so deep.
I mentions the fact casual to Mr. Robert.

"Really," says he, liftin' his eyebrows surprised. "Federated Tractions!
Are you certain?"

"Unless our registry clerk has had a funny dream," says I. "The notice
was listed yesterday. And you know how grouchy the old girl was on us."

"H-m-m-m!" says he, drummin' his fingers nervous. "Thanks, Torchy. I
must look into this."

Seemed to worry Mr. Robert a bit; so maybe that's why I had my ears
stretched wider'n usual. It wa'n't an hour later that I runs across Izzy
Budheimer down in the Arcade. He's on the Curb now, Izzy is, and by the
size of the diamond horseshoe decoratin' the front of his silk shirt he
must be tradin' some in wildcats. Hails me like a friend and brother,
Izzy does, tries to wish a tinfoil Fumadora on me, and gives me the
happy josh about bein' boosted off the gate.

"You'll be gettin' wise to all the inside deals now, eh?" says he,
winkin' foxy. "And maybe we might work off something together. Yes?"

"Sure!" says I. "I'll come down every noon with the office secrets and
let you peddle 'em around Broad street from a pushcart. Gwan, you
parrot-beaked near-broker! Why, I wouldn't trust tellin' you the time of
day!"

Izzy grins like I'd paid him a compliment. "Such a joker!" says he. "But
listen! Which side do the Tractions people come down on?"

"Federated?" says I. "North corridor, just around the corner. Sleuthin'
around that bunch, are you? What's doing in Tractions?"

"How should I know?" protests Izzy, openin' his eyes innocent. "Maybe I
got a customer on the general staff, ain't it?"

"You'd be scoutin' up here at this time of day after a ten-dollar
commission, wouldn't you?" says I. "And with that slump in Connecticut
Gas in full blast! Can it, Izzy! I know a thing or two about Tractions
myself."

"Yes?" he whispers persuasive, almost holdin' his breath. "What do you
hear, now?"

"Don't say I told you," says I, "but they're thinkin' of puttin' in
left-handed straps for south-paw passengers."

Izzy looks pained and disgusted. He's got a serious mind, Izzy has, and
if you could take a thumbprint of his brain, it would be all fractions
and dollar signs.

"I have to meet my cousin Abie Moss," says he, edgin' away. "He has a
bookkeeper's job with Tractions for a month now, and I promised his aunt
I would ask how he's comin'."

"How touchin'!" says I as he moves off.

I gazes after him curious a minute, and then follows a sudden h