kind of a little jolt. He'd been gossiping round town, the vicious way
men do, and he says to me:

"'That Chester lad is taking awful chances for a man that needs his two
hands at his work. Of course if he was a foot-racer or something like
that, where he didn't need hands--' 'What's all this?' I asks. 'Why,'
says Buck, 'he's had his nails rasped down to the quick till he almost
screams if they touch anything, and he goes back for more every single
day. It's a wonder they ain't mortified on him already; and say, it
costs him six bits a throw and, of course, he don't take no change from
a dollar--he leaves the extra two bits for a tip. Gee! A dollar a day
for keeping your nails tuned up--and I ain't sure he don't have 'em done
twice on Sundays. Mine ain't never had a file teched to 'em yet,' he
says. 'I see that,' I says. 'If any foul-minded person ever accuses you
of it, you got abundant proofs of your innocence right there with you.
As for Chester,' I says, 'he has an object.' 'He has,' says Buck. 'Not
what you think,' I says. 'Very different from that. It's true,' I
concedes, 'that he ought to take that money and go to some good
osteopath and have his head treated, but he's all right at that. Don't
you set up nights worrying about it.' And I sent Buck slinking off
shamefaced but unconvinced, I could see. But I wasn't a bit scared.

"Chet et supper with us the night of the concert and took Nettie and I
to the hall, and you bet I wedged them two close in next each other when
we got to our seats. This was my star play. If they didn't fall for each
other now--Shucks! They had to. And I noticed they was more confidential
already, with Nettie looking at him sometimes almost respectfully.

"Well, the concert went fine, with the hired lady professional singer
giving us some operatic gems in various foreign languages in the first