"We?" says he, liftin' his eyebrows.

"Uh-huh," says I. "Me and you."

"What's it got to do with you? I'd like to know!" he demands.

"I've been retained," says I. "Never you mind how, but I'm here to
pass out the friendly shove, coach you along, see that you make good."

"Well, I like your nerve!" says he, stoppin' short as we're crossin'
Broadway. "A young mucker like you help me make good! Say, that's
rich, that is! Huh! But why don't you? Come ahead with it, now, if
you're such an expert!"

It was a dare, all right. And for a minute there we looked each other
over scornful, until I decides that I'll carry on the friend act if I
have to risk gettin' my head punched.

"First off, Mortimer," says I, "forgettin' what a great man you are so
long as Father's payin' the bills, let's figure on just what your
standin' is now. You're a bum bond clerk, on the ragged edge of bein'
fired, ain't you?"

He winces some at that; but he still has a comeback. "If it wasn't for
that bonehead Miller, I'd get on," he growls.

"Bah!" says I. "He's only layin' down the rules of the game; so it's
up to you to follow 'em."

"But he's unreasonable," whines Mortimer. "He snoops around after me,