Produced by Al Haines [Frontispiece: THEY TACKLES ANYTHING I LEADS 'EM UP TO] Side-stepping with Shorty _By_ Sewell Ford _Illustrated by_ _Francis Vaux Wilson_ NEW YORK GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS _Copyright, 1908, by Mitchell Kennerley_ CONTENTS CHAPTER I. SHORTY AND THE PLUTE II. ROUNDING UP MAGGIE III. UP AGAINST BENTLEY IV. THE TORTONIS' STAR ACT V. PUTTING PINCKNEY ON THE JOB VI. THE SOARING OF THE SAGAWAS VII. RINKEY AND THE PHONY LAMP VIII. PINCKNEY AND THE TWINS IX. A LINE ON PEACOCK ALLEY X. SHORTY AND THE STRAY XI. WHEN ROSSITER CUT LOOSE XII. TWO ROUNDS WITH SYLVIE XIII. GIVING BOMBAZOULA THE HOOK XIV. A HUNCH FOR LANGDON XV. SHORTY'S GO WITH ART XVI. WHY WILBUR DUCKED XVII. WHEN SWIFTY WAS GOING SOME XVIII. PLAYING WILBUR TO SHOW XIX. AT HOME WITH THE DILLONS XX. THE CASE OF RUSTY QUINN ILLUSTRATIONS THEY TACKLES ANYTHING I LEADS 'EM TO . . . . . . _Frontispiece_ THE TWINS ORGANIZE A GAME OF TAG "WE--E--E--OUGH! GLORY BE!" YELLS HANK, LETTIN' OUT AN EARSPLITTER HE HAS THE PO'TRY TAP TURNED ON FULL BLAST I SHORTY AND THE PLUTE Notice any gold dust on my back? No? Well it's a wonder there ain't, for I've been up against the money bags so close I expect you can find eagle prints all over me. That's what it is to build up a rep. Looks like all the fat wads in New York was gettin' to know about Shorty McCabe, and how I'm a sure cure for everything that ails 'em. You see, I no sooner take hold of one down and outer, sweat the high livin' out of him, and fix him up like new with a private course of rough house exercises, than he passes the word along to another; and so it goes. This last was the limit, though. One day I'm called to the 'phone by some mealy mouth that wants to know if this is the Physical Culture Studio. "Sure as ever," says I. "Well," says he, "I'm secretary to Mr. Fletcher Dawes." "That's nice," says I. "How's Fletch?" "Mr. Dawes," says he, "will see the professah at fawh o'clock this awfternoon." "Is that a guess," says I, "or has he been havin' his fortune told?" "Who is this?" says the gent at the other end of the wire, real sharp and sassy. "Only me," says I. "Well, who are you?" says he. "I'm the witness for the defence," says I. "I'm Professor McCabe, P. C. D., and a lot more that I don't use on week days." "Oh!" says he, simmerin' down a bit. "This is Professor McCabe himself, is it? Well, Mr. Fletcher Dawes requiahs youah services. You are to repawt at his apartments at fawh o'clock this awfternoon--fawh o'clock, understand?"