"Bully for Paris, then!" says I. "Whatever it might be if it could be naturalized, it touches the spot. I take it all back, Heiney. You're the shiftiest chef that ever juggled a fryin' pan. A refill on the riddy-voo, seal-voo-plate." Well, what do you guess! Jarvis engages Heiney on the spot, and an hour later they've started for Blenmont, both of 'em actin' like they thought this was a good world to live in, after all. Yesterday me and Sadie accepts a special invite out there to dinner; and it was worth goin' out to get. From start to finish it was the finest that ever happened. Afterwards Jarvis has Heiney come up from the kitchen and show himself while we drinks his good health. And say, in his white togs and starched linen cap, he's got the chef on the canned goods ads. lookin' like a hash rustler in a beanery. As for Jarvis, he's got the pink back in his cheeks, and is holdin' his chin up once more, and when we left in the mornin' he was out bossin' a couple of hundred lab'rers that was takin' that hill in wheelbarrows and cartin' it off where it wouldn't interfere with the lake. "Shorty," says he, "I don't know how you did it, but you've made me a sane man again, and I owe you more than----" "Ah, chuck it!" says I. "It was curin' Heiney that cured you." "Really?" says he. "Then you are a believer in homeopathic psychotherapeutics?" "Which?" says I. "Say, write that down on my cuff by syllables, will you? I want to spring it on Swifty Joe." CHAPTER XIV A TRY-OUT FOR TOODLEISM Eh? Yes, maybe I do walk a little stiff jointed; but, say, I'm satisfied to be walkin' around at all. If I hadn't had my luck with me the other day, I'd be wearin' that left leg in splints and bein' pushed around in a wheel chair. As it is, the meat is only a little sore, and a few more alcohol rubs will put it in shape. What was it come so near gettin' me on the disabled list? Toodleism! No, I expect you didn't; but let me put you next, son: there's more 'isms and 'pathys and 'ists floatin' around these days, than any one head can keep track of. I don't know much about the lot; but this Toodleism's a punk proposition. Besides leavin' me with a game prop, it come near bu'stin' up the fam'ly. Seems like trouble was lookin' for me last week, anyway. First off, I has a run of old timers, that panhandles me out of all the loose coin I has in my clothes. You know how they'll come in streaks that way, sometimes? Why, I was thinkin' of havin' 'em form a line, one while. Then along about Thursday one of my back fletchers develops a case of jumps. What's a fletcher? Why, a steak grinder, and this one has a ripe spot in it. Course, it's me for the nickel plated plush chair, with the footrest and runnin' water attached; and after the tooth doctor has explored my jaw with a rock drill and a few other cute little tools, he says he'll kill the nerve. "Don't, Doc.!" says I. "That nerve's always been a friend of mine until lately. Wouldn't dopin' it do?"