I.

Then, when Mr. Robert don't show up at closin' time, I chases down to
the curb and sings out, "Hey, Frenchy, you tip huntin' ex-waiter! It's
back to the garage for yours! And say! After you've run your old coal
cart into the shed you can go let yourself out as a sign for a fur
store. Ah, that's right. Nothin' doin' here. Skidoo!"

Always makes me feel better after I've handed Louie one like that--his
ears turns such a lovely pink, specially when there's a crowd around.
When I has time to chew it over I can think up some beauts. But this
night I was goin' to tell you about I didn't have any warnin' at all.
Mr. Robert was right in the middle of a heart-to-heart talk with a
Pittsburg man, when five o'clock comes and the word is sent up that
Louie has came.

"Tell him to come back in about half an hour," says Mr. Robert to me.

"Repeat at five-thirt'," says I, sliding out for the elevator.

It was an elegant afternoon,--for pneumonia,--slush and rain and ice-box
zephyrs gallopin' up and down the street. Louie didn't look as though he
was enjoyin' it any too much, for all his furs. I was just turnin' up my
collar for a dash across the sidewalk and back, when out comes Lady
Mildred in a raincoat that was a dream and carryin' a silver-handled
umbrella such as you don't find on the bargain counters. And then I
gets my funny thought.

"Carriage for you, miss," says I, grabbin' the rain tent and hoistin'
it. "Right this way, miss."

Say, she's a dead game sport, Mildred is. Never stopped to ask any fool
questions; but prances right out to the car, just as though she'd
expected it to be there.

"Take the lady home, and be back after Mr. Robert in half an hour,
Louie," says I, jerkin' open the door and handin' her in.

It was about then that I almost had heart failure. Stowed away in the
further corner, as comf'table as if he was at the club, was Benny. I
forget what the rest of his name is; Mr. Robert never calls him anything
but Benny. They're chums from way back,--travel in the same push, live
on the same block, and has the same ideas about killin' time. But that's
as far as the twin description goes. Benny looks and acts about as much
like Mr. Robert as a cream puff looks like a ham sandwich. All Benny
ever does is put on more fat and grow more cushions on the back of his
neck. He's about five foot three, both ways, one of these rolypoly boys,
with dimples all over him, pink and white cheeks, and baby-blue eyes.