urbed,
assured existence. I may have had ambitions once,--yes, I'm quite
sure,--but no longer. After my--er--my elimination, I got this place in
the department. There I've stuck for fifteen years. I've settled into
official routine; I'm fixed there hard and fast. It's so with many of
us. Most of us recognize the hopelessness of ever pulling out. At least
I do, fully. As I sometimes confess, I am merely one of the unburied
dead. And there you are!"

Kind of took me off my guard, that did. And me about to knock him so
hard! I glances over at J. Bayard sort of foolish, and he stares back
vacant and helpless. Somehow we'd never been up against a proposition
like this, and it had us fannin' the air.

"Unburied dead, eh?" says I. "Oh come, Mr. De Kay, ain't that drawin' it
a little strong? Why, you ought to have lots of punch left in you yet.
All you got to do is buck up."

"The optimism of youth!" says he. "I suppose I ought to feel grateful,
Professor McCabe, for your well intentioned advice. And I can almost say
that I wish I might----"

He don't get a chance to finish; for this is right where Hunk Burley,
that I'd almost forgot was in the room, suddenly kicks into the debate.
I'd felt one or two tugs at my coat; but this last one was so vigorous
it nearly whirls me around. And as I turns I finds him blinkin' and
splutterin' excited, like he'd swallowed his cigar.

"Eh?" says I. "What's troublin' you, Hunk?"

"He--he's the guy," says Hunk, "the very guy!"

"Wha-a-at?" says I, followin' the look in them wide-set pop eyes of his.
"Who is?"

"Him," says he, pointin' to Cuyler. "He's a reg'lar guy, he is; the spit
and image of what I been wantin' to connect with these last six months.
Say, Shorty, put me next."

"Gwan!" says I. "You ain't supposed to exist. Paint your funnels black
and run the blockade."

At which Cuyler, who has been starin' curious through his glasses, steps
forward. "What is it?" says he. "Do I understand that the gentleman
wishes to speak to me?"

"You're hootin'," says Hunk. "Only I ain't no gent. I'm just Hunk
Burley, managin' producer. Tent shows is my line, ring or stage, and I'm
carryin' a proposition up my cuff that means a lot of easy money to
whoever grabs it first. Do you get me?"

"Ah, stow it, Hunk!" says I. "Mr. De Kay ain't one of your crowd. Can't
you see he's----"

"But with him out front," breaks in Hunk eager, "and pullin' that swell
line of patter, we could pack the rese