"I don't care what he holds," says Pinckney, "if he will stay away from our little governess. She's a treasure." Seems Mrs. Marston had been doin' some great tricks with the twins, not only keepin' 'em from marrin' the furniture, but teachin' 'em all kinds of knowledge and improvin' their table manners, until it was almost safe to have 'em down to luncheon now and then. But her life was being made miser'ble by the prospect of havin' Egbert show up any day and create a row. She confided the whole tale to Sadie, how she was through with Marston for good, but didn't dare tell him so, and how she sent him most of her salary to keep him away. "The loafer!" says I. "And think of the chance I had at him there in the studio! Hanged if I don't get even with Pyramid for that, though!" But I didn't. Mr. Gordon's been too busy this season to show up for any trainin', and it was only here the other day that I runs across him in the street. "Well," says I, "how's that work scornin' pet of yours gettin' on these days?" "Marston?" says he. "Why, haven't you heard? Mr. Marston is away on a vacation." "Vacation!" says I. "He needs it, he does!" "The company thought so," says Pyramid. "They gave him six months' leave with pay. He's hunting reindeer or musk ox somewhere up in British Columbia." "Him a hunter?" says I. "G'wan!" Pyramid grins. "He did develop a liking for the wilderness rather suddenly," says he; "but that is where he is now. In fact, I shouldn't be surprised if he stayed up there for a year or more." "What's the joke?" says I, catchin' a flicker in them puffy eyes of Pyramid's. "Why, just this," says he. "Mr. Marston, you know, is secretary of the Consolidated Holding Company." "Yes, I read about that," says I. "What then?" "It pains me to state," says Mr. Gordon, "that in his capacity of secretary Mr. Marston seems to have sanctioned transactions which violate the Interstate Commerce act." "Ah-ha!" says I. "Turned crooked on you, did he?" "We are not sure as yet," says Pyramid. "The federal authorities are anxious to settle that point by examining certain files which appear to be missing. They even asked me about them. Perhaps you didn't notice, Shorty, that I was cross-examined for five hours, one day last week." "I don't read them muck rakin' articles," says I. "Quite right," says Pyramid. "Well, I couldn't explain; for, as their own enterprising detectives discovered, when Mr. Marston boarded the Montreal Express his baggage included a trunk and two large cases. Odd of him to take shipping files on a hunting trip, wasn't it?" and Pyramid tips me the slow wink. I'm more or less of a thickhead when it comes to flossy finance; but I've seen enough plain flimflam games to know a few things. And the wink clinched it. "Mr. Gordon," says I, "for a Mr. Smooth you've got a greased pig in the warthog class. But suppose Egbert gets sick of the woods and hikes himself back? What then?"