. "I never heard of such a company. But if there is one,
why should they come here?"

"Oh, just prospectin', I expect," says I.

"For what?" demands Vee.

"For stuff that the 18th amendment says they can't have," says I.
"Gettin' down to brass tacks, for a case of dry gin."

Even that don't satisfy Vee. She demands why they should dig for any
such thing on our land.

"They might have heard some rumor," says I, "that MacGregor Shinn went
off and left it buried there. As though a Scotchman could ever get as
careless as that. I don't believe he did. Anyway, some of them smart
Alec commuters who were kiddin' me so free yesterday must have worked up
blisters of their own. My guess is that they lost some sleep, too."

You don't have to furnish Vee with a diagram of a joke, you know, before
she sees it. At that she squints her eyes and lets out a snicker.

"I wonder, Torchy," says she, "who could have started such a rumor?"

"Yes, that's the main mystery, ain't it?" says I. "But your flower bed
is about ready, ain't it?"

CHAPTER XX

GIVING 'CHITA A LOOK

I got to admit that there's some drawbacks to being a 100 per cent
perfect private see. Not that I mind making myself useful around the
general offices. I'm always willin' to roll up my sleeves any time and
save the grand old Corrugated Trust from going on the rocks. I'll take a
stab at anything, from meetin' a strike committee of the Amalgamated
Window Washers' Union to subbin' in as president for Old Hickory at the
annual meetin'. And between times I don't object to makin' myself as
handy as a socket wrench. That is, so long as it's something that has to
do with finance, high or low.

But say, when they get to usin' me in strictly fam'ly affairs, I almost
work up a grouch. Notice the almost. Course, with this fair-and-warmer
disposition of mine I can't quite register. Not with Mr. Robert, anyway.
He has such a matey, I-say-old-chap way with him. Like here the other
day when he comes strollin' out from the private office rubbin' his chin
puzzled, stares around for a minute, and then makes straight for my
desk.

"Well," says he, "I presume you noted the arrival of the prodigal son;
eh, Torchy?"

"Meaning Ambrose the Ambler?" says I.

"The same," says he.

"They will come back even from South America," says I. "And you was
figurin', I expect, how that would be a long, wet walk. But then,
nothing was ever too wet for Amby, and the only fear he had o