Ivy's eyes searched the shop for a tall, golden-haired form in
a soiled baseball suit.

"We'd like to see a gentleman named Schlachweiler--Rudolph
Schlachweiler," said Pa Keller.

"Anything very special?" inquired the proprietor.
"He's--rather busy just now. Wouldn't anybody else do? Of course,
if----"

"No," growled Keller.

The boss turned. "Hi! Schlachweiler!" he bawled toward the
rear of the dim little shop.

"Yessir," answered a muffled voice.

"Front!" yelled the boss, and withdrew to a safe listening
distance.

A vaguely troubled look lurked in the depths of Ivy's eyes.
From behind the partition of the rear of the shop emerged a tall
figure. It was none other than our hero. He was in his shirt-
sleeves, and he struggled into his coat as he came forward, wiping
his mouth with the back of his hand, hurriedly, and swallowing.

I have said that the shop was dim. Ivy and her father stood
at one side, their backs to the light. Rudie came forward, rubbing
his hands together in the manner of clerks.