"How the slithering Sisyphus should I know what kind?" he snaps. "Whose idea is this, anyway? You suggested games. Go get 'em, I tell you! I'll give you half an hour, while I'm looking over this stuff from the office. Just half an hour. Get out!" It's a perfectly cute proposition, ain't it? Games for a heavy-podded old sinner like him, who's about as frivolous in his habits as one of them stone lions in front of the new city lib'ry! But here I was on my way with a yellow-backed twenty in one hand; so it's up to me to produce. I pikes straight down the avenue to a joint where they've got three floors filled with nothin' but juvenile joy junk, blows in there on the jump, nails a clerk that looks like he had more or less bean, waves the twenty at him, and remarks casual: "Gimme the worth of that in things that'll amuse a fifty-eight-year-old kid who's sick abed and walkin' around the house." Did I say clerk? I take it back. He was a salesman, that young gent was. Never raised an eyebrow, but proceeded to haul out samples, pass 'em up to me for inspection, and pile in a heap what I gives him the nod on. If I established a record for reckless buyin', he never mentions it. Inside of twenty minutes I'm on my way back, followed by a porter with both arms full. "The doctor has come," says Marston. "He's in with Mr. Ellins now, Sir." "Ob, is he?" says I. "Makes it very nice, don't it?" And, bein' as how I was Old Hickory's alibi, as you might say, I pikes right to the front. "Here he is now," says Mr. Ellins. And the Doc, who's a chesty, short-legged gent with a dome half under glass,--you know, sort of a skinned diamond with turf outfield effect,--he whirls on me accusin'. "Young man," says he, "do I understand that you had the impudence to----" "Well, well!" breaks in Old Hickory, gettin' a glimpse of what the porter's unloading "What have we here? Look, Hirshway,--Torchy's drug substitute!" "Eh?" says the Doc, starin' puzzled. "Games," says Mr. Ellins, startin' to paw over the bundles. "Toys for a weary toiler. Let's inspect his selection. Now what's this in the box, Torchy?" "Cut-up picture puzzle," says I. "Two hundred pieces. You fit 'em together." "Fine!" says Old Hickory. "And this?" "Ring toss," says I. "You try to throw them rope rings over the peg." "I see," says he. "Excellent! That will be very amusing and instructive. Here's an airgun too." "Ellins," says Doc Hirshway, "do you mean to say that at your age you are going to play with such childish things?" "Why not?" says Old Hickory. "You forbid business. I must employ myself in some way, and Torchy recommends these." "Bah!" says the Doc disgusted. "If I didn't know you so well, I should think your mind was affected." "Think what you blamed please, you bald-headed old pill peddler!" raps back the boss, pokin' him playful in the ribs. "I'll bet you a fiver I can put more of these rings over than you can."