backs
as they goes to a clinch and Mother turns on the sprinkler.

But J. Bayard's programme for helpin' Royce break into the younger set
is bugged for fair. Instead we've dug up an expert in rubber farmin' and
are preparin' to send him down as first assistant to the classiest
plantation manager that ever started for Honduras. Mrs. Hammond
announces that she's goin' too.

"There's good stuff in that young chap," says J. Bayard. "He isn't the
son of Hungry Jim for nothing. I'll bet he wins out!"

"Win or lose," says I, "he's ducked bein' a parlor rat for life, which
is something."

CHAPTER VIII

GUMMING GOPHER TO THE MAP

I'd heard the front office door pushed open and listened to a couple of
heavy steps on the floor runner before I glances round to find this high
party with the wide, stooped shoulders and the rugged face standin'
there beamin' at me genial and folksy. In one hand he has a green cloth
bag with somethin' square in it, and in the other he has a broad-brimmed
soft hat about the color of Camembert cheese. A tank station delegate
and no mistake!

"The Horse Dealers' Exchange is over east of Fourth avenue, about eight
blocks down," says I.

He chuckles good-natured and shakes his head. "You got two more comin'
to you, Brother," says he.

"Is it sawmill machinery you're lookin' for, then," says I, "or the home
office of Marriage Bells?"

"Struck out!" says he. "Now it's my bat. Are you J. Bayard Steele,
Mister?"

"Honest, now," says I, "do I look it?"

"Then I reckon you're the other one--Professor McCabe," says he.

"Line hit over center field!" says I. "What's the follow up to that?"

"No hurry," says he. "Have a button first."

"Eh?" says I, gawpin', as he tosses the green bag and yellow lid onto a
chair, dives into his side pocket, and proceeds to pin something on my
coat lapel.

"Plenty of 'em," says he. "Here, take some for your friends. How's that
for a slogan, anyway? 'Go to Gopher!' Good advice too. Gopher's the
garden spot of the universe."

"Gopher what--where is it?" says I.

"Why," says he, "Gopher, U.S.A. That's the idea! I'm from there. Hubbs
is the name,--Nelson Hubbs, secretary of the Gopher Board of Trade,--and
I never miss a chance to give Gopher a boost."

"If this is a sample," says I, "you don't need to make an affidavit. But
you wanted to see J. Bayard Steele, didn't you?"

It was as I'd suspicioned. Mr. Hubbs was No. 5 on the kindly deeds list
that Pyr