CHAPTER IV

TORCHY BUGS THE SYSTEM

Guess I ain't mentioned Mortimer before. Didn't seem hardly worth
while. You know--there are parties like that, too triflin' to do any
beefin' about. But, honest, for awhile there first off this young
shrimp that was just makin' his debut as one of Miller's subslaves in
the bondroom did get on my nerves more or less. He's a slim,
fine-haired, fair-lookin' young gent, with quick, nervous ways and a
habit of holdin' his chin well up. No boob, you understand. He was a
live one, all right.

And it wa'n't his havin' his monogram embroidered on his shirt sleeves
or his wearin' a walkin' stick down to work that got me sore. But you
don't look for the raw rebuff from one of these twelve-dollar file
jugglers. That's what he slips me, though, and me only tryin' to put
across the cheery greetin'!

"Well, Percy," says I, seein' him wanderin' around lonesome durin'
lunch hour, "is it you for the Folies today, or are you takin' a chance
on one of them new automatic grub factories with me?"

"Beg pardon?" says he, givin' me that frigid, distant look.

"Ah, can the hauteur!" says I. "We're on the same payroll. Maybe you
didn't notice me before, though. Well, I'm the guardian of the gate,
and I'm offerin' to tow you to a new sandwich works that's quite
popular with the staff."