_him_!" And finally he collapsed into his seat from
sheer exhaustion. Just sat there panting and glaring at me like a jolly
bulldog.

Gradually he became calmer.

"Tell you what: the only thing that lets you out, Dicky, is the way Van
Dyne and Blakesley did, in turn, when I got them there."

He spoke savagely, but I brightened a little.

"Oh!" I said. "Didn't they recognize you, either?"

Billings' snort made me jump.

"Recognize!" he bellowed. "They went back, mad as hell!"

"By Jove!" I said soothingly.

"That's not all," continued Billings grimly. "I was so sure it was a
put-up job, some asinine, fool joke, I wrote a cautious note to the
governor. After a lot of pleading, I got the fools to send it. He came."

Billings paused dramatically.

"Oh, yes, _he_ came!" he went on, fixing me with an excited eye. "And
when I staggered forward and did the prodigal son act on his neck, he
handed me a punch that jolted off his silk tile. Went straight up in the
air with the whole bunch down there and contracted to do things for them
that will keep him active for a year. Threatened to have _me_ sent up
for forgery--this is my own father now, mind you--forgery of my own
name! Huh!"

Billings strode to the end of the room and back. Then he sat down
again, beating with his foot upon the floor.

"Say, has everybody gone crazy?" he demanded.

I didn't dare say a word, for I had my own opinions, you know, and I
knew it wouldn't do to express them. Only excite him. Best way seemed
just to pretend to swallow it all, you know. Best way always, Pugsley
says, especially with best friends.

"They were pretty nasty after that," Billings went on gloomily; "and
they wouldn't send for any one else. Just had to sit there in that
infernal bastile with nothing on but pajamas and a pair of bedroom
slippers. Every once in a while somebody would come and address me as
'Foxy,' and want me to send for my clothes or else send out and buy
some. Finally, a big brute came and threw me some dirty rags and said
I'd _have_ to put on those or else buy some others. Buy some, Dicky--did
you get that?--_buy_ some!"

"Devilish rude, _I_ say," I commented indignantly. "Who wants to wear
_bought_ clothes? Why, dash it, my tailor says--"

"Pshaw!" Billings whirled his fat head impatiently. "You miss the whole
point, Dicky! I didn't have a cent of _money_; and what's more, I
couldn't get any." He paused. "See? Try to get that, Dicky--make an
effor