sees another chance of extendin' the helpin' hand. I'll admit I
wasn't quite so thrilled. You see, I'd been through all that with the
Gummidges two or three times before and the novelty had sort of worn
off. Besides, that last rescue act we'd pulled had been no common
charity hand-out. It had been big stuff, nothing less than passing the
hat among our friends and raising enough to send the whole lot of 'em so
far West that the prospects of their ever gettin' back to New York was
mighty slim. Maybe that was one reason I'd been so enthusiastic over
puttin' the job through. Not more'n eighteen months ago that had been,
and here they all were back in our midst once more.

"At the same old address," adds Vee, "so you can guess what that means,
Torchy."

"Uh-huh!" says I. "The Patricia apartments has a perfectly punk janitor
again and we're due to listen to another long tale of woe."

"Oh, well," says Vee, "it will be interesting to see if Mrs. Gummidge
is still bearing up cheerful and singing that 'When the Clouds Are
Darkest' song of hers. Of course, I am coming right in as soon as I can
pack a basket. They're sure to be hungry, so I'm going to put in a whole
roasted chicken, and some jars of that strawberry jam Rowena likes so
much, and heaps of bread and butter sandwiches. Probably they'll need a
few warm clothes, too, so I hope you don't mind, Torchy, if I tuck in a
couple of those khaki shirts of yours, and a few pairs of socks,
and----"

"Say," I breaks in, "don't get too reckless with my wardrobe. I ain't
got enough to fit out the whole Gummidge family, you know. Save me a
dress tie and a change of pajamas if you can."

"Silly!" says she. "And listen: I will call for you about 5 o'clock and
we'll go up to see them together."

"Very well," says I. "I'll try to hold myself back until then."

At that, I expect I was some curious to find out just how the Gummidges
had managed it. Must have been Ma Gummidge who found a way. Hen.
Gummidge never would, all by himself. About as helpless an old
Stick-in-the-Mud, he was, as I'd, ever helped pry out of the muck. And a
chronic crape hanger. If things were bad, he was sure they were going to
be worse.

"I never have no luck," was his constant whine. It was his motto, as
you might say, his Fourteen Points of Fate.

I never could make out whether he got that way on account of his face,
or if his face had lengthened out as his disposition grew gloomy. It was
a long face, a