mykes our livin' from. And it ayn't just your money mykes you a gryte
man; it's your brains and your big 'eart. I know w'at I knows, Sir,
an' I 'opes as 'ow you'll tyke no hoffense at the flowers, Sir."

"Not a bit, Cubbins," says Old Hickory, smilin' grim. "In fact, that's
a first rate idea of yours. We ought to have some sort of flowers here
all the time. Got many left in your garden, have you, Cubbins?"

"Plenty, Sir," says Cubbins. "The roses'll be gone soon now, Sir; but
there's golden glow, and hasters comin' on, and zinnias, and----"

"Then you're engaged, Cubbins," says Old Hickory, "to supply the office
with fresh ones every day. When yours give out we'll have to buy some,
I suppose. And you'll give up this window cleaning job at once. It's
too dangerous. I can't afford to have the only man in the United
States who holds a good opinion of me risking his neck like that."

"Thankee kindly, Sir," says Cubbins, beamin' grateful. "And we'll see
w'at Jimmy 'as to s'y to that, so we will!"

"Report that in full," says Old Hickory. "And, Mr. Piddie, see that
Mr. Cubbins' name goes on the payroll from today. But, by the way,
where is your distinguished friend, the scientific investigator?"

"Why--er--why----" says Piddie, flushin' up and swallowin' hard, "Dr.
Bingstetter left a moment ago."

"Did, eh?" grunts Old Hickory. "He should have stayed awhile and
allowed Torchy to give him a few pointers on evolving things from
primal facts."

"Ye-e-e-es, Sir," says Piddie, his face all tinted up lovely.

Which winds up, as you might say, the Mystery of the Fifth Bouquet.
But, believe me, there ain't any tamer party around the shop these days
than this same J. Hemmingway Piddie. And if the old habits get to
croppin' out any time, all I got to do is shut one eye, put my finger
to my lips, and whisper easy, "Ah, go tell that to Doc Bungstarter!"
That gets him behavin'.

And Cubbins, why--he's blossomed out in a new fall suit, and he stops
at the desk every few days to tell me how he put it all over Jimmy the
night before. So that was some stroke, what?

CHAPTER III

WHEN IRA SHOWED SOME PEP

It was good domework of Mr. Robert's to tip me off about this Higgins
party, or there's no knowin' how hard a time he might have had gettin'
through the brass gate. As it is, the minute I spots the watch chain
and the round cuffs and the neck freckles, I sizes him up as the
expected delegate from the fres