man, you know. But Mrs. Hawks--well, we were rather congenial. She's
bright, not much of a highbrow, and not quite in the swim. I suppose I
might have-- Oh, widows, you know. Told me she didn't intend to stay
one. And now Mr. Nivens has come to know her, in some way; through his
cousin Mabel, I suppose. Knows her quite well. She telephones him
here. I--I don't like it. It's not playing square with her for him
to-- Well, you see what I mean. She doesn't know who he was."

"Uh-huh," says I.

"But I'm not sure just what I ought to do," says he.

"If you're callin' on me for a hunch," says I, "say so."

"Why, yes," says he. "What is it?"

"What's the matter," says I, "with beating him to it?"

"Why--er--by Jove!" says Ham. "I--I wonder."

He was still standin' there, holdin' the gasoline bottle and gazin'
down the basement steps, as I passed on. Course, I was mostly joshin'
him. Half an hour later and I'd forgot all about it. Never gave him a
thought again until this mornin' I hears Mr. Robert explode over
something he's just read in the paper.

"I say, Torchy," he sings out. "You remember Ham Adams? Well, what do
you think he's gone and done now?"

"Opened a correspondence school for valets?" says I.