if Bruzinski's kept
his up----"

"By George!" breaks in Waddy. "Of course. Do you know, I never thought
of that."

"No, you wouldn't," says I "May not work, at that. But we can try. She's
a reg'lar person, Miss Callahan."

Anyway, she knew right where to put her fingers on Joe Bruzinski's card
and shoots us back his mailin' address by lunch time. It's Coffee Creek,
Pa.

"What an absurd place to live in!" says Waddy. "And how on earth can we
ever find it."

"Eh?" says I. "We?"

"But I couldn't possibly get there by myself," says Waddy. "I've never
been west of Philadelphia. Oh, yes, I've traveled a lot abroad, but
that's different. One hires a courier. Really, I should be lost out of
New York. Besides, you know Mr. Robert said you were to--oh, there he is
now. I say, Bob, isn't Torchy to stay with me until I find Bruzinski?"

"Absolutely," says Mr. Robert, throwin' a grin over his shoulder at me
as he slips by.

"Maybe he thinks that's a life sentence," says I. "Chuck me that
Pathfinder from the case behind you, will you? Now let's see. Here we
are, page 937--Coffee Creek, Pa. Inhabitants 1,500. Flag station on the
Lackawanna below Wilkes-Barre. That's in the Susquehanna valley. Must be
a coal town. Chicago limited wouldn't stop there. But we can probably
catch a jitney or something from Wilkes-Barre. Just got time to make the
1:15, too. Come on. Lunch on train."

I expect Waddy ain't been jumped around so rapid before in his whole
career. I allows him only time enough to lay in a fresh supply of
cigarettes on the way to the ferry and before he's caught his breath we
are sittin' in the dinin' car zoomin' through the north end of New
Jersey. I tried to get him interested in the scenery as we pounded
through the Poconos and galloped past the Water Gap, but it couldn't be
done. When he gets real set on anything it seems Waddy has a single
track mind.

"I trust he still has that ring," he remarks.

"That'll ride until we've found your ex-top sergeant," says I. "What was
his line before he went in the army--plumber, truck driver, or what?"

Waddy hadn't the least idea. Not having been mixed up in industry
himself, he hadn't been curious. Now that I mentioned it he supposed
Joe had done something for a living. Yes, he was almost sure. He had
noticed that Joe's hands were rather rough and calloused.

"What would that indicate?" asks Waddy.

"Most anything," says I, "from the high cost of gloves to a strike o