t glare of
electric lights, he was some prominent.

Sort of a cross between Father Time and Santa Claus, he looks like, with
his bumper crop of white alfalfa, his rosy cheeks, and his husky build.
Also he's attired in a wide-brimmed black felt hat, considerable dusty,
and a long black coat with a rip in the shoulder seam. I heard a couple
of squabs just ahead of me giggle, and one of 'em gasps:

"Heavings, Lulu! Will you lamp the movie grandpop! I wonder if them
lambrequins are real?"

She says it loud enough to be heard around on Broadway, and I looks to
see how the old boy takes it; but he keeps right on beamin' mild and
sort of curious at the crowds pushin' in. It was them calm, gentle old
blue eyes of his, gazin' steady, like he was lookin' for someone, that
caught me. First thing, I knew he was smilin' folksy straight at me, and
liftin' one hand hesitatin', as if he wanted to give me the hail.

"Well, old scout?" says I, haltin' on the first step.

"Excuse me, Neighbor," says he, drawlin' it out deep and soft, "but be
yo' goin' in thayah?"

"I don't say it boastin'," says I, "but that was the intention."

"We-e-e-ell," he drawls, half chucklin', half sing-songy, "I wisht I
could get you to kind of look around for a young fellah in thayah,--sort
of a well favored, upstandin' young man, straight as a cornstalk, and
with his front haiah a little wavy. Would you?"

"I might find fifty that would answer to that description," says I.

"No, Suh, I reckon not," says he, waggin' his noble old head. "Not fifty
like him, nor one! He'll have his chin up, Suh, and there'll be a
twinkle in his brown eyes you can't mistake."

"Maybe so," says I. "I'll scout around a bit. And if I find him, what
then?"

"Jes' give him the word, Neighbor," says he, "that Uncle Noah's a
waitin' outside, wantin' to see him a minute when he gets through.
He'll understand, Robin will."

"Eh?" says I. "Robin who?"

"Young Mistuh Hollister I should say, Suh," says he.

"Well, well!" says I, gawpin' at him. "You lookin' for Robin Hollister
too? Why, so am I!"

"Then we ought to find him between us, hadn't we?" says he, smilin'
friendly. "Lott's my name, Suh."

"Wha-a-at!" says I, grinnin' broad as the combination strikes me. "Not
Uncle Noah Lott?"

"It's a powerful misleadin' name, I got to admit," says he, returnin'
the grin; "but I reckon my folks didn't figure jes' how it was goin' to
sound when they tacked the Noah onto me, or el