Sittin' close up beside her, and listenin' with both ears stretched and his mouth open, was a blond young gent with a bristly Bat Nelson pompadour. He's rigged out in a silk faced tuxedo, a smoke colored, open face vest, and he has a big yellow orchid in his buttonhole. By the way he's gazin' at Maizie, you could tell he approved of her from the ground up. She don't hesitate any on droppin' him, though, when we arrives. "Hello!" says she. "Ripping good of you to come. Well, what do you think? I've got some of 'em on, you see. What's the effect?" "Stunning!" says Sadie. "Thanks," says Maizie. "I laid out to get somewhere near that. And, gosh! but it feels good! These are the kind of togs I was born to wear. Phemey? Oh, she's laid up with arnica bandages around her throat. I told her she mustn't try to chew gum with one of these collars on." "Say, Maizie," says I, "who's the Sir Lionel Budweiser, and where did you pick him up?" "Oh, Oscar!" says she. "Why, he found me. He's from St. Paul, nephew of Mrs. Zorn, who's visiting her. Brewer's son, you know. Money? They've got bales of it. Hey, Oscar!" says she, snappin' her finger. "Come over here and show yourself!" And say, he was trained, all right. He trots right over. "Would you take him, if you was me?" says Maizie, turnin' him round for us to make an inspection. "I told him I wouldn't say positive until I had shown him to you, Mrs. McCabe. He's a little under height, and I don't like the way his hair grows; but his habits are good, and his allowance is thirty thousand a year. How about him? Will he do?" "Why--why----" says Sadie, and it's one of the few times I ever saw her rattled. "Just flash that ring again, Oscar," says Maizie. "O-o-oh!" says Sadie, when Oscar has pulled out the white satin box and snapped back the cover. "What a beauty! Yes, Maizie, I should say that, if you like Oscar, he would do nicely." "That goes!" says Maizie. "Here, Occie dear, slide it on. But remember: Phemey has got to live with us until I can pick out some victim of nervous prostration that needs a wife like her. And for goodness' sake, Occie, give that waiter an order for something wet!" "Well!" says Sadie afterwards, lettin' out a long breath. "To think that we ever worried about her!" "She's a little bit of all right, eh?" says I. "But say, I'm glad I ain't Occie, the heir to the brewery. I wouldn't know whether I was engaged to Maizie, or caught in a belt." CHAPTER III WHERE SPOTTY FITTED IN Also we have a few home-grown varieties that ain't listed frequent. And the pavement products are apt to have most as queer kinks to 'em as those from the plowed fields. Now take Spotty.