"Maybe," says I, "you're sproutin' a soul." CHAPTER VI HOW MILLIE SHOOK THE JINX Kind of odd the way the Morans and Elisha Porter Bayne coincided. You'd think so if you could see 'em bunched once; for Elisha P. is a mighty fine man; you know, one of our most prominent and highly respected citizens. Everybody says so. The local weekly always prints it that way. Besides, he's president of the Trust Company, head of the Buildin' and Loan, chairman of the School Board, and a director of such things as the Old Ladies' Home, the Hospital, and the Nut and Bolt Works. Always wears a black frock coat and a white string tie too,--tall, thin jawed, distinguished lookin' gent. While the Morans--say, let's put them off as long as we can. And the more we linger in the society of Mr. Bayne the better we ought to be. Up to last spring, I blush to admit, I'd never been favored much. Course, commutin' in and out the way I do, I didn't have a good show. But we passes the nod when we meets. Elisha P. never strains his neck durin' the exercise. You could detect his nod with the naked eye, though, and I expect that was a good deal from him to me. You get the idea. That nod includes only the Mr. McCabe that owns a shore-front place and votes in Rockhurst-on-the-Sound. It don't stretch so far as to take in Shorty McCabe who runs a Physical Culture Studio on 42d-st. And that's all right too. I'm satisfied. Then here one day back in April, as I'm drivin' home from the station with Sadie, who should step to the curb and hold me up but Mr. Bayne. Does it offhand, friendly, mind you. Course I stops sudden. Sadie bows and smiles. I lifts my lid. Mr. Bayne holds his square-topped derby against his white shirt front. We shakes hands cordial. And I'm most gaspin' for breath when it's over. "Ah, by the way, Mr. McCabe," says he, "about that--er--Sucker Brook tract? Have you thought it over yet?" Just like that, you know; as if it was something we'd been talkin' about for months, while as a matter of fact this is the first hint I'd had that Elisha P. was interested at all. Not that it hadn't been put up to me. Why, three diff'rent parties had interviewed me confidential on the proposition, offerin' to let me in on the ground floor, and givin' as many diff'rent but more or less convincin' reasons for bein' so generous. One explains how he wanted to see the tract go to some local man instead of New York speculators; another confesses that their little syndicate is swingin' too much undeveloped property and has got to start a bargain counter; while the third man slaps me hearty on the back and whispers that he just wants to put me next to a good thing.