ugh nothing had happened. Quite likely I should go out a
bit more than you do, sir. Well, here you'd be: your easy chair, your
pictures, your favorite brands of cigars and Scotch. Oh, I assure you,
you'll find me quite as gentlemanly about not locking them up as you
have been, sir. I should make a few changes, of course; nothing
radical, however. And, really, that little back room of mine is very
cozy. What would come hardest for you, I suppose, would be the getting
up at seven-thirty; but with a good alarm clock, sir, you--"

"Stop!" says Ham. "This--this is absurd. My head's swimming from it.
And yet-- Well, what if I refuse?"

Nivens lifts his black eyebrows significant.

"I should hope I would not be forced to bring proceedings, sir," says
he. "Under the Wage Act, you know--"

"Yes, yes," groans Ham, slumpin' into a chair and restin' his chin on
his hands. "I know. You could send me to jail. I should have thought
of that. But I--I didn't know how to get along alone. I've never had
to, you know, and--"

"Precisely, sir," says Nivens. "And allow me to suggest that another
employer might not have the patience to show you your duties. But I
shall be getting used to things myself, you know, and I sha'n't mind
telling you. If you say so, sir, we'll begin at once."

Ham Adams gulps twice, like he was tryin' to swallow an egg, and then
asks:

"Just how do--do you want to--to begin?"

"Why," says Nivens, "you might get my shaving things and lay them out
in the bathroom. I think I ought to start by--er--dispensing with
these"; and he runs a white hand over the butler siders that frames his
ears.

Almost like he was walkin' in his sleep, Ham gets up. He was headed
for the back of the suite, all right, starin' straight ahead of him,
when of a sudden he turns and catches me watchin'. He stops, and a
pink flush spreads from his neck up to his ears.

"As you was just sayin'," says I, "don't mind me. Anyway, I guess this
is my exit cue."

I tries to swap a grin with Nivens as I slips through the door. But
there's nothing doing. He's standin' in front of the mirror decidin'
just where he shall amputate those whiskers.

First off Mr. Robert wouldn't believe it at all. Insists I'm feedin'
him some fairy tale. But when I gives him all the details, closin'
with a sketch of Ham startin' dazed for the back bathroom, he just
rocks in his chair and 'most chokes over it.

"By George!" says he. "Ham