Durin' the first six months Spotty was fired eight times, only to have Pinckney get him reinstated, and it wa'n't until the steward went to the board of governors with the row that Mr. Cahill was given his permanent release. You might think Pinckney would have called it quits then; but not him! He'd started out to godfather Spotty, and he stays right with the game. Everybody he knew was invited to help along the good work of givin' Spotty a lift. He got him into brokers' offices, tried him out as bellhop in four diff'rent hotels, and even jammed him by main strength into a bank; but Spotty's sun absorbin' habits couldn't seem to be made useful anywhere. For one while he got chummy with Swifty Joe and took to sunnin' himself in the studio front windows, until I had to veto that. "I don't mind your friends droppin' in now and then, Swifty," says I; "but there ain't any room here for statuary. I don't care how gentle you break it to him, only run him out." So that's why I don't enthuse much when Pinckney says he's thought up some new scheme for Spotty. "Goin' to have him probed for hookworms?" says I. No, that ain't it. Pinckney, he's had a talk with Spotty and discovered that old Peter had a brother Aloysius, who's settled somewhere up in Canada and is superintendent of a big wheat farm. Pinckney's had his lawyers trace out this Uncle Aloysius, and then he's written him all about Spotty, suggestin' that he send for him by return mail. "Fine!" says I. "He'd be a lot of use on a wheat farm. What does Aloysius have to say to the proposition?" "Well, the fact is," says Pinckney, "he doesn't appear at all enthusiastic. He writes that if the boy is anything like Peter when he knew him he's not anxious to see him. However, he says that if Spotty comes on he will do what he can for him." "It'll be a long walk," says I. "There's where my idea comes in," says Pinckney. "I am going to finance the trip." "If it don't cost too much," says I, "it'll be a good investment." Pinckney wants to do the thing right away, too. First off, though, he has to locate Spotty. The youth has been at large for a week or more now, since he was last handed the fresh air, and Pinckney ain't heard a word from him. "Maybe Swifty knows where he roosts," says I. It was a good guess. Swifty gives us a number on Fourth-ave. where he'd seen Spotty hangin' around lately, and he thinks likely he's there yet. So me and Pinckney starts out on the trail. It leads us to one of them Turkish auction joints where they sell genuine silk oriental prayer rugs, made in Paterson, N. J., with hammered brass bowls and antique guns as a side line. And, sure enough, camped down in front on a sample rug, with his hat off and the sun full on him, is our friend Spotty. "Well, well!" says Pinckney. "Regularly employed here, are you, Spotty?" "Me? Nah!" says Spotty, lookin' disgusted at the thought. "I'm only stayin' around."