ea.

Well, say, I don't do a thing but hustle into my clothes and chase down
the corridor to Mr. Ellins' room. Is he int'rested in the tale? He's all
of that.

"Torchy," says he, "if you can lead me down to that game, I--I'll
forgive you. Perhaps I'll do better than that."

I used up half a box of matches findin' the way; but at last we located
the light comin' through the transom.

"Good work!" he whispers. "Now you go back to bed and enjoy a long
night's rest."

Sure I did--not. I wouldn't have missed hearin' that exchange of happy
greetin's for a farm. And the way the Doc chokes up and splutters tryin'
to explain things was somethin' lovely. He was gettin' himself as
twisted as a pretzel, when Old Hickory breaks in.

"That's all right, Doc," says he. "Innocent little relaxation. I
understand perfectly. Now, what's the ante?"

Well, after that the conversation wasn't so excitin'; nothing but, "I'll
take three cards," or "Raise you two more blues." So I sneaks back and
falls into the hay once more.

At breakfast Mr. Ellins shows up more smilin' and chipper than I'd ever
seen him anywhere before. He puts away three soft boiled eggs, a couple
of lamb chops, and two cups of coffee made special for him. The Doc he
follows us out to the limousine.

"Sorry to have you go so soon, Mr. Ellins," says he, rubbin' one hand
over the other, "very sorry indeed, sir. And--er--about those memoranda
from my assistants. I will see that they are redeemed, you know."

"Those I O U's?" says Mr. Ellins. "Oh, you tell the boys I tore 'em up.
Yours, too, Doctor. I had my fun out of the game. So long."

And for the next four miles Old Hickory don't do much but gaze out on
the landscape and chuckle.

"Was that a bluff about buildin' that hotel?" says I after awhile.

"Well," says Mr. Ellins, "not exactly; but I think I shall present the
Restorium with a pipe organ instead."

CHAPTER XIV

IN ON THE OOLONG

Course it was a cinch; but Piddie ain't got done wonderin' yet how I did
it. I can tell that by the puzzled way he has of lookin' me over when he
thinks I ain't noticin'.

You see, we'd been havin' a quiet week at the Corrugated. This fine
spell of weather has braced Old Hickory up until he almost forgets how
he's cast himself for the great grouch collector. Things must have been
runnin' smooth, too; for he can even read about the Return from Elba
plans without chuckin' the mornin' paper into the waste basket and