He agrees to that, and has disappeared behind the ground-glass door when I discovers this slick-haired young gent sittin' at a desk over by the window,--a buddin' law clerk, most likely. And by way of bein' sociable I remarks casual that I hear how McGraw is puttin' Tesreau on the mound again to-day against the Cubs. That don't get much of a rise out of him. "Aw, rully!" says he. "I expect you'll be hikin' out for the grandstand yourself pretty quick?" I goes on. "No," says he, shruggin' his shoulders annoyed. "I take no interest in baseball; none whatever, I assure you." "Excuse my mentionin' it, then," says I. "But just what is your line,--croquet?" "My favorite recreation," says he, "is dawncing." And with that he turns away like he'd exhausted the subject. But this gives me an idea. Maybe he could be hired to coach Royce. "It's a thrillin' sport," says I. "And, by the way, there's a young chap due to show up here soon. I wonder if you've seen him around before,--young Hammond?" "I beg pardon," says he, "but do you refer to Royce Hammond?" "That's the guy," says I. "Kind of a husky young hick, eh?" He stares at me cold and disapprovin'. "I am Royce Hammond!" says he. You could have bought me for a yesterday's rain check. "Wha-a-at!" says I, gawpin'. "You--you are----" Say, come to look him over close, I might have known he was no ten-a-week process server. He's costumed neat but expensive, and his lily-white hands are manicured to the last notch. Nice lookin' youth he is, with a good head on him and a fine pair of shoulders. And for conversation he uses the kind of near-English accent you hear along the Harvard Gold Coast. Cul-chaw? Why, it fairly dripped from Royce, like moisture from the ice water tank on a hot day! "Excuse," says I. "I'm Professor McCabe, and I was only----" "Oh, yes," says he, sighin' weary, "I understand. Something absurd about a will, isn't it? Mother is quite keen over it; and I wish she wouldn't, you know." "Eh?" says I, a bit dizzy from tryin' to follow him. "Oh, I've no doubt you mean well enough," he goes on; "but we cawn't accept favors from utter strangers--really, we cawn't. And besides, old Gordon was such a rotter!" To relieve his feelin's he lights a cigarette and gives me the shoulder once more. I felt like I'd been slapped on the wrist and sent to stand in the corner. "Maybe you'd like my apology in writin'?" says I. "Just point out a real dusty spot on the floor, and I'll grovel in it. But remember, Son, all we laid out to do, in our humble way, was to give you a boost. So don't be too hard on us." He smiles patronizin' at that. "No offense intended, I'm suah," says he. "I merely wished to make clear my own position in this ridiculous affair. Of course, if Mother insists, I presume I must---- Bah Jove! Here they are, though!"