come."

Every time I throws a jolt like that into J. Hemmingway, he looks kind
of stunned and goes off to chew it over. But he gets even all right.
Sometimes he'll take a whole forenoon to dig up somethin' he thinks is
goin' to give me the double cross.

Most of his spare time, though, he puts in tellin' me about how I'm to
behave when Mr. Robert comes back. For the first few days I had an idea
Mr. Robert was the pulley that carried the big belt, and that when he
stopped there was a general shut down. I got nervous watchin' for him.
Then I rounds up the fact that he's Bob Ellins, who cuts more ice in the
society columns than he does in the Wall Street notes.

Piddie has him down for a little tin god, all right, and that wa'n't
such a fool move of Piddie's, either. Some day Hickory Ellins will have
to quit and take the hot baths regular, and then Mr. Robert will get
acquainted with an eight o'clock breakfast. See where Piddie comes in?
He's takin' out insurance on his job. He needs it bad enough. If I ever
get to think as much of a job as Piddie does of his, I'll have some one
nail me to the office chair.

Rule No. 1 on my card was never to let anyone through the brass gate
unless they belonged inside or had a special permit. Piddie wants to
know if I've ever had any experience with that kind of work.

"Say, where do you think I've been!" says I. "Why, I did that trick for
six months, shuntin' dopes away from the Sunday editor's door, and there
was times when nothin' but a club would keep some of 'em out. Back to
the bridge, Piddie! When I'm on the gate it's just as good as though
you'd set the time lock."

Well, I'd been there over one payday and halfway to the next, when one
mornin' about ten-thirty the door comes open with a bang, and in steps a
husky young gent, swingin' one of these dinky, leather-covered canes,
and lookin' like money from the mint. He didn't make any play to draw a
card, same's they generally does; but steers straight for the brass
gate, full tilt. I never says a word; but just as he reaches over to
spring the catch and break in, I shoves my foot out and blocks it at the
bottom, bringin' him up all standin'.

"Say, this ain't no ferryhouse," says I.

"Hello!" says he. "A new one, eh?"

"I ain't any Fourth-ave. antique," says I; "but I'm over seven. Was you
wantin' to see anyone special?"

He seems to think that's a joke. "Why," says he, "I am Mr. Ellins."

"G'wan!" says I. "You ain't h