one had ever accused him of being a Quitter. He was supposed to be
Hollow inside. Whenever any Friend of the Firm showed up, Mr. Byrd was
called upon to take charge of him and Entertain him to a Stand-Still.
The Boss was troubled with Dyspepsia, and Conscientious Scruples, and a
Growing Family, and a few other Items that prevented him from going out
at Night with the Visiting Trade. He had it arranged to give each one of
them a choice Mess of Beautiful Language and then pass him along to Mr.
Byrd.

Mr. Byrd was a Rosy and Red-Headed Gentleman, with a slight Overhang
below the Shirt Front. He breathed like a Rusty Valve every time he had
to go up a Stairway, but he had plenty of Endurance of another Kind. For
Years he had been playing his Thirst against his Capacity, and it was
still a Safe Bet, whichever Way you wanted to place your Money. His
Batting Average was about Seven Nights to the Week. He discovered that
Alcohol was a Food long before the Medical Journals got onto it.

Mr. Byrd's chief value to the Wholesale House lay in the Fact that he
could Meet all Comers and close up half the Places in Town, and then
show up next Morning with a Clean Collar and a White Carnation, and send
in word to lead out another Country Customer.

Mr. Byrd's first Move was to take Jim to a Retreat that was full of
Statuary and Paintings. It was owned by a gray-haired Beau named Bob,
who was a Ringer for a United States Senator, all except the White Coat.
Bob wanted to show them a new Tall One called the Mamie Taylor, and
after they had Sampled a Couple Jim said it was all right and he
believed he would take one. Then he told Bob how much he had taken in
the Year before and what his Fixtures cost him, and if anybody didn't
think he was Good they could look him up in Bradstreet or Dun, that was