e. You know the
ideas some people get. And as a rule our floor here is the quietest in
the buildin'. I knew it would be that day specially; for all we had on
the slate was a couple of poddy old parties who'd be workin' away at the
apparatus, havin' about as strenuous a time as a baby playin' with its
toes.

But I hadn't counted in that Sieger & Bloom combination, up on the
fourth. They run a third-rate theatrical agency, you know, and just
about then they was fillin' out contracts for summer snaps, and what you
saw driftin' up and down the stairs didn't make you yearn to be a
vaudeville actor. So later on, when I heard an argument in progress out
in the hall, I glances nervous at the clock. It's almost on the tick of
three.

"Hey, cut out the riot!" I calls through the transom; but as there's no
letup to the debate I strolls over to the door, prepared to reprove
someone real severe.

It's quite some spirited scene out on the landin'. There's old man
Bloom, a short, squatty, fish-eyed old pirate with a complexion like
sour dough. He has one foot on the next flight, and seems to be
retreatin' as he waves his pudgy hands and sputters. Followin' him up is
a tall, willowy, black-eyed young woman in a giddy Longchamps creation
direct from Canal-st. She's pleadin' earnest that Bloom mustn't forget
he's talkin' to a lady. Behind her is a husky, red-haired young gent
with his fingers bunched menacin'; while just below, hesitatin' whether
to push through the hostilities or beat it back to the street, is Elisha
P. Bayne, Esq.

"Give us a show to make good, that's all we ask," the young woman is
sayin'. "Put us on somewhere, as you said you would when you took our
money."

"Bah!" snorts old Bloom. "I vouldn't sign you for a Third-ave. cabaret.
Your act is rotten. A pair of cheab skaters, you are--cheab skaters!"

"Oh, we are, are we?" explodes the young woman. Then, biff! out flashes
one of her long arms, and the next thing Bloom knows his silk lid has
been smashed down over his eyes.

"Helb! Helb!" he squeals. "Bolice! I vill ged the bolice after you."
With that he makes a break past her and goes waddlin' downstairs on the
run.

"Now I've done it, I reckon," says the young woman. "And that about
finishes us, Timothy dear. He's after a cop."

"Yes, and he'll bring one back," I puts in, "or I don't know Abie Bloom.
About five and costs will be the bill. But it ought to be worth it."

"It would, every cent," says she, "