command, and there aren't enough of those to go around. Chiefly, though, he thinks that anyone who is able to get things done in New York in the wizard-like way that you can should be36 kept within call of Governor's Island. So I fear, Torchy, that you and I will have to go on serving our country right here."

36

"All right, Mr. Ellins," says I. "I expect you win—as per usual."

37

CHAPTER III

TORCHY PULLS THE DEEP STUFF

Course, I didn't know what Old Hickory was stackin' me up against when he calls me into the private office and tells me to shake hands with this Mr. McCrea. Kind of a short, stubby party he is, with a grayish mustache and sort of sleepy gray eyes. He's one of these slow motioned, quiet talking ginks, with restful ways, such as would fit easy into a swivel chair and hold down a third vice-president's job for life. Or he might be a champion chess player.

So when the boss goes on to say how Mr. McCrea is connected with the Washington sleuth bureau I expect I must have gawped at him a bit curious. Some relic of the old office force, was my guess; a hold-over from the times when the S. S. people called it a big day if they could locate a lead nickel fact'ry in Mulberry Street, or drop on a few Chink laundrymen bein' run in from Canada in crates. Maybe he was a thumb-print expert.

"Howdy," says I, glancin' up at the clock to see if the prospects was good for makin' the 5:17 out to Harbor Hills.

"I am told you know the town rather well,"38 suggests McCrea, sort of mild and apologetic.

38

"Me!" says I. "Oh, I can usually find my way back to Broadway even in foggy weather."

He indulges in a flickery little smile. "I also understand," he goes on, "that you have shown yourself to be somewhat quick witted in emergencies."

"I must have a good press agent, then," says I, glancin' accusin' at Mr. Ellins.

But Old Hickory shakes his head. "I suspect that was my friend, Major Wellby," says he.

"Oh!" says I. "The one I rescued the wire spools for? A lucky break, that was."

 Prev. P 23/180 next