"They always lays off half the bundle girls after Christmas," says Mrs. Tiscott. "That's why we don't see Tony regular every payday any more. He had the nerve to claim most of Lizzie's envelope." Then it was my turn to say "Huh!" "Why don't you have him up?" says I. "I'm a-scared," says she. "He's promised to break my head." "Think he would?" says I. "Yes," says she. "He's changed for the worse lately. He'd do it, all right, if I took him to court." "What if I stood ready to break his, eh?" says I. "Would that hold him?" Say, it wa'n't an elevatin' or cheerful conversation me and Mrs. Tiscott indulged in; but it was more or less to the point. She's some int'rested in the last proposition of mine, and when I adds a few frills about givin' a butcher's order and standin' for a sack of potatoes, she agrees to swear out the summons for Tony, providin' I'll hand it to him and be in court to scare the liver out of him when she talks to the Justice. "I hate to do it too," says she. "I know," says I; "but no meat or potatoes from me unless you do!" Sounds kind of harsh, don't it? You'd think I had a special grudge against Tony Tiscott too. But say, it's only because I know him and his kind so well. Nothing so peculiar about his case. Lots of them swell coachmen go that way, and in his day Tony has driven for some big people. Him and me got acquainted when he was wearin' the Twombley-Crane livery and drawin' down his sixty-five a month. That wa'n't so long ago, either. But it's hard waitin' hours on the box in cold weather, and they get to boozin'. When they hit it up too free they lose their places. After they've lost too many places they don't get any more. Meantime they've accumulated rheumatism and a fam'ly of kids. They've got lazy habits too, and new jobs don't come easy at forty. The next degree is loafin' around home permanent; but they ain't apt to find that so pleasant unless the wife is a good hustler. Most likely she rows it. So they chuck the fam'ly and drift off by themselves. That's the sort of chaps you'll find on the bread lines. But Tony hadn't quite got to that yet. I knew the corner beer joint where he did odd jobs as free lunch carver and window cleaner. Also I knew the line of talk I meant to hand out to him when I got my fingers on his collar. "Well?" says Miss Ann, when I comes back with the empty basket. "Did you find it an interesting case?" "Maybe that's the word," says I. "You saw the young woman, did you?" says she, "the one who----" "Sure," says I. "She's got it--bad." "Ah!" says Miss Ann, brightenin' up. "And now about that life membership!" "Well," says I, "the Piny Crest proposition is all right, and I'd like to see it started; but the fact is, Miss Colliver, if I should put my name down with all them big people I'd be runnin' out of my class." "You would be--er----Beg pardon," says she, "but I don't think I quite get you?"