover, the Underworld, as a rule, concerns
itself only with altering such words and such expressions as strictly
figure in the business affairs of its various crafts and pursuits. Nor
to me did it sound like the language of the circus-lot, for in such case
it probably would have been more complex. So by process of elimination I
decided it was of the slang code of the burlesque and vaudeville stage,
with which, as with the other two, Scandalous had a thorough
acquaintance. I felt sure, then, that something had set his mind to
working backward along the memory-grooves of some one or another of his
earlier experiences in the act-producing line of endeavour, and that,
with proper pumping, a story might be forthcoming. As it turned out, I
was right.

"Where did you get that one, Scandalous?" I asked craftily. "Your own
coinage, or did you borrow it from somebody else?"

He only grinned cryptically. After a bit he hailed the attendant waiter,
who because he plainly suffered from fallen arches had already been
rechristened by Scandalous as Battling Insteps.

"Say, Battling," he said, "take away the emu; he's still the undefeated
champion of the ages. Tidy him up a little and serve him to the next guy
that feels like he needs exercise more'n he does nourishment. The gravy
may be mussed up a trifle, but the old ring-general ain't lost an ounce.
I fought him three rounds and didn't put a bruise on him."

"Couldn't I bring you somethin' else?" said the waiter. "The Wiener
Schnitzel with noodles is very----"

"Nix," said Scandalous; "if the cassowary licked us, what chance would
we stand against the bison? That'll be all for the olio; I'll go right
into the after-show now. Slip me a dipper of straight chicory and one of
those Flor de Boiled Dinners, and then you can break the bad news to my
pal here." By this I knew he meant that he craved a cup of black coffee
and one of the domestic cigars to which he was addicted, and that I
could pay the check.

He turned to me:

"How're you goin' to finish your turn?" he asked. "They've got mince pie
here like Mother Emma Goldman used to make. Only you want to be careful
it don't explode in your ha