hunting for Jones.

I found him, after a while, standing by the back door and staring up at
the chamber winders as if he missed something. I asked him to come along
with me. Told him I had a big cargo of talk aboard, and wouldn't be able
to cruise on an even keel till I'd unloaded some of it. So he fell into
my wake, looking puzzled, and in a jiffy we was planted in the rocking
chairs up in my bedroom.

"Look here," says I, "Mr.--Mr.--"

"Jones," says he.

"Oh, yes--Jones. It's a nice name."

"I remember it beautifully," says he, smiling.

"All right, Mr. Jones. Now, to begin with, we'll agree that it ain't
none of my darn business, and I'm an old gray-headed nosey, and the like
of that. But, being that I AM old--old enough to be your dad, though
that's my only recommend for the job--I'm going to preach a little
sermon. My text is found in the Old Home Hotel, Wellmouth, first house
on the left. It's Miss Seabury," says I.

He was surprised, I guess, but he never turned a hair. "Indeed?" he
says. "She is the--the housekeeper, isn't she?"

"She was," says I, "but she leaves to-morrer morning."

THAT hit him between wind and water.