"Double crossed!" groans Whity. "Smothered in mush!"

"As a plotter, Whity," says I, "you're a dub. But if you gunked it one
way, you drew a consolation the other. At this stage of the game I
guess I'm commissioned by a certain party to hand over to you a small
token of his esteem."

"Eh?" says Whity. "Twenty? What for?"

"Ah, go bull the market with it, and don't ask fool questions!" says I.

Say, it was a perfectly swell story about Virgie's bouillabaisse
function on today's society page, double-column half-tone cut and all.
I had to grin when I shows it to Mr. Ellins.

"Were you there, young man?" says he, eyin' me suspicious.

"Yep!" says I.

"I thought so," says he, "when Cousin Inez came home and began packing
her trunks. I take it that affair of hers with the sculptor poet is
all off??'

"Blew up with a bang about ten-thirty P. M.," says I. "Your two
tenspots went with it."

"Huh!" he snorts. "That's as far as I care to inquire. Some day I'm
going to send you out with a thousand and let you wreck the
administration."