Birdie Callahan cleared her throat and said abruptly: "I was
noticin' yesterday your gray pants needs pressin' bad. Bring 'em
down tomorrow mornin' and I'll give 'em th' elegant crease in the
laundry."

So the first weeks went by, and the two months of Miss
Wenzel's stay came to an end. Ted thanked his God and tried hard
not to wish that she was a man so that he could punch her head.

The day before the time appointed for her departure she was
closeted with Jo Haley for a long, long time. When finally she
emerged a bellboy lounged up to Ted with a message.

"Wenzel says th' Old Man wants t' see you. 'S in his office.
Say, Mr. Terrill, do yuh think they can play to-day? It's pretty
wet."

Jo Haley was sunk in the depths of his big leather chair. He
did not look up as Ted entered. "Sit down," he said. Ted sat down
and waited, puzzled.

"As a wizard at figures," mused Jo Haley at last, softly as
though to himself, "I'm a frost. A column of figures on paper
makes my head swim. But I can carry a whole regiment of 'em in my
head. I know every time the barkeeper draws one in the dark. I've
been watchin' this thing for the last two weeks hopin' you'd quit
and come and tell me." He turned suddenly and faced Ted. "Ted,
old kid," he said sadly, "what'n'ell made you do it again?"