"Eh?" says I, starin'. "Me? Ah, say, Mr. Robert, I wouldn't stand any
show at all mixin' it with a young husk like him. Why, after the first
poke I'd be----"

"You misunderstand," says he. "That poke part I can attend to very
well myself. But I want to know the worst before I start in, and if I
should go up there now, feeling as I do, I--well, I might not be a very
patient investigator. You see, don't you?"

"Might blow a gasket, eh?" says I. "And you want me to go up and scout
around. But what if I'm caught at it--am I peddlin' soap, or what?"

"A plausible errand is just what I've been trying to invent," says he.
"Can you suggest anything?"

"Why," says I, "I might go disguised as a lone bandit who'd robbed a
train and was----"

"Too theatrical," objects Mr. Robert.

"Or a guy come to test the gas meter," I goes on.

"Nonsense!" says he. "No gas meters up there. Forget the disguise.
They both know you, remember."

"Oh, well," says I, "if I can't wear a wig, then I expect I'll have to
go as special messenger sent up with some nutty present or other,--a
five-pound box of candy, or flowers, or----"