"Look out!" squeals Piddie. "Police, police!"

"Ah, can that!" I sings out, helpin' my prisoner through the window and
followin' after. "Police nothin'! Shoo 'em back, will you? He's as
harmless as a kitten."

"Torchy," calls Old Hickory, recoverin' his nerve a little, "what is
the meaning of this, and who have you there?"

"This," says I, straightenin' my man up with a shoulder slap, "is the
bearer of the fifth bouquet--also the fourth, and the third, and so on.
This is Mr. Cubbins of the Consolidated Window Cleanin' Company. Ain't
that right, eh, old sport?"

"'Enery Cubbins, Sir," says he, scrapin' his foot polite and jerkin'
off his old cap.

"And was it you who just threw this thing on my desk?" demands Old
Hickory, pointin' to the red rose.

"Meanin' no 'arm at all, Sir, no 'arm at all," says Cubbins.

"And do I understand that you brought those other flowers in the same
way?" goes on Mr. Ellins.

"Not thinkin' you'd mind, Sir," says Cubbins; "but if there's henny
hoffense given, I asks pardon, Sir."

And there couldn't be any mistakin' the genuine tremble in that weak,