He drapes himself on a chair, gets his little silver-headed stick balanced just so between his knees, pulls his trousers up to high-water mark, and takes an inventory of me from the mat up. And say! when he got through I felt as though he knew it all, from how much I'd weigh in at to where I had my laundry done. Yes, Pinckney had a full set of eyes. They were black; not just ordinary black, same's a hole in a hat, but shiny an' sparklin', like patent leathers in the sun. If it hadn't been for them eyes you might have thought he was one of the eight-day kind that was just about to run down. I ought to have got next to Pinckney's model, just by his lamps; but I didn't. I'm learnin', though, and if I last long enough I'll be a wise guy some day. Well, when Pinckney finishes his census of me he says: "Professor, I wish to take a private course, or whatever you call it. I would like to engage your exclusive services for about three weeks." "Chic, chic!" says I. "Things like that come high, young man." Pinckney digs up a sweet little check-book, unlimbers a fountain-pen, and asks: "How much, please?" "Seein' as this is the slack season with me, I'll make it fifty per," says I. "Hour or day?" says he. Maybe I was breathin' a bit hard, but I says careless like: "Oh, call it fifty a day and expenses." Business with the pen. "That's for the first week," says Pinckney, and I see he'd reckoned in Sunday and all. "When can you come on?" says I. "I'll begin now, if you don't mind," says he. Then it was up to me; so I goes to work. Inside of ten minutes I had a fair notion of how Pinckney was put up. He wasn't as skimpy as he'd looked from the outside, but I saw that it wouldn't be safe to try the mitts: I might forget and put a little steam into the punch--then it would be a case of sweepin' up the pieces. "Hold that out," says I, chuckin' him the shot-bag. He put it out; but all there was in him was bracin' that arm. "What you need," says I, "is a little easy track-work in the open, plenty of cold water before breakfast, and sleep in ten-hour doses." "I couldn't sleep five hours at a stretch, much less ten," says he. "We'll take something for that," says I. We gets together a couple suits of running-togs, sweaters, towels and things, and goes downstairs where Pinckney has a big plum-colored homicide wagon waitin' for him. "Tell Goggles to point for Jerome-ave.," says I. "There's a track out there we can use."