The victim wrested himself free at last and stood in the highroad speechless with indignation. Lack of breath was likewise a contributing factor. Mr. Birdseye observed, as they drew away from the panting figure, that the starting eyes of Mr. Nutt were fixed upon him recognisingly and accusingly, and realised that he was in some way being blamed for the discomfiture of that solid man and that he had made a sincere enemy for life. But what cared he? Meadow larks, golden breasted, sat in his short ribs and sang to his soul. And now they had drawn up at the Hotel Balboa, and with Birdseye still in the van they had piled off and were swirling through the lobby to splash up against the bulkhead of the clerk's desk, behind which, with a wide professional smile of hospitality on his lips, Head Clerk Ollie Bates awaited their coming and their pleasure. "You got our wire?" demanded of him the young manager. "Rooms all ready?" "Rooms all ready, Mister----" "Fine and dandy! We'll go right up and wash up for lunch. Here's the list--copy the names onto the register yourself. Where's the elevator? Oh, there it is. All aboard, boys! No, wait a minute," countermanded this young commander who forgot nothing, as he turned and confronted Mr. Birdseye. "Before parting, we will give three cheers for our dear friend, guide and well-wisher, Colonel Birdseye Maple. All together: "Whee! _Whee!_ =Whee!=" The last and loudest Whee died away; the troupe charged through and over a skirmish line of darky bell hops; they stormed the elevator cage. Half in and half out of it their chief paused to wave a hand to him whom they had just honoured. "See you later, Colonel," he called across the intervening space. "You said you'd be there when we open up, you know." "I'll be there, Swifty, on a front seat!" pledged Mr. Birdseye happily. The overloaded elevator strained and started and vanished upward, vocal to the last. In the comparative calm which ensued Mr. Birdseye, head well up, chest well out, and thumbs in the arm openings of a distended waistcoat, lounged easily but with the obvious air of a conqueror back toward the desk and Mr. Ollie Bates. "Some noisy bunch!" said Mr. Bates admiringly. "Say, J. Henry, where did they pick you up?" "They didn't pick me up, I picked them up--met 'em over at Barstow and rode in with 'em." "Seems like it didn't take you long to make friends with 'em," commented Mr. Bates. "It didn't take me half a minute. Easiest bunch to get acquainted with you ever saw in your life, Ollie. And kidders? Well, they wrote kidding--that's all--words and music. I wish you could a-seen them stringing old man 'Lonzo Nutt down the street! I like to died!" He unbent a trifle; after all, Mr. Bates was an old friend. "Say, Ollie, that gang won't do a thing to our little old scrub team this afternoon, with Long Leaf Pinderson pitching. I saw him in action--with oranges. He----"