"Stick to it," says I.  "That'll give me time to take lessons from Westy on how to get an income wished onto me." 

 As it stands, though, Vee's got me distanced. Please, ain't somebody got a plute aunt to spare? 

 

 

 CHAPTER II 

 TOWING CECIL TO A SMEAR 

 Just think! If it had turned out a little different I might have been called to stand on a platform in front of City Hall while the Mayor wished a Victoria Cross or something like that on me. 

 No, I ain't been nearer the front than Third Avenue, but at that I've come mighty near gettin' on the firin' line, and the only reason I missed out on pullin' a hero stunt was that Maggie wa'n't runnin' true to form. 

 It was like this. Here the other mornin', as I'm sittin' placid at my desk dictatin' routine correspondence into a wax cylinder that's warranted not to yank gum or smell of frangipani—sittin' there dignified and a bit haughty, like a highborn private sec. ought to, you know—who should come paddin' up to my elbow but the main wheeze, Old Hickory Ellins. 

 "Son," says he, "can any of that wait?" 

 "Guess it wouldn't spoil, sir," says I, switchin' off the duflicker. 

 "Good!" says he.  "I think I can employ your peculiar talents to better advantage for the next few hours. I trust that you are prepared to face the British War Office?" 

 Suspectin' that he's about to indulge in his semi-annual josh, I only grins expectant. 

 "We have with us this morning," he goes on, "one Lieutenant Cecil Fothergill, just arrived from London. Perhaps you saw him as he was shown in half an hour or so ago?" 

 "The solemn-lookup gink with the long face, one wanderin' eye, and the square-set shoulders?" says I.  "Him in the light tan ridin'-breeches and the black cutaway?" 

 "Precisely," says Mr. Ellins. 

 "Huh!" says I.  "Army officer? I had him listed 

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