"Why," says I, "mostly Wall Street men, with a sprinklin' of afternoon tea Johnnies, such as Pinckney here." "No objectionable persons, I trust?" says he. "Any roughneck gets the quick dump," says I. "Ah, I think I catch your meaning," says he, "and I've no doubt your establishment can supply precisely what my son needs in the way of exercise. I suppose, however, I'd best see for myself. May we go now?" "Sure," says I. "No special visitin' days." "Then I'll 'phone Winthrop to meet us there," says he. Seems he couldn't get Son direct; but he leaves word at his office, and then off we goes in Pinckney's limousine de luxe. It ain't often I worry any about the outside looks of things at the joint; but somehow, with this elegant old party comin' to inspect, I was kind of hopin' the stairs had been swept and that Swifty Joe wouldn't have any of his Red Hook friends callin' on him. So I most gasps when we piles out in front of the studio and finds a mob that extends from the curb to the front door. Not only that, but the lower hall is crowded, and they line the stairs halfway up. And such a bunch! Waps, Dagoes, Matzers, Syrians, all varieties. "By Jove, though!" says Pinckney. "What's all this?" "Looks like someone was openin' a sweatshop in the buildin', don't it!" says I. "If that's so, here's where I break my lease." "Really," says Mr. Hubbard, eyin' the crowd doubtful, "I hardly believe I care to----" "Ah, I'll clear 'em out in two shakes," says I. "Just follow after me. Hey, you! _Heim gagen_. Mushong! Gangway, gangway!" and I motions threatenin'. "Ah, beat it, you garlic destroyers!" I sings out. "Back up there, and take your feet with you! Back, you fatheads!" and I sends one caromin' to the right and another spinnin' to the left. The best I could do, though, was to open a three-foot lane through 'em, and there they stuck, lined up on either side like they was waitin' for a parade. It was something like that too,--me leadin' the way, Pinckney steerin' J. Q. by the arm. We'd got inside the doorway without a word bein' said, when a bright-eyed Dago girl with a rainbow-tinted handkerchief about her neck breaks the spell. "Picture, Meester--take-a da picture?" says she pleadin'. With that the others breaks loose. "Picture, Meester! Please-a, Meester? Picture, picture!" They says it in all sorts of dialects, with all sorts of variations, all beggin' for the same thing. "Picture, picture!" They reaches out, grabbin' at our coat sleeves. Three of 'em had hold of J. Q. at once when I whirls on 'em. "Ah, ditch the chorus!" I yells at 'em. "What do you think this is, anyway, a movie outfit? Get back there! Hands off, or I call the cops!" It's strenuous work; but I manages to quiet 'em long enough for Pinckney and Mr. Hubbard to get through and slip up to the studio. Then I tries to shoo the bunch into the street; but they don't shoo for a cent. They still demands to have their pictures taken.