er so?"

"I'll go and tell her so this minute."

"Y' can't! She's gone t' Bronx Park with that b'y, 'n' won't be back
all day."

"Damn!" exclaimed Ravenslee.

"Sure!" nodded Mrs. Trapes. "Keep on, it'll do ye good. But anyway, what
y' got t' say'll keep, I guess--it'll gush out all the stronger fer
bein' bottled up a day or two."

"I can write!" he suggested.

"You can--but you won't--you'll tell her with your two lips--a woman
likes it better spoke--if spoke proper--I should! With arms entwined an'
eyes lookin' into eyes an'--oh, shucks! Will angel cake an' strawberry
jam--"

"They'll be ample, and--thank you, dear Mrs. Trapes!"

CHAPTER XXIV

HOW THE OLD UN AND CERTAIN OTHERS HAD TEA

"Old Un," said Joe, halting his aged companion in the middle of the
second flight to wag a portentous finger, "Old Un, mind this now--if
there should 'appen to be cake for tea, don't go makin' a ancient beast
of yourself with it--no slippin' lumps of it into your pocket on the
sly, mind, because if I ketch ye at it--"

"Don't be 'arsh, Joe, don't be 'arsh! Cake comes soft t' me pore old
teef."

"An' mind this again--if there should be any jam about, no stickin' ye
wicked old fingers into it an' lickin' 'em behind my back."

"You lemme an' the jam alone, Joe; it's a free country, ain't it?--very
well, then!"

"Free country be blowed! You mind what I say, you venerable old bag of
iniquity, you!"

"'Niquity yerself!" snarled the Old Un, and snapping bony finger and
thumb under Joe's massive chin, turned and went on up the stairs, his
smart straw hat cocked at a defiant angle, his brilliant shoes creaking
loudly at every step.

"Oh, Gorramighty!" he panted, halting suddenly on the fifth landing to
get his breath, "these perishin' stairs 'as ketched my wind, Joe; it's
worse 'n th' treadmill! Is there many more of 'em?"

"Only six flights!" nodded Joe grimly.

"Six!" wailed the Old Un. "Lord--it'll be the death o' me!"

"Well, it's about time you was dead," nodded Joe.

"Dead ye'self!" snarled the old man. "I'm a better figger of a man than
ever you was--"

"An' you would come," continued Joe serenely, as he deftly resettled the
old fellow's sporty bow-tie. "You fair plagued me to bring ye along,
didn't ye, old packet o' vindictiveness?"

"Well, an' here I am, Joe, an' here I mean t' stay--no more climbin' fer
me; I'm tired, me lad, tired!" Saying which, the Old Un spread his
handkerchief on a convenient