"In my country," says he, "men do not--but then we have our own customs. I have explain. Now I may depart." "Not so fast, old scout!" says I. "If it's so you're a friend of Lindy, she'll be wantin' to see you, and all we got to do is to step inside and call her down." "But thanks," says he. "It is very kind. I will not trouble, however. It need not be." "Needn't, eh?" says I. "Look here, Pasha So and So, you can't put over anything so thin on me! You're up to something or other. You sure look it. Anyway, I'm goin' to march you in and find out from Lindy herself whether she knows you or not. Understand?" He sighs resigned. "Since you are a professor of fists, it must be so," says he. "But remark this, I do not make the request to see her, and--and you may say to her that it is Don Carlos who is here." "Ah-ha!" says I. "Another pen name, eh? Don Carlos! Low Dago, or Hidalgo?" "My father," says he, "was a Spanish gentleman of Hebrew origin. My mother was French." "Some combination!" says I. "And Lindy knows you best as Don Carlos, does she? We'll soon test that." So I escorts him in by the side door, plants him in the livin' room where I can keep an eye on him, and hoohoos gentle up the stairs to Sadie. "Yes?" says she. "Shut the sewin' room door," says I. "All right," says she. "Well?" "There's a gent down here, Sadie," says I, "that looks like a cross between a stage pirate and an Armenian rug peddler." "For goodness' sake!" says Sadie. "Not in the house! What on earth did you let him in for?" "Because," says I, "he claims to be an old friend of Lindy's." "Of Lindy's!" she gasps. "Why, what----" "I don't know the rest," says I. "You spring it on her. Tell her it's Don Carlos, and then let me know what she says." That seems like a simple proposition; but Sadie takes a long time over it. I could hear her give a squeal of surprise at something, and then she seems to be askin' a lot of fool questions. In the course of five or six minutes, though, she leans over the stair rail lookin' sort of excited. "Well?" says I. "Does she know him?" "Know him!" says Sadie. "Why, she says he's her husband!" "Not Lindy's!" I gasps. "That's what she says," insists Sadie. "Great Scott!" says I. "Must be some mistake about this. Wait a minute. Here, you, Pasha! Come here! Lindy says you're her husband. Is that so?" "Oh, yes," says he, as easy as you please. "Under your laws I suppose I am." "Well, wouldn't that frost you!" says I. "But, say, Sadie, why don't she come down and see him, then?" "Just what I've been asking her," says Sadie. "She says she's too busy, and that if he wants to see her he must come up." "Well, what do you know!" says I. "Pasha, do you want to see her?" "As I have told," says he, "there is no need. I do not demand it." "Well, of all the cold-blooded pairs!" says I. "How long since you've seen her?" "Very long," says he; "perhaps twenty years."