"Well, well!" says I. "How's valetin' these days?"

"Oh, it's you, is it?" says he. "Why, I'm getting along fine. Of
course, I never could be quite so good at it as--as Mr. Nivens was, but
he is kind enough to say that I am doing very well. Really, though, it
is quite simple. I just think of the things I should like to have done
for me, and--well, I do them for him. It's rather interesting, you
know."

I expect I gawped some myself, hearing that from him. From Ham Adams,
mind you!

"Ye-e-e-es; must be," says I, sort of draggy. Then I shifts the
subject. "How's Mr. Nivens gettin' along?" says I. "Ain't married
yet, eh?"

For a second Ham Adams lapses back into his old glum look.

"That is the only thing that worries me," says he. "No, he isn't
married, as yet; but he means to be. And the lady--well, she's a
widow, rather well off. Nice sort of person, in a way. A Mrs.
Grenville Hawks."

"Not the one that used to send you bunches of roses?" says I.

He stares at me, and then nods.

"It seems that Mr. Nivens had already picked her out--before," says he.
"Oh, there was really nothing between us. I'd never been a marrying