nose out of affairs.

"We hear, commodore, that you have moved your household gods."

"Yes," grunts Corkey. To the jam-jorum Corkey must be civil, as he
will tell you.

"Where to?"

"Top flat, across the alley from the Grand Pacific."

"That's a five-story building, isn't it?"

"That's what it is."

Corkey is busy fixing his telegrams for the printer. He is trying to
learn what the current date is, and is unwilling to ask.

The night editor is thinking of Mrs. Corkey, a handsome little woman,
for whom the "boys in the office" have a pleasant regard.

"Is there an elevator?"

"I didn't see no elevator when I was carrying the kitchen stove in."

"How will Mrs. Corkey get up?"

This is too much. Corkey has made a hundred trips to the new abode,
each time laden with some heavy piece of furniture or package of goods.
How will Mrs. Corkey get there, when Corkey has been up and down the