You know--hitched last week. He's got the old boy up
there to dinner now. Maybe he'll be taken on as the Senator's secretary
if you don't jump in quick. He's a hustler, Mallory is. Remember how he
skinned that big order out of Kazedky? And as an A. G. M. he'd be a
winner. Well, does he get it?"

"Young man," says Old Hickory, catchin' his breath, "if my mental
machinery worked at the high pressure speed yours does, I could----But I
am not noted for being slow. I've done things in a hurry before. I can
yet. Torchy, he does get it."

"When?" says I.

"To-morrow morning," says he. "I'll start him at five thousand."

"Whoop!" says I. "Say, you're a sport! I'll go up and deliver the glad
news. Guess he needs it now as much as he ever will."

And, say, you should have seen the change of heart that comes over the
Senator when he heard the bulletin. "Mallory, my boy," says he,
"congratulations. And by the way, just remove that--er--imitation lamb
stew. Then we'll all go down to some good hotel and have a real
dinner."

CHAPTER XVII

TOUCHING ON TINK TUTTLE

"On your way, now, on your way!" says I; gazin' haughty over the brass
gate. "No window cleanin' done here durin' office hours!"

"But," says the specimen on the other side, "I--I didn't come to clean
the windows."

"Eh?" says I, sizin' up the blue flannel shirt, the old leather belt,
and other marks of them pail and sponge artists. "Well, we don't want
any sash cords put in, or wirin' fixed, or any kind of jobbin' done
until after five. That's General Order No. 1. See?"

He nods in kind of a lifeless, unexcited way; but he don't make any
motions towards beatin' it. "I--I--the fact is," he begins, "I wish to
see some one connected with the Corrugated Trust Company."

"You've had your wish," says I. "I'm Exhibit A. For a profile view of me
step around to the left. Anything more?"

He don't get peeved at this, nor he don't grin. He just keeps on bein'
serious and calm. "If you don't mind," says he, "I should like to see
one of the higher officials."

"Say, that's almost neat enough to win out," says I. "One of the higher
officials, eh? How would the president suit you?"

"If I might see him, I'd like it," says he.

"Wha-a-a-at!" says I.

Honest, the nerve that's wasted on some folks is a shame. I had to sit
up and give him the Old Sleuth stare at that. He's between twenty-five
and thirty, for a guess; and, say, whatever he might have been once,
h