nyway?"

"Why ask me, who was smuggled in the back door?" says I, grinnin'.

"But you know a lot of these high-brows and aristocrats," he insists. "I
don't. I don't get 'em at all. What brainy stunts or polite acts are
they strongest for? How do they behave when they're among themselves?"

"Why, sort of natural, I guess," says I.

"Whaddye mean, natural?" demands Garvey. "For instance?"

"Well, let's see," says I. "There's Major Brooks Keating, the imposin'
old boy with the gray goatee, who was minister to Greece or Turkey once.
Married some plute's widow abroad and retired from the diplomatic game.
Lives in that near-chateau affair just this side of the Country Club.
His fad is paintin'."

"Pictures?" asks Garvey.

"No. Cow barns, fences, chicken houses," says I. "Anything around the
place that will stand another coat."

"You don't mean he does it himself?" says Garvey.

"Sure he does," says I. "Gets on an old pair of overalls and jumper and
goes to it like he belonged to the union. Last time I was up there he
had all the blinds off one side of the house and was touchin' 'em up.
Mrs. Keating was givin' a tea that afternoon and he crashes right in
amongst 'em askin' his wife what she did with that can of turpentine.
Nobody seems to mind, and they say he has a whale of a time doin' it. So
that's his high-brow stunt."

Garvey shakes his head puzzled. "House painting, eh?" says he. "Some
fad, I'll say."

"He ain't got anything on J. Kearney Rockwell, the potty-built old sport
with the pink complexion and the grand duchess wife," I goes on. "You
know?"

Garvey nods. "Of Rockwell, Griggs & Bland, the big brokerage house,"
says he. "What's his pet side line?"

"Cucumbers," says I. "Has a whole hothouse full of 'em. Don't allow the
gardener to step inside the door, but does it all himself. Even lugs 'em
down to the store in a suitcase and sells as high as $20 worth a week,
they say. I hear he did start peddlin' 'em around the neighborhood once,
but the grand duchess raised such a howl he had to quit. You're liable
to see him wheelin' in a barrowful of manure any time, though."

"Ought to be some sight," says Garvey. "Cucumbers! Any more like him?"

"Oh, each one seems to have his own specialty," says I. "Take Austin
Gordon, one of the Standard Oil crowd, who only shows up at 26 Broadway
for the annual meetings now. You'd never guess what his hobby is. Puppet
shows."

"Eh?" says Garvey, gawpin'.

"Sort of