eel good. Inside of a week I had the
red back in his cheeks, and he was chuckin' the medicine ball around
good and hard, and tellin' me what a scrapper he used to be when he
first went to the cadet mill, down to Annapolis. You can always tell
when these old boys feel kinky--they begin to remember things like that.
Before the fortnight was up he wasn't shyin' at anything on the bill of
fare, and he was hintin' around that his thirst was comin' back strong.

"Can't I ever have another drink?" says he, as sad as a kid leavin'
home.

"I'd take as little as I could get along with," says I.

"I'll promise to do that," says he.

He did, too. About the second day after he'd gone back to his
son-in-law's place, he sends for me to come over. I finds him walkin'
around the grounds as spry as a two-year-old.

"Well," says I, "how did the folks take it?"

He chuckles. "They don't know what to say," says he. "They can't see how
a specialist who charges five hundred dollars for an hour's visit can be
wrong; but they admit I'm as good as new."

"How's Babbitt?" says I.

"That's why I wanted you to come over," says he. "Now watch." Then he
lets out a roar you could have heard ten blocks away, and in about two
shakes old wash-day shows up. "Ha! You shark-nosed sculpin!" yells the
Commodore. "Where's your confounded tea cart? Go get it, sir."

"Yes, sir; directly, sir," says Babbitt.

He comes trottin' back with it in a hurry.

"Got any of that blasted decayed milk in it?" says the Commodore.

"No, sir," says Babbitt.

"Are you glad or sorry? Speak up, now," says the Commodore.

"I'm glad, sir," says Babbitt, givin' the salute.

"Good!" says the Commodore. "Then open up your wagon and mix me a Scotch
high-ball."

And Babbitt did it like a little man.

"I find," says the Commodore, winkin' at me over the top of his glass,
"that I can get along with as few as six of these a day. To your very
good health, Professor McCabe."

Stand it? Well, I shouldn't wonder. He's a tough one. And ten years from
now, if there's another Dago fleet to be filled full of shot holes, I
shouldn't be surprised to find my old Commodore fit and ready to turn
the trick.

CHAPTER XII

You'd most think after that I'd have cut out the country for a while;
but say, I'm gettin' so I can stand a whole lot of real breathin' air.
Anyway, I've put the Studio on summer schedule, and every Saturday about
noon I pikes out to Primrose Park, to se