now?"

First off Stanley stiffens up like he was goin' to be peeved. But then
he remembers and lets out chuckle. "Yes," says he, "I believe those were
her exact words. Perhaps she was right, too. And if I have such an
unsuspected talent as that shouldn't I exercise it occasionally? I leave
it to you."

"You've said it, Stanley," says I. "And after all, I guess you're goin'
to be a help. You had a narrow call, though."

"From what?" asks Stanley.

"Premature old age," says I, givin' him the friendly grin.

CHAPTER XVI

THE MYSTERY OF THE THIRTY-ONE

If I knew how, you ought to be worked up to the proper pitch for this
scene. You know--lights dimmed, throbby music from the bull fiddle and
kettle drums, and the ushers seatin' nobody durin' the act. Belasco
stuff. The stage showin' the private office of the Corrugated Trust.
It's a case of the big four in solemn conclave.

Maybe you can guess the other three. Uh-huh! Old Hickory Ellins, Mr.
Robert, and Piddie. I forget just what important problem we was
settlin'. But it must have been something weighty and serious. Millions
at stake, most likely. Thousands anyway. Or it might have been when we
should start the Saturday half-holidays.

All I remember is that we was grouped around the big mahogany desk; Old
Hickory in the middle chewin' away at the last three inches of a
Cassadora; Mr. Robert at right center, studyin' the documents in the
case; Piddie standin' respectful at his side weavin' his fingers in and
out nervous; and me balanced on the edge of the desk at the left, one
shoe toe on the floor, the other foot wavin' easy and graceful. Cool
and calm, that's me. But not sayin' a word. Nobody was. We'd had our
turn. It was up to Old Hickory to give the final decision. We was
waitin', almost breathless. He'd let out a grunt or two, cleared his
throat, and was about to open in his usual style when--

Cr-r-rash! Bumpety-bump!

Not that this describes it adequate. If I had a mouth that could imitate
the smashin' of a 4x6 foot plate glass window I'd be on my way out to
stampede the national convention for some favorite son. For that's
exactly what happens. One of them big panes through which Old Hickory
can view the whole southern half of Manhattan Island, not to mention
part of New Jersey, has been shattered as neat as if someone had thrown
a hammer through it. And havin' that occur not more'n ten feet from your
right ear is some test of nerves, I'll say