"Shorty, you remember that old castle of ours?" "You don't think I've been struck with softenin' of the brain, do you?" says I. "That'll be the last thing I'll forget. What's happened to it?" "It's mine," says he. "G'way!" says I. "They couldn't force you to take it." "I've bought it," says he. "I cabled over an offer, and the Count has accepted." "Goin' to blow it up?" I says. "I hope," says he, gettin' a little red under the eyes, "to spend my honeymoon there; that is, if the Princess Padova--" "The who?" says I. "Oh, you mean the lady brigandess?" "If the Princess Padova," says he, keepin' straight on, "doesn't prefer some other place. We sail to-morrow." "Then--then--" says I, catchin' my breath, "you've done it?" It was silly askin' him. Why, it stuck out all over his face. I don't know what I said next, but it didn't matter much. He was too far up in the air to hear anything in particular. Just as we shakes hands though, he passes me an envelope and says: "Shorty, I wish you'd take this down to my lawyer next Monday morning. It's a little matter I haven't had time to fix up." "Sure," says I. "I'll tie up any loose ends. And don't forget to give my regards to old Vincenzo." Say, I s'pose I'd ought to told him what a mark he'd made of himself, takin' a chance with any such wild-rose runnin' mate as that; but somehow it seemed all right, for him. I couldn't get a view of the Boss mated up with any silk-lined, city-broke girl. I guess Miss Padova was about his style, after all; and I reckon it would take a man like him to manage one of her high flyin' kind. Anyway, I'm glad he got her. I was sorry to lose the Boss, though. "It's me to go back to trainin' four flush comers again," says I, when he'd gone. And say, I wa'n't feelin' gay over the prospect. Some of these mitt artists is nice, decent boys, but then again you'll find others that you can't take much pride in. You see, I'd been knockin' around for months with someone who was clean all the way through--washed clean, spoke clean, thought clean--and now there was no tellin' what kind of a push I'd fall in with. You've had a peek at trainin' camps, eh? Them rubbers is apt to be a scousy lot. It was the goin' back to eatin' with sword swallowers that came hardest, though. I can stand for a good many things, but when I sees a guy loadin' up his knife for the shovel act, I rubs him off my list. I was goin' over all this, on the way down to the office of that lawyer the Boss wanted me to see. I'd met him a few times, so when I sends in my name there wa'n't any waitin' around in the ante-room with the office boy. "Bring Mr. McCabe right in," says he. "Mister McCabe," mind you. He's one of those wiry, brisk little chaps, with x-ray eyes, and a voice like a telephone bell. "Ah, yes!" says he, takin' the letter. "I know about that--some stock I was to turn into cash. Franklin!" he sings out. Franklin comes in like he'd come through a tube. "Bring me Mr. McCabe's bank book."