to the match."

"Oh, any way you choose," says I. "Sure I'll stay."

"Thanks," says he. "You needn't wait longer than seven, and if it
comes in you can get me on the 'phone and---- No, it will be in code;
so you'd best bring it over."

And it wa'n't so much of a wait, after all, not more'n an hour; for at
six-fifteen I've been over to the club, had Mr. Robert called from the
billiard room, got him to fix up his answer, and am pikin' out the
front door with it when he holds me up to add just one more word.
Maybe we was some conspicuous from Fifth-ave., him bein' still in his
shirt sleeves and the steps bein' more or less brilliant.

Anyway, I'd made another start and was just gettin' well under way,
when alongside scuffs this hollow-eyed object with the mangy whiskers
and the mixed-ale breath.

"Excuse me, young feller," says he, "but----"

"Ah, flutter by, idle one!" says I. "I'm no soup ticket."

[Illustration: "Ah, flutter by, idle one!" says I.]

"But just a word, my friend," he insists.

"Save your breath," says I, "and have it redistilled. It's worth it."

"Thanks," he puffs out as he shuffles along at my elbow; "but--but