likewise rich--oh, yes. Her father had a flower jobbin' business on
West 28th-st.--very grand. For Armina he had ideas. Any would-be
son-in-law must be in business too. Yet there was a way. He would
take in a partner with two hundred and fifty dollars cash. And Mr.
Popokoulis had saved up nearly that much when he'd got this fool notion
of goin' back home into his head. Now here he was flat broke and
carryin' the banner. It was not only a case of goin' hungry, but of
losin' out on the fair Armina. Hence the eye moisture.

"Yes, yes," says I. "But the weeps won't help any. And, even if Mr.
Robert would listen to all this sad tale, it's ten to one he wouldn't
butt in at the club. I might get a chance to put it up to him, though.
Suppose you drop in to-morrow sometime, and I'll let you know."

"But I would wish," says Popover, "to speak with----"

"Ah, ditch it!" I breaks in weary. "Say, you must have been takin'
militant lessons from Maud Malone. Look here! If you're bound to
stick around and take a long chance, camp there on the bench. Mr.
Robert's busy inside, now; but if he should get through before
lunch--well, we'll see. But don't go bankin' on anything."

And it was a lovely sample of arrested mental anguish that I has before
me for the next hour or so,--this Popokoulis gent, with his great,
doughy face frozen into a blank stare, about as expressive as a
half-baked squash pie, his eyes fixed on the opposite wall, and only
now and then a spasm in his throat showin' that he was still thinkin'
an occasional thought.

Course, Piddie discovers him after a while and demands pettish, "That