"Me!" says I. "Gee! I ain't any thought extractor, Mr. Robert."

"But you have rather a knack of getting to the bottom of things," he
insists, "and if I should explain to Mr. Higgins my regret at being
unable to take him out to dinner, and should present you as my
substitute for the evening--why, you might get some hint, you see. At
least, I wish you'd try it."

"Bring him on, then," says I; "but it's like playin' a 30 to 1 shot.
Oh, sure, a couple of tens'll be more'n enough for all the expense
account we can cook up."

And you should have seen me towin' this Down East sphinx around town,
showin' him the sights, and tryin' to locate his chummy streak. It was
most like makin' a long distance call over a fuzzy wire; me strainin'
my vocal chords bein' chatty, and gettin' back only now and then a
distant murmur. It was Ira's first trip to a real Guntown, where we
have salaried crooks and light up our Main-st. with whisky signs; but
he ain't got any questions to ask or any comments to pass. He just
allows them calm eyes of his to wander placid here and there over the
passersby, almost like he was expectin' to see someone he knew, and
takin' mighty little notice of anything in partic'lar.

"That's the Metropolitan tower over there, Mr. Higgins," says I. "See
the big clock?"

Ira takes one glance and nods his head.

"And here comes one of them new double-decker Broadway cars they're
tryin' out," I goes on. "How's that?"